Beccx Speaks

Happy New Year 2022 Edition

2022-01-04T17:46:00.000-08:00

The psychics are working hard. I find it amusing. I'm supposed to hear from an ex-boyfriend. Impossible! Improbable! Absurd!

I can honestly say that each ex is a stranger to me. I haven't kept in touch. Would I even recognize any of them? It's been decades. Decades! I don't know them anymore. I've grown, changed a little. I'm not the person I was as a teenager. I'm slower and introverted. I'm raising teenagers. C'mon psychics! Why plant seeds?

I'll tell you what actions I'll take. None.

2021-04-14T23:12:00.001-07:00

What if?

The whole reason for covid came from our pets?

Our pets love us so completely, that their collective energy from desiring more time with us, created the pandemic.

Who is happiest with the stay at home life? The pets.

They did this to us.

Travelling Thru the Multiverse

2020-07-11T20:34:00.000-07:00

I have a theory on time travel. Now when I talk about time travel, I am specifically talking about speed through space.

We already know that our organic bodies cannot withstand excessive speeds such as the speed of light. We can't even travel to the deepest parts of earth's oceans because your bodies cannot handle the pressure. Still with me? I believe there is a way to travel through space and I also believe many people, including myself, have done so, many times, without realizing it.

Have you ever had a dream where you were selfaware to a point where you knew you were you but your actions and surrounding were somewhat unfamiliar? You progressed through the dream as if on auto pilot. What if I told you what you experienced in your deam was real because you switched unconsciousness with another you existing somewhere in the multiverse?

In order for the switch to occur, you and another you require to be synchronized. I'm not speaking of an exact mirrored life but more of a chance that you and another you are asleep at the same time with the same question in mind such as, what would my life be like if....? Then, the switch happens through your unconscious mind and you get to experience a day or evening or moment in one of your multiverse bodies and see a recap of that you's life good or bad.

Now that you are aware, you should give it a try.

Confession Time Again

2020-06-24T20:56:00.000-07:00

I haven't written much on here in a long while. I'm still writing but I journal on my phone mostly. I use my phone because I've been thinking about a lot of personal stuff. I log most days by the death toll in the US from the coronavirus along with the date and time.

One thing I've learned about life is if I don't want my personal feelings and or thoughts to be thrown in my face, then I cannot share them with anyone. I'm speaking of inner circle type stuff. Who is in the inner circle is always the bestest, closest friend or friends if you're lucky. I don't have that anymore. Maybe I never did.

I don't have a person or people I can talk to for vault-worthy information. If you read my book, Vile, then you know I have trust issues. So anything I blog about or tweet is general stuff I don't give a fuck about. I ran out of fucks to give years ago.

I know no one really reads anything on this page. No one has the attention span for it especially when I don't include lots of pictures. I'm fine with that. This blog was just an outlet and getting feedback was never the goal.

I'll blog more eventually.

I Get It!

2019-03-13T19:34:00.002-07:00

I get it now. My slow ass has connected the dots on this political shit show. Here me out.

I find the evidence against tRump to be enough to convict. I really do. But here is the rub: Mitch McConnell, the Senate majority leader and devout republican, has no intention of bringing up any votes in the Senate that would hurt tRump or his policies. McConnell is not bound by constituents or morals or American democracy. No. He is only bound by two things: money and the GOP.

People can protest, scream, shout, call him names but none of that will have any effect on McConnell to "do the right thing." Haven't you noticed how incredibly cocky tRump has been about winning the election coming in 2020? He's not bluffing. The fix is still in place.

Did Russia interfere with the 2016 election? Yes. Did tRump order any changes to avoid future interference? No. So, tRump could get away with murder on 5th Ave in broad day light. As long as he is in office and McConnell controls the Senate, he will never be convicted. What about after his second term? Could he be convicted after that. Yes, but he won't and I know why.

tRump will have four more years to dismantle the FBI and distroy evidence against himself. There is no point in playing by the rules with this guy because he is not playing by the same rules. The big question is: Why is he still alive? Where is his magic bullet?

Back in 1963 President JFK was assassinated. The republicans were desperate because they saw the conflict in Vietnam as an opportunity to reap natural resources from that country. JFK said no because he wasn't about taking advantage of Vietnam's situation. Our people could get hurt. LBJ, his VP, did not share the same sentiment.

In 1963 democrats had the oval office, the Senate and the House. It was locked up. An assassination of the President was the easiest way for the republicans to get what they really wanted and they needed a little bipartisan help from LBJ. Remember, LBJ was a career politician. He knew every body. The deal was made. Republicans would get some action in Vietnam in exchange for some civil rights stuff to keep the democrats happy. Everybody wins except for the Kennedys, american soldiers and the people of Vietnam.

The current administration is different. The GOP rules the Senate making tRump untouchable by anything the Democrats want. In essence, the only way democrats can clean house and restore democracy in the United States, is to literally execute Mitch McConnell and several other key republican senators then hold special elections in hopes of replacing dead republicans with living, loyal democrats. But then again, Russia is here to interfere.

So, I get it now. Americans have been manipulated into turning against each other fighting over what's real and what's not and who is too old for this and that. The press prints stories of hope with mounting evidence againt tRump and his administration which will ensnare a few people but through the use of corrupt judges the outcomes will be meaningless. Mitch McConnell alone holds the power to convict the president. American people have been divided then divided again and sucessfully distracted. Both political parties are using this time to beg for money. Dems say they need more money to impeach and the republicans are raffling off tickets for a chance to have a happy meal with tRump. Meanwhile, the business of personal profit through corruption continues for tRump and his family.

Vile: This One is Personal

2016-06-26T09:44:00.003-07:00

***Chapter 1***

First Blood

I met Her when I was four years old. By the time I was five years old, I knew She hated me. I was at Chuck’s house for a barbeque with my sister, my Dad and Her. Chuck was a skinny, black dude who lived in the San Fernando Valley and had a built-in pool in his backyard. He was one of my Dad’s friends.

I liked being in the pool back then but I could not swim at all. Usually, I would play on the steps and if I decided to explore, I would hold on to the side of the pool and slowly pull myself along the edge. She was in the pool too.

On that day, I remember clearly feeling confidant and venturing further along the side of the pool than usual moving toward the deep end. I could hear Her laughing and talking to other people who were outside socializing near the shallow end. She stood in the middle of the pool at the edge of the shallow end just before the floor of the pool sloped down to an 8-foot depth, so She could still stand on the bottom with only her shoulders and head above water. My sister had gotten out of the pool and headed into the house to play scrabble. My Dad had gone in the house too so I was left alone with Her in the pool.

While cruising the deep end, my hands slipped off the edge of the pool. I struggled to re-grab the edge but kept slipping until the edge was no longer in my reach. I turned my body toward Her and as I went under water, I made eye contact with Her. Instead of rushing to help me, the five-year-old child, She turned her back to me letting me slip beneath the water’s surface. I looked down thinking I would eventually touch the bottom of the pool with my feet then I could push myself back to the surface for air but I stopped sinking and began floating. I stretched my legs and feet trying to reach the bottom but couldn’t. I looked up and I was too far beneath the surface to splash. I stretched my arms out from my sides hoping to feel the wall but that was still out of reach. I floated in the deep end. I could still hear Her laughing and paying no attention to what was happening behind Her. I noticed my shadow on the pool floor. My arms were still stretched out from my sides and I could see the silhouette of my hair and my body as I floated in limbo between the water’s surface and pool floor. Seeing my shadow seemed to calm me. I didn’t feel panic anymore and stopped struggling. Eventually, my vision turned to darkness as if I was falling asleep. Surrounding sounds of voices and music seemed to get further away as I drifted into silence. Then, with my right hand, I felt hair. It was Her hair. She had absurdly long, straight, dark, brown hair back then. That was the trend in 1974.

As I said, I remember feeling her hair with my fingers of my right hand so I grabbed a hand full twisting the long stands around my fingers and I pulled down as hard as I could. I heard Her scream as I pulled the back of her head toward the water. She fought against my pull and inadvertently pulled me up to the surface where I gasped for air. People came running outside to the pool. She pushed me back to the edge and I was pulled from the pool still choking and vomiting water. As I labored to breathe, my Dad comforted me. I could hear Her still in the pool complaining that I had pulled her hair as if I was trying to drown her. She demanded I be punished.

If you would like to read the rest of this non-fiction story, then buy my book by clicking the link: Vile: This One is Personal

Confession Time

2015-02-17T19:31:00.002-08:00

A few weeks ago, while driving to San Bruno, I decided to take the San Mateo Bridge. I pulled up to the toll taker only to find out that the person ahead of me paid for my toll. I was shocked. A stranger had NEVER done anything nice for me. Then I thought, "This is that 'pay-it-forward crap isn't it?"

I got a little pissed because of two things: 1) I wasn't able to properly thank the person who generously paid my bridge toll, and 2) Oh the GUILT for I've been burdened with the job of paying it forward. Dammit, now I have to consciously look for opportunities to do a good deed. I had to choose carefully because no good deed goes unpunished so I'd need to commit the act while remaining anonymous.

Finally, the opportunity arrived! I was in the drive-thru at Starbucks (don't judge). The line was long and the person ahead of me was taking his or her sweet time moving forward then spent waaaaaay too much time at the window just to get a tall coffee. So I'm sitting there grooving to EPMD’s You Gots To Chill but keeping a close eye on the douche bag ahead of me because I have no problem using my car horn to wake someone up or remind them that the time is now to look up from the phone and drive.

The waiting continued and as it did, I noticed the line behind me getting longer and longer. I thought, "Damn, is this succubus in front of me buying stock options? Get the fuck outta here already!” Then I caught a glimpse of a fool behind me - sitting there in his little sports car - an older gentleman, naturally. I immediately thought, "The time to strike is now!" That poor schmuck never saw it coming. I just wish I could have seen his stupid face when the cashier told him his bill was paid but I didn't linger in the drive thru for that. I made my escape immediately and caught a green light too. Ah, success!

Now I am guilt free! Feels good too. I just might pay and dash again, you know, for insurance.

The Jury Duty

2014-05-12T21:00:00.000-07:00

Growing up, we’re all told to never judge anyone for that is God’s job. We all try to live by that rule but that all changes once the summons for jury duty appears in the mailbox. Typically, when I get a jury duty summons, I call the night before and listen to a recording saying not to bother coming into the courthouse. In fact, the last time I was requested to appear at a courthouse for jury duty was about 20 years ago. I sat in a room filled with other potential jurors quietly waiting for our names to be called. I waited from 9am to 4pm then was told “Thank you but you will not be seeing a judge today. Your jury duty commitment has been fulfilled. See you next year.” That was 20 years ago. This time my summons for jury duty was much more.

Jury Selection

I called the night before and was shocked when the recorded message instructed me to appear at the Oakland courthouse. “Oakland! That ‘s like three cities away! Why couldn’t it be at a local courthouse? How freakin’ inconvenient!” So I made the necessary arrangements for someone to watch my kids after school so I could go expecting I’d be spending a good chunk of the day sitting and waiting to be called. That wasn’t the case.

I showed up to the courthouse at 9am and filed through the security line then was led into a big room that had over 100 people already patiently seated. I turned in my form and took a seat. At least they had free wi-fi so I could spend the hours staring at my phone in between people watching. At 10am a clerk’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Please be patient. Just so you know, everyone will be seated on a jury today. We summoned 250 people and only 218 showed up. We need everybody, so relax. We’re going to have fun today.”

“Really? Fun? Okay, I’ll go with it. How bad could this be?” I thought to myself. At 10:30am names were called to fill panel A. I listened then heard my maiden name called and thought, “Oh what are the odds that someone has my maiden name?” Then I gasped and searched for my jury badge just to check the name. “Oh shit, that is me! How the hell did this come to my current address in my maiden name?” I got up announcing, “Present,” then got in line with over 70 people. I was given a plastic badge with the number 19 clearly marked. We all had numbers now and no longer would be addressed by our names. I liked my number. It was a prime number – a natural number that has no positive divisors other than 1 and itself. Prime numbers are unique just like me. We were herded to the third floor then into one of the four courtrooms.

The courtroom was a box shaped room with high ceilings. We all sat in the audience area facing the judge’s seat. Dark wood covered the high chair line of the walls except for the wall behind the judge’s desk, which sat atop a platform so that even as the judge sat, no one’s head would be above hers. On the wall behind the judge’s desk was a huge golden seal that read The Great Seal of the State of California. In front of the judge’s desk and on a platform a little lower than the judge’s, sat three staff persons: the court recorder, the courtroom clerk and an administrative assistant. Their work area was a wood desk with a wood partition to hide all the paperwork from the lawyers but I could still see their computer monitors and a few personal framed pictures of family members. Seated in front of the three staff on the floor level were the lawyers. They had long, flat, wood tables with microphones for each attorney. Then the bailiff sat between the defendant and the audience section.

The room was deathly quiet. I studied the walls, the ceiling and the people. The attorneys wore suites. The defendant wore a dingy, gray, button up shirt, dress slacks and black dress shoes. He stared at the desk where he sat not saying a word with his hands neatly folded together on top of the table.

As I sat there, taking everything in I said to myself, “Wow, there are a lot of people here.” Then I paused and said to myself, “Is there anyone else here?” At that moment a tingling sensation ran up both sides of my torso. I was like, “Whoa, that was weird.” Then I asked to myself, “Is there anyone else here?” And again, the same tingling sensation ran up both my sides then stopped. “Ok, so there are two ‘other’ people here.”

Suddenly, a hidden door next to the judge’s desk opened and out came the Judge. Then the bailiff spoke, “All rise.” Everyone stood. “Department 3 of the Superior Court is now in session. The honorable Judge Rhynes presiding.” The Judge sat and spoke into a microphone on her desk, “You may all be seated. Good morning!” There was little response. “Well, my daddy would be fit to be tied if I failed to respond to such a greeting.”

Everyone: “Good morning!”

Judge: “That’s better, “ she said and smiled.

Alameda Superior Court Judge Rhynes was raised in the deep South, y’all! So her speech dripped with southern charm and always came from a genuine southern smile. She was very gracious in her demeanor and thanked everyone for appearing in court. She went on about how she knew how inconvenient jury duty was for everyone and that even judges and lawyers were summoned for jury duty so she understood how burdened we all felt but then added how being American citizens, jury duty was our civic duty etc. etc. She introduced her staff and the attorneys to us then explained in great length what was going to happen next. I’ll spare you the blow by blow. You’re welcome.

Eventually, we were all sent back to the first floor holding room to fill out a 16-page survey. We could not take the survey home and we were not allowed to make any kind of copy of the survey. It had to be filled out there and only there then turned in before we could leave for the day. The survey was not 16 pages of yes or no answers either. Most of the questions required thoughtfully crafted written statements. I imagine that was purposely done to weed out the people who were illiterate. So I answered the questions as best I could but then I got to a question asking, “How do you feel about the effects of the justice system in the community?” Well, damn, that’s a loaded question. I mean how do you respond to something like that? I had no ‘feelings’ per se regarding the effects on the community. I don’t follow every criminal case in the community. Hell, I try to watch as little news as possible because I don’t enjoy hearing about events that I have no control over. So what I wrote was that I was aware of the effects of the justice system on the community. I also had to respond to whether or not my judgment was manipulated by feeling sorry for someone or a situation. Explain. All I wrote was, “No. I have kids.” Writing that was a big mistake on my part and I knew it when I wrote it but laziness prevailed and I moved on to the next question. When I finally finished, I turned in my survey and was told to return the next day at 9:30am and to go straight to the courtroom. Great.

The next day, I was late. Oh the horror! I pride myself on being on time to everything but that day I miss judged the BART train schedule and showed up 15 minutes late. I scurried through the double doors of the courtroom only to see a filled room with EVERYONE waiting for me. I looked around and spoke out loud, “My apologies to the court for my tardiness.” Then I took a seat deep in the first row. The courtroom clerk looked at me then picked up her phone and whispered into it, “Number 19 is here.” I sat down and waited. The judge was still in chambers. Two more people entered the courtroom and the courtroom clerk made another call. I figured she was calling the Judge. Then sure enough, the secret door next to the Judge’s desk opened and I heard, “All rise…” Court was back in session.

I was the third person – out of 72 – to be called to sit in the jury box seat number 3 (another prime number SCORE!). I sat there taking in my new perspective of the courtroom. I could see more. The court recorder sat closest to the jury box. Someone should really tell her not to wear short dresses and skirts to work. I’d say she was in her late 30s maybe early 40s, painfully plain looking and unmarried, which explained why she showed so much leg. Her stenotype machine sat on one support that she kept between her legs. So basically, she sat everyday wearing short dresses and skirts with her legs open flashing me and the rest of the jurors her cougar crotch. Thanks Babe.

I also had a better look at the defendant. I watched him as he sat in the chair wearing the same clothes from the day before. He was still quiet with his head mostly facing down. I noticed two shadowy figures stood by him. One was next to him and the other was behind him. They were large figures – possibly men. “Creepy,’ I thought. They couldn’t be family. There was no luminous white or yellow hew around the defendant. I tried not to stare. I didn’t want them to know I knew they were there.

When the 12 seats were occupied, the Judge began to tell us about the case.

Judge: “This case is the People verses Mr. DeShawn Reed. Mr. Reed is on trial for two counts of murder. He is presumed innocent in this case. The burden of proof is completely on the People, which is represented by Mr. James, the prosecuting attorney. The defense council is represented by Mr. Strellis.

Each attorney turned and smiled at the prospective jurors and said hello. Mr. James was the deputy district attorney. He was a large man that stood about 6 feet tall and looked to be in his late 30s. He was very professional and organized. Mr. Strellis was the 75-year-old defense attorney who had been practicing law for over 50 years. A few years ago he developed Parkinson’s disease so he had a constant shaking thing happening just like Katharine Hepburn. He also spoke very softly and walked very slowly. He reminded me of a character Tim Conway used to do on the Carol Burnett Show. Remember the Old Man bit he used to do? He would shuffle about the room taking small steps and long verbal pauses before responding. That was Strellis but with less hair. He should really consider retiring. I bet the farm this was a pro bono case for him.

So, the prosecuting attorney, Mr. James grabbed a wireless microphone and a stack of surveys and stood at a podium. He sifted through the surveys and called out people to clarify their responses. A lot of immigrants would pretend to not understand English even though I would over hear them running their mouths in perfect English during breaks outside the courtroom.

They didn’t care. So they made a fool of themselves in front of a bunch of strangers who they will probably never see again. It’s a small price to pay to get out of jury duty, I guess. One guy being interviewed said he could not keep an open mind because “if the police arrest you then you probably broke the law.” Each time someone made a statement like that, the Judge reminded us that the defendant in this case was presumed innocent. The burden of proof was on the prosecuting attorney. The defense really doesn’t have to do anything if he chooses not too. We were instructed to ignore the fact that the defendant had been sitting in jail for four years. Yeah, ‘cause innocent people sit in jail for years all the time, right? Ok, I’m starting to get how things are run here.

People are getting excused left and right of me. One woman said a family member was murdered 10 years ago and this trial would be too emotional for her because the killer was never caught. Another guy was taken into the judge’s chambers because he did not wish to disclose his wife’s age in public. I never saw him again. Some people refused to speak and were quickly dismissed or asked to remain in the courtroom after court dismissal. It went on and on. I sat there thinking, “C’mon! Aren’t you gonna ask me anything? Don’t you know I’m too smart to be here?” Finally, the microphone was passed to me.

Prosecutor: “Number 19. How are you today?

Me: “I’m great! Thanks.”

Boy that microphone worked well. I could have easily burst into song – 1970s Bill Murray SNL lounge act style: “This is the Juror #19 Show and I do the entertaining so let’s start out with something really hot today, folks! This was a big hit out of 1977……ahhhh Star Warssssss. Nothing but Star Warsssss.” Ok ok, so I didn’t fall into that bit. The prosecutor asked me to explain my response to a question on the survey.

Prosecutor: “Your reply was that you have kids. Could you explain that?”

Oh shit. There it is right back in my face. I am an idiot and I do belong here. I explained that my kids use whining, complaining and guilt to try and manipulate me but I never fall for it. He was satisfied with that answer. The defense attorney had no questions for me at all. I remained in seat #3. The next thing I knew, there were 12 jurors and 4 alternates.

The Judge began to give more instruction to the jury.

Judge: “Your job in this trial is to judge and you can only base your judgment on the evidence that is presented to you. You are not to research anything about the defendant or anyone associated with this case. You are not to visit the crime scene. You are not to discuss this case with anyone during this trial. And I mean no one: not your spouse, attorney, health professional or spiritual advisor. You are not to discuss this case with your fellow jurors until you are in deliberation and I have given you specific instruction. You are not to speak to the defendant or the attorneys or any family members of the victims or defendant. You can take notes during trial but you must leave them here at the end of the day. At the end of the trial, your notes will be destroyed. You cannot go home and make notes of any kind regarding this case. You are not to read any articles or watch any news report regarding this case. You are not to make any judgments regarding this case. If someone approaches you and asks you about this case, you are to end the conversation immediately and report what happened to the bailiff, then he will tell me. Does everyone understand?”

Jury: “Yes, Your Honor.”

Judge: “Does anyone have any questions?”

Jury: “No, Your Honor.”

Judge: “Very good then. Madam Clerk, please swear in the jury.”

Courtroom Clerk: “Yes, Ma’am. Will the jury please stand and raise your right hand? Do each of you swear that you will fairly try the case before this court, and that you will return a true verdict according to the evidence and the instructions of the court? Please say, “I do”.

Jury: “I do.”

Courtroom Clerk: “You may be seated.”

Juror in seat #1 was the quiet type. She was an Asian woman in her late 20s, married and had children of her own.

Juror in seat #2 was an attractive Black man in his early 30s, married with children and a career. He was very friendly and laughed at all my jokes.

Juror in seat #3 was yours truly.

Juror in seat #4 was a Caucasian woman in her 50s. She was the quiet type also married and had a career. She spent all her breaks reading a thick novel. When she did speak out it was usually over someone else - truly annoying.

Juror in seat #5 was an Indian (red dot not feather) woman in her late 50s also married and worked as a supervising nurse. She was very friendly.

Juror in seat #6 was a Caucasian woman in her late 20s and single. She was quiet most of the time but did let slip that she held a PhD in physics.

Juror in seat #7 was a Caucasian woman in her mid 20s and engaged to be married.

Juror in seat #8 was a mixed race Black and Caucasian, pregnant woman (3^rd trimester pregnancy) who was in her mid 20s and worked as a nurse for cancer patients. She was also married and very friendly. During the breaks she would talk about how she was from the east coast and missed her family. I asked her where on the east coast is she from and she boldly stated, “Ohio.” I informed her that Ohio was in the Midwest. She said that she couldn’t accept that because Midwest for her was Nebraska so she considered Ohio on the east coast even though the state sits to the west of West Virginia.

Juror in seat #9 was a Caucasian man in his 50s also married and had a career in software and hardware development. He was very friendly and outspoken. He was on a jury last year but felt slighted because he was an alternate juror and when the jury was in deliberations and took lunch breaks, they were taken to nice restaurants while the alternates were sent to McDonald’s.

Juror in seat #10 was a Caucasian man in his late 50s and very quiet. His clothes were a little tattered and as he sat in seat 10 in front to the side of me, I noticed little drops of moisture that would appear on his seat. His hair was never wet and his clothes seemed dry. This perplexed me as to the origin of those droplets. He had a leak from somewhere and I was unwilling to pursue the investigation.

Juror in seat #11 was a Caucasian man in his late 50s and single. He worked as an instructor, teaching fiber optics.

Juror in seat #12 was an Asian American man in his early 30s, single and worked in an attorney’s office. .

The trial would begin the next day. DON’T BE LATE.

The next day, I was late. AGAIN. What’s wrong with me?! Was this some sort of subconscious protest? I had to get my shit together which meant no more stopping at Starbucks for a vanilla latte. Ugh! The sacrifices keep adding up! No worries. I started making my lattes at home and getting the kids off to school earlier. Problem solved.

After getting some instruction from the Judge, we were shown to the jury room, which was through another hidden door next to where the defendant was seated. We followed a narrow stairway up to the 4^th floor, walked past what looked like a cargo elevator and into a small room with windows made of smoked glass and wire. There was a long conference table, a bunch of chairs, a little frig, microwave, a coffee maker and bunch of old magazines. There were two restrooms: one for women and the other for men. There were instructions written on large poster paper in marker. “When the deputy closes the door, do not open it. It is for your safety.” The passageway we used was the same one used to move the defendants in and out of the courtrooms. What I thought was a cargo elevator was the elevator used for the defendants. I got a look inside once when it was left open by one of the deputies. The elevator was divided in two spaces. One side was basically a cage – you know, used for the presumed innocent.

When breaks and lunches were over, we had to ring a buzzer once. Then the deputy downstairs would buzz our room once as a reply. When the Judge was ready for the jurors to return to the courtroom, the deputy would buzz our room twice. Then another deputy would appear and unlock the door leading back to the courtroom. In numerical order, we would line up and walk back down the stairs to our assigned jury seats.

The Trial

The trial started and we saw nine witnesses. There was no drama or suspense. Strellis provided the comic relief by accidentally rubbing his blazer against the microphone each time he got up to question a witness then again when he would sit back down. There were giggles throughout the courtroom each time he did that. It did eventually get old.

In the audience section, family members were there everyday and sat on the side that was behind the prosecuting attorney’s table. No one came in for the defendant. His side remained empty unless a reporter wandered in to watch for a few minutes.

One thing missing from the entire trial was the presence of gavel play. The Judge never used a gavel at all. I guess there was never enough commotion to require the use of a gavel or maybe I’m just old fashioned. Anyway, the trial progressed smoothly and the witness testimony provided a clear picture of what happened March 5^th 2010.

The incident occurred on the corner of Linden and 30^th streets in Oakland at a house on the corner. Three men were on the front lawn at 2:30pm in the afternoon drinking beers and socializing. The first witness was retrieving items from the back of his car on the opposite corner at Linden and 30^th streets when he heard Mr. Reed approach the men and say, “What are you guys doing?” One of the victims responded in a loud, angry tone, “Nothin’!” The loud response got the witness’ attention so he turned around and watched the defendant, Mr. Reed, lift his sweatshirt, pull out a black and silver pistol from his pants waistline and start shooting.

He watched in horror as the men scattered. One man ran to the right of the house then along the side to the back. He was not shot. The second man began to run along the left side of the house to get to the back. Mr. Reed followed the man who ran to the left and kept shooting at him. He hit the man in the wrist, twice in the butt, once in the lower back and once in the leg. Then the shooter turned and as the third man was running to the sidewalk to get away, he shot him in the leg. The man fell to the ground landing on his side on the sidewalk. The shooter walked over to him, stood over him and fired three more shots – all three missed the victim. A few feet away a black 2 door Saturn was sitting perpendicular in the middle of the street with the engine running. Mr. Reed got into the passenger side of the car then the car turned left down 30^th street then made a left onto Chestnut.

Now a second witness saw a little of what happened before the shooting. She was walking her dogs on Chestnut when she noticed the black 2 door Saturn moving super slow toward her on Chestnut. The witness came to the corner of 30^th and Chestnut and crossed the 30^th Street intersection but remained on Chestnut. She saw the black 2 door Saturn slowly move toward the curb very close to the corner of 30^th and Chestnut. The car did not stop and as it continued to roll, the passenger door opened and Mr. Reed got out. Mr. Reed ran down 30^th street starting from the sidewalk on the right then crept down the middle of the street stopping in front of the house on the corner where the incident took place. The witness watched the black Saturn slowly follow Mr. Reed then stop perpendicular in the middle of the street as if he was going to make a U-turn or 3-point turn. The witness heard shots and hid behind a parked car but she could still see in a diagonal direction down 30^th street. She saw the third man fall to the sidewalk. She heard more shots then looked again and saw Mr. Reed run to the waiting black Saturn and get into the passenger side of the car. The car finished the U-turn heading back toward the witness on Chestnut. At the intersection of 30^th and Chestnut, the black Saturn turned left onto Chestnut and as it passed the witness, she made eye contact with Mr. Reed.

More evidence found included gun shot residue on Mr. Reed’s right hand. (And yes, he is right handed.) It took about 45 seconds for the police – who where in the area, to arrest Mr. Reed and the driver of the black Saturn but within those 45 seconds, Mr. Reed managed to ditch the gun and his hooded sweatshirt. Those items were not needed though because two witnesses identified Mr. Reed 15 minutes after his arrest. They both recognized his face and one did mention that Mr. Reed had changed his top.

So even though there wasn’t a lot of evidence, which did include two additional eyewitnesses, what the prosecutor had was enough to make a solid case against Mr. Reed. The defense spent the entire time trying to confuse the witnesses and the jurors. “It wasn’t my client,” said Mr. Strellis. “My client was arrested wearing a different top and there was no weapon found.” He also added that another person - a third person – was responsible for the shooting.

In the black Saturn was found a black and purple Colorado Rockies cap with DNA on it that came from a man named Al Collins. Lil’ Al as he was called was allegedly around when the incident went down. The defense called one witness, Ret. Officer Dodds, who testified to seeing Mr. Collins on Chestnut near 24^th Street. Mr. Reed and the driver of the black Saturn were detained on 26^th and Linden Street. Mr. Dodds even wrote a report stating that he saw someone while en route to backup the arresting officer but left off the report Al Collins’ name. It wasn’t until 5 months later; Mr. Dodds approached the homicide detective leading the investigation of Mr. Reed that he said that he heard on the street that Al Collins was involved. So, when the baseball cap came back from the lab with Mr. Collins’ DNA, the homicide investigator called Mr. Collins into his office and asked him some questions regarding the March 5^th incident. Mr. Collins denied having any part of the crime. Nothing further was investigated with regards to Mr. Collins because results came back from the lab of the gun shot residue on Mr. Reed’s hands. Furthermore, no other witnesses saw Al Collins in the area on March 5^th. A few weeks later Mr. Collins was murdered.

Closing Arguments

The prosecutor recapped all the evidence against Mr. Reed. There were no surprises until the defense attorney, Mr. Strellis, delivered his closing arguments. Mr. Strellis insisted that Mr. Reed was misidentified as the shooter then eluded that Mr. Collins should have been the main suspect. But then he ended his argument with the most interesting Freudian slip I had heard all year long: “It’s in the evidence. Mr. Collins didn’t do it!” I couldn’t believe he didn’t catch himself. I expected a quick, “Strike that! I mean, my client didn’t do it.” Too bad jurors cannot consider anything and everything the attorneys say as evidence.

Deliberation

Finally. The day we have all been waiting for had arrived. We could now talk about the case and compare notes. I had imagined that once the Judge had excused us to deliberate there would be a mad rush to get up stairs. There would be pushing and shoving to get in that room. There wasn’t. We marched as usually up the stairs and we each found a seat around the conference table.

The first order of business was to select a foreperson. Juror #7 enthusiastically volunteered and Juror #2 nominated her then another juror second the nomination.

Me: “All those in favor of Juror #7 being the foreperson say aye.”

Everyone: “Aye.”

Me: “All those who oppose say nay”

Silence.

Me: “Alright. Let’s get started.”

Juror #7’s first idea was to have someone draw a map of the streets involved. I wondered why do that when exhibit #7 was a blown up map of the area but I said nothing. I decided I would observe. The quiet people were beginning to talk and I wanted to get a sense of how this deliberation thing was going to pan out. Sure enough, instead of jumping right to the main points of the trial, people had gotten lost drawing a map and arguing over how long the streets were and whose house sat where etc. So then I suggested, “Hey, how about we discuss the main points of each witness and compare our notes?” Oh, great idea. Let’s do that. Not. We began to discuss the witnesses but people again got caught up talking about how long people worked in their careers and other irrelevant stuff. So I just let it play out till 4:30pm. Two hours was not enough time to wrangle the group into focusing on the hard facts. We would continue the deliberation the next day.

All night long, I thought about the case and how to get the jurors to focus on the main points and not the changing of clothes or that a witness was only 5 feet in height. I kept thinking about Occam’s Razor: the result requiring the fewest assumptions is most likely to be correct. How am I going to implement this without sounding condescending? I thought about that the whole train ride to Oakland the next day.

I arrived at court early. I thought, “This is the day. We will reach a verdict. This is not complicated. It doesn’t have to be. As we entered the jury room, there were two boxes of pastries on the table complements of Judge Rhynes with a lovely hand written note that read:

Jury Members,

Thank you for your service on this jury and to our community.

Enjoy the pastries!

Judge Gloria F. Rhynes

What a sweetheart, right? How thoughtful of her to think of us. I immediately began writing a thank you note to her. Meanwhile, Juror #7 wanted to pick up where we left off but before someone could get up to recount how many bullet casing where found or where they were found, I had to say something.

Me: “How about we just make a list of the major points. I have 4 eyewitnesses and GSR (gun powder residue).”

Juror #7 began a new poster page and started writing what I had said. The room got quiet so I said, “Ok, where is the doubt?”

Juror #11: “I have a problem with the GSR.”

Juror #7: “Ok, let’s explore that.”

Juror #11: “What if it’s transfer?”

Juror #10: “Or what if it came from something else?”

Juror #9: “The expert witness said that those three particles are only found from firing guns and the only other place those compounds are found is in a brake pad manufacturing plant in Europe.”

Me: “Good point #10. Did anyone check Mr. Reed’s passport?”

Laughs are heard around the rooms.

Juror #10: “Well what if it is transfer from the backseat of the police car? I mean, how did only 2 of the 3 particles get on his left hand?”

At that point, I stood up and turned around placing my hands behind my back to show how the tops of my hands touched at the thumbs and forefinger. “That’s how,” I said.

Juror #11: He could of gotten transfer by picking up a gun.”

Juror #9: Then the residue would have been on the palm of his hand. The person who administered the GSR test showed us where she collects the residue from. It was from the top of his hand by the thumb and forefinger.”

Juror #10: “What if he wore gloves?”

Juror #12: “Then there wouldn’t be any GSR on his hands at all.”

Juror #10: “Oh, right. He should have worn gloves.”

Me: “You can tell him that for next time.”

Laughs were heard around the room then everyone was quiet.

Me: “How about we take a vote to whether or not Mr. Reed is guilty”

People began to nod in compliance. We each tore a sheet of paper from our note pads and wrote then passed them to the foreperson. She opened each vote and started a pile. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. There were 11 guilty votes and 1 not guilty vote.

Me: “Ok, who voted not guilty? Let’s discuss the doubt.” I knew it was Juror #11 who voted not guilty but he sat there and said nothing.

Juror #7: “Whoever voted not guilty doesn’t have to say anything. Let’s just talk about where there is possible doubt. Anyone wanna play devil’s advocate?”

Juror #9: “Ok, I’ll play. Let’s talk about the GSR again.”

Juror #11: “Yeah, what if it’s transfer? He could have picked up a gun that had been fired.”

Me: “Are you questioning the science?” I said to Juror #11.

Juror #11: “Well, how much GSR found constitutes that it’s GSR?

Juror #2: “The expert said that even if one particle was found constituted the presence of gun powder residue.”

Juror #6: “That’s why I submitted that question to the expert during trial. I’ve studied physics so I’m like, hey wait a minute: how many particles is needed for a positive result and how can a partial compound be transferred?”

Again, another Juror re-explained how it is not possible to pick up a gun using the back of your hand. The repetition was stressful for me and I could tell other jurors were getting frustrated with Juror #11. When the dialog died down again I suggested we take another vote.

Juror #11: “Well, I don’t think we need to do that unless someone has changed their vote from guilty to not guilty. It was me who voted not guilty even though I do think he is guilty. I just wanted more conversation.”

There was big UGH from the majority of the jurors. I looked at Juror #11 and said, “I knew it was you.”

Juror #7: “Then let’s just vote by hand. Who thinks Mr. Reed is guilty of the crime.” Everyone raised his or her hand. “Ok, so now we need to determine if the first victim was murdered in first degree or second degree.”

We were confident that the first victim killed was a planned target. He was shot at first and received five bullet wounds to his body. The intent was there, the deliberation was there and there was malice aforethought. Done. Juror #7 filled in the form for murder in the first degree for the first victim.

Now we had to talk about the second victim. He was shot once in the leg and the bullet severed an artery that caused him to expire later that day at the hospital. All but three jurors felt Mr. Reed should get murder in the first for the second victim because he followed the victim after the first shot to the leg, stood over him and shot again three more times. The three jurors felt that since Mr. Reed missed the final three shots that maybe he was just trying to scare the victim.

Me: “What if he’s just a lousy shot? Firing a handgun is painful to your hand. By the time he got to the second victim, he had already fired off 9 shots.”

Juror #10: “I don’t know. It just seems like if he wanted to hit him he would have?”

Me: “We don’t know if he knew he hit him or not. He didn’t stick around and study the wounds. Plus look at his aim for the first victim. He shot him in the butt twice, in the wrist and in the leg and his lower back.”

Juror #9: What makes this murder in the first for me is that he followed up with the guy. He could have let him keep running or stopped at the one shot that took him down. He followed him, stood over him and shot 3 more times. That’s intent, deliberation and malice aforethought to me.”

Juror #11: “What difference does it make? He got murder in the first degree for the first guy. It’s not like he’s not going to jail for a long time for that. Just say the second one is murder in the second.”

Juror #10: “I guess I’m just on the fence about this. How do we know he indented to kill the second victim?”

Juror #2: “Because he followed him! He obviously didn’t know that shot to the leg was fatal.”

Juror #5: “I agree. If it was only the one shot and then he run away, I would think the second victim was an after thought.”

Juror #8: “Yeah, he definitely had specific targets in mind. He didn’t go after the other guy that ran behind the house and he didn’t shoot the witness who he made eye contact with after he shot the second victim in the leg.”

Juror #10: “I’m just not seeing the deliberateness. Why did he miss those last three shots?”

Me: “ Because he’s a lousy shot. Is that really so hard to accept?”

Juror #7: “Who all believes the second victim was murder in the second degree?”

Jurors #10, #11 and #1 raise their hands.

Juror #11: “Why can’t the rest of you just concede to murder in he second?”

Me: “We’re the majority. You concede!”

Juror #7: Wait wait, let’s just talk this out.”

Juror #11: “I bet this is a re-trial anyway.”

Juror #4: “Yeah, I think it is too. Why else would it take four years to go to trial?”

Me: “Whoa whoa whoa! You two don’t know if this is a re-trial. The delay could be from something else and we don’t know. We’re not supposed to know. We make our decision by the evidence in the box.”

Juror #10: “Well, I’m still on the fence about this. I just don’t think he intended to kill that guy.”

This went on and on. Then there was talk of what happened if we couldn’t agree. Would the charge be defaulted to murder in the second? Jurors #7 re-read the instructions again. She still wasn’t clear what would happen if we couldn’t agree so she decided to write the judge a formal note asking the question. There was a form for that too. After it was filled out and sealed in an envelope, the bailiff was called by pressing the buzzer twice. While Juror #7 carefully filled out the form, Juror #9 spoke. He was fed up, as was I.

Juror #9: “Even though I do believe the second victim was murder in the first, I can change my vote to murder in the second.”

Yep, the three confused jurors were not budging. You know the old saying, “You can’t argue with stupid” was true and they were possibly stalling just to drag out the deliberations for the company. I know lonely Juror #11 was capable of doing that.

Me: “For the sake of moving forward, I will change my vote as well.”

Juror #10: “But I’m really close but still on the fence. I just need a little more time…”

Other jurors saw the light and began to verbally state they would agree to murder in the second degree.

Me: Then let’s take a vote.”

We all voted and unanimously agreed to murder in the second. Then Juror #7 just sat there doing nothing.

Juror #9: “Aren’t you going to fill out the paperwork?”

Juror #7: “Oh, you don’t want to wait to hear back from the Judge?”

Several jurors shouted NO – just do it already.

The Verdict

One of the jurors pushed the buzzer three times to signal the bailiff that we had reached a decision. We waited for about 45 minutes. When we got back in the courtroom, there were four extra bailiffs – most of them around the defendant, Mr. Reed. Others included journalist and the families of the slain victims. No one showed up for Mr. Reed.

The verdict was read then as we were dismissed to return upstairs to the jury room, the Judge left through the door to her chambers then re-entered the courtroom through the main entrance. She stood next to a bailiff and told us she needed our badges back. So one by one she thanked us, shook our hands and wished us well. When she got to me, she said, “Oh my you are a tall one.” I gave her my badge and the thank you note I had written.

The Big Reveal

When we got back upstairs, everyone began getting their stuff together but we waited around because the attorneys were coming up to see us for the question and answer phase. There was a knock on the door and in came the prosecuting attorney, Mr. James, defense attorney, Mr. Strellis, the homicide investigator and a bailiff.

So the reason the trial took 4 years was because Mr. Strellis was trying everything and anything to get Mr. Reed ruled mentally incompetent. He said Mr. Reed’s IQ was close to 70. Okay, so Mr. Reed is not a criminal mastermind like Lex Luthor. He’s more like Luthor’s sidekick, Otis. Well, most human IQs are around 100 so close to 70 isn’t the end of the world. It’s not like Mr. Reed could never get a job doing manual labor or hosting his own show on Fox News. Besides, I watched him during the trial. There was no waving to people with a big ol’ smile; he didn’t try to hug the bailiff or call out for his Mama; he didn’t drool or clap wildly out of context. He’s just slow.

I asked what happened to the driver of the black Saturn, Jason Watts. His trial was in 2012. He was sentenced to two counts of murder in the first degree. I bet Watts will be pissed to learn that his shooter got murder in the second for one of the victims.

A juror asked if they ever figured out a motive for the killings. Mr. James stated that the driver of the black Saturn, Jason Watts, had a brother who was shot the day before the incident. Reed’s double murder was retaliation but they never got any proof of that so the story never made it into evidence. Sentencing for Mr. Reed will be July 11, 2014.

UPDATE

Deshawn Reed was sentenced to life without parole. Mr. Strelis claims he will file an appeal.

Meru and Deva

2014-03-20T11:30:00.000-07:00

One beautiful spring day, on a quiet neighborhood street, lived the Hope family. Ben was the head of the household at age 55. He was about 6 feet in height and slightly overweight but was proud that he still had all his hair on his head. His wife was Meru. Meru was a housewife and enjoyed running the house and looking after the couples 4 boys, whose ages ranged from 8 to 16. All four boys looked like their mother, Meru, who was about 5 feet 4 inches tall and fit. She always wore her brown slightly wavy hair shoulder length with bangs cut just above her big, brown eyes.

One day while the boys were out playing in the neighborhood, Meru found Ben in the family room playing pool on the computer. Meru loved making lists and planning so she was hardly ever seen without a pen and notepad.

“Babe,” said Meru, “I’m updating our new year’s resolution list with a few things. Do you have a moment?”

Ben broke his focus on the computer and turned in his office chair to face Meru as she sat on the nearby couch. “Sure, what-cha got, Mare?”

“We need to replace the vacuum this year…”

Ben nodded in compliance, “For sure. We’ve had that vacuum for almost 20 years.”

Meru continued, “Logan and Kade need to learn how to swim this summer…”

“Yep, it’s time.” Added Ben. “The boys are 10 and 8. What about painting the house this summer?”

“Oh, yeah! Good one. Let’s paint the outside of the house. Same color okay?”

“The same color will make it easier. I’ll get the boys to help,” said Ben.

“Good. I also want the carpets cleaned before the Fall.” Meru thought for a moment tapping her lips with the pen then asked, “Do you want a new car?”

“No, I like my car,” said Ben

“Do you want anything this year?” Asked Meru.

“I want another baby,” responded Ben trying not to laugh.

“You’re funny, Ben. I’ll be 47 this year and I have no desire to revisit breast-feeding or childbirth; besides, you got a vasectomy after Kade was born AND you’re almost 60. You should rethink wanting another baby.”

“You’re right, Mare. I don’t want another baby. I want two.”

Meru burst out laughing, “HAHAHAHA. No.”

“I know you’ve always wanted a daughter.”

“Oh my god, Babe! We’ve discussed this a million times already. Kade was our Hail Mary for a girl.”

“But you have such a close relationship with your mother.”

“So what. That’s probably because I’m adopted,” responded Meru.

“You are not adopted, Meru. You look just like your mother.”

“I know there is a resemblance but there are no pictures of her pregnant with me and no stories about my delivery. I’ve seen all the pictures of her carrying my brothers but none of me. It’s like I just showed up one day. There is just something missing.”

“You’re paranoid, Mare. Do you hear yourself?”

“I know how I sound but it’s the way I feel. I just feel detached from my brothers. I don’t know if it’s the age difference between us that plays in that. I just don’t know.”

“You should have a talk with Deva. Haven’t you brought this up to her?” Said Ben.

“Yeah, sort of, but she just laughs and tells me that she loves me then changes the subject. I’ve spent a lot of time with Mom over the years. She will be 94 years old tomorrow. I should be so lucky to live that long. I’m excited to take her out for dinner.”

“I’m looking forward to the dinner too. So, no baby?”

“No, Ben. No baby.”

“Ookay, you can’t say I didn’t offer.”

“Whatever. I know it’s just the senility talking, “ said Meru refocusing on her list.

“Oh, add lots of hot sex and new cell phones to the list.” Said Ben refocusing back to his game on the computer.

“Cool, new cell phones!” Says Meru as she writes on her notepad.

On Deva’s birthday, her family took her out for a celebratory dinner at her favorite restaurant. Deva was very happy to see her family all together and made a point to speak to everyone individually telling them how proud she was of them and how she loved them dearly. When the time came to part ways, Deva wanted only Meru to drive her home. After dropping off Ben and the kids, Meru drove Deva in her SUV to her house alone.

Deva began, “I had a very nice time tonight. Thank you so much, Meru.”

Meru replied, “You know I’d do anything for you, Mom. You’ve been very good to me and I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

Deva thought for a moment then said, “You’ve very sweet, Dear. I need you to stay with me for a bit. I have something I need to share with you.”

Meru replied a little worried, “Of course, Mom. Is everything okay?”

Deva reassured her, “Everything is as it should be and as it always is.”

Meru did not take to heart what Deva had just said to focus on driving the dark streets to Deva’s house that sat back from the quiet street with large pine trees between the house and the street. Once there, Meru pulled into the driveway then helped Deva from her car and into the house. Deva turned on the living rooms lights then told Meru to sit on the couch and wait. Deva was an antiques collector. She had acquired many artifacts in her lifetime but most of the artifacts were pasted down to her from family. The antiques were displayed in two rooms of her home and divided into little sections each representing a different part of the world at different times.

Meru complied as Deva left through a hallway toward the bedrooms. Deva was still strong for a 94-year-old woman. She was a tiny bit shorter than Meru now with her gray hair swept back into a braided bun. She had the same big brown eyes, which were bright. Meru sat on the couch and began to look at the covers of the magazines that lain atop the old chest Deva used as a coffee table.

The chest was very old and made of dark wood. The outward appearance was plain with a metal latch that fastened the top. On the sides and front of the chest were carvings that were too worn to decipher except for the likeness of a tree being struck by lightening.

Deva returned dressed in her robe holding a large binder thick with papers and a very large scrapbook. She sat on the couch next to Meru and placed the items on the chest.

“Mom,” said Meru stroking the edge of the chest, “this chest is so old. What do you want me to do with it when you go?”

“You are to keep that chest, Meru. I mean it. It’s been in our family for many years.”

“Oh, wow!” Said Meru surprised, “I had no idea. You’ve never really talked about our family history.”

“I know and it was hard for me not to but for the best.” Said Deva.

“Well that’s sad,” replied Meru. “What, are we descendants of murders and thieves?”

“No, we are not,” said Deva then changed the subject. “Tell me something Meru. Have you ever thought about time travel?”

“Not really. I mean, we are traveling through time – forward through time even though we exist only in the present. Is that what you’re talking about?”

Deva added, “If you could start your life over again, would you?”

“I don’t know. Why would I?”

“Exactly, Meru! Why would you unless you had a specific purpose?”

“Yeah, I guess.” There was silence then Meru said, “Mom, can I ask you something?”

“Any thing, Dear.” Deva gave her full attention to Meru.

“Why don’t you have any pictures of yourself pregnant with me?” Then Meru added half jokingly, “Am I adopted or something?”

“Not exactly…”

Meru was shocked and exclaimed, “I knew it!”

“Hold on, Meru. Let me explain. I have a lot of information for you and I’m not sure how to start.”

Meru stared at the chest to avoid eye contact with Deva then answered, “Just start from the beginning.”

The rest of the story can be found in Life Happens: The Short Story Collection available on Amazon.com and Kindle.

Moving On

2013-03-07T19:31:00.001-08:00

Professor Calvin Arc enters the classroom with his briefcase in hand. He walks to his large desk and places the briefcase on top opening it to get his laptop out.

Addressing the class, Cal says, “Ok, graduates. Let’s get started. Your papers have been thoroughly scrutinized and returned to your inbox. If you have questions then make an appointment with my office but please be sure to read the generous notes I left for you on your papers first. Thank you very much. Overall, I was pleased with the stories submitted with one exception but at least most of you are well on your way to becoming Master writers.”

Shayla raises her hand from the back of the class.

Cal responds, “Um, Shayla, I need to speak to you after class. Now class, today we will begin developing your editing skills using the stories you’ve written from your first assignment….”

At the end of the class, Shayla remains seated until all the students exit the classroom. Professor Arc is seated at his desk working on his laptop. His dark graying hair falls just past the top of his glasses but is always kept short just above his ears. Shayla approaches.

“My paper wasn’t in my inbox. Is there a problem?”

“Shayla.” [sigh] “Your work is still with the review committee. You might be expelled.”

“So soon? This is the second week.”

“There is always a purging processes done to eliminate students who shouldn’t be here.”

“Nice. So what am I being charged with? It was just a story.”

“Just a story? You know, it’s been twenty-some years now, Shayla. Your story was completely inappropriate for our situation here. You know my wife is on the review board and you know she objects to you being here…”

Shayla interrupts, “I think you’re all just over reacting to a little fiction.”

“It was more like a little juvenile to be honest. You’re still a good writer. You just need to know how to edit yourself in regards to content.”

“I’m not sure how to respond to that, Cal.”

“Look, I’ve got a meeting to get to. You wanna meet me for breakfast tomorrow…off campus?”

“Sure. Sally’s?

“Done. I’ll be there at 7am.”

“Till then.”

Cal and Shayla go their separate ways.

That evening, Shayla sits staring at her computer. From behind her, she hears a familiar voice.

“How did it go today?”

Shayla responds without breaking her gaze from the computer, “I have to meet with the review committee. The content of my story is in question. How was your day, Pete?”

“Endless.”

“Cal wants to meet for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Well that’s encouraging. You know I’m right about him.” Says Pete.

“I don’t trust him, Pete. He turned on me once before…”

“I trust him. Doesn’t that count for something. Who’s always right?”

“You are.”

“Then relax, Shayla.”

“What about you, Pete?”

“I told you. When you’re taken care of, I can go.”

“Can’t we just keep things as they are?”

“That’s not fair to you.”

“You’re just like Captain Gregg from that movie with Rex Harrison and Gene Tierney.”

“That’s my romantic Shayla always comparing life to old movies.”

“I loved The Ghost and Mrs. Muir but I disagreed with Captain Gregg. He should have stayed with Lucy.”

“It ended well for them though as it will for us.”

The rest of the story can be found in Life Happens: The Short Story Collection available on Amazon.com and Kindle. https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=r+jozwiakowski

2013-01-22T12:40:00.000-08:00

My favorite Disney movie of all time is Cinderella. I’m sure most people love the movie because Cinderella falls in love with the prince and lives happily ever after. Not me. I identify with this movie because I know first hand what it is like to be abused mentally and physically by not one but two stepparents. So the best part of the movie for me is when Cinderella gets to stick it to her Step-Monster by whipping out the other glass slipper after the other glass slipper was busted on the floor. The only dialog missing from the movie at that moment is Cinderella saying while looking straight at her Step-Monster, “Bitch, you just got served!”

The Stupid Annoying Situation

2012-12-12T10:47:00.000-08:00

Almost every morning, as I walk my children to school, I have to step over fast food trash, used condoms and empty containers of lube left on the sidewalk next to my house. I don’t know who is leaving the mess but since it’s a repeat offender, I know it’s one of my neighbors.

I’m annoyed with having to clean up the mess so I’ve come up with some solutions that may stop my neighbor’s piggish behavior.

Step 1: Post a NO LITTERING sign on my fence in plain sight where the offense usually takes place.

I know the first question is: Do litterbugs even know how to read? I must assume the answer is yes and if the sign can deter further littering then it’s well worth it. If by chance that has no affect on said offender then I will try Step 2.

Step 2: Leave a note on the car of the offender.

Sometimes private humiliation is a good deterrent. I won’t threaten him or use coarse language like I’d like to but I will merely let him know that his actions have not gone unnoticed by the neighborhood and to please stop leaving trash on the sidewalk and street. If by chance that has no affect on said offender then I will try Step 3.

Step 3: Gather the trash left on the sidewalk and street then leave it on the offender’s doorstep with a note.

The note will be simple. “Dear Neighbor, You left your trash on the sidewalk again. Please remember to dispose of your garbage in a trashcan and help keep our neighborhood clean. Thanks!” If he still does not change his piggish ways then I will try Step 4.

Step 4: I will park both my large vehicles along side my house leaving too little space for anything short of a smart car, which will force the litterbug to park farther away from his own house.

Since he has made inconveniences for me, all I can do is return the favor. I won’t slash his tires or bust all his car windows either because, he knows where I live and nothing would stop him from vandalizing my property. Therefore, all I can do is keep smiling while being a total bitch.

I should mention that there is a Step 5. It’s risky. It’s dangerous. It would work. The litterbug just happens to masturbate in front of my 4 year old daughter’s bedroom window and even though he’s in his car; he is still in front of her window. All I have to do is mention that to my Six9 - oh so protective of his daughter - husband and the offender would get a not so pleasant personal visit.

THE BROTHERS

2012-09-28T23:06:00.000-07:00

When I was about 5 years old, I lived on a quiet street. I was the only kid on the block so my one dream was to have potential friends move onto my block or at least close by. One summer day, a large moving truck was parked in front of the house across from mine. Days before, the people living in that house were evicted then the house was sold at auction. I sat and waited across the street staring at the house. Will they have kids my age? Will they be nice? The following weekend, my dream came true.

I was at the playground when I noticed two new boys riding their bikes. They liked to ride fast like me. When they stopped at the jungle gym to play, I approached them. We were the same size except for one was a little taller than me. The tall one had brown hair and eyes. His name was Adam. The other one was Riley. He had blond hair and blue eyes.

“Hi Guys! I’m Jacob. What’s your name?”

Adam approached me, “I’m Adam and that’s my brother, Riley. How old are you?”

“I’m five.”

“That’s cool. I’m seven,” said Adam.

Then Riley ran up to us and spoke to Adam, “Who’s this?”

“I’m Jacob.” I said looking at Riley. “How old are you, Riley?”

“I’m seven,” said Riley

Then Adam added, “Yeah, but I’m a few months older. Do you have a bike?”

“Yeah,” I answered.

“If you get it, we can ride around the playground,” said Adam.

“Ok! I‘ll ask my mom,” I was excited. “I’ll be right back Guys.”

“I call being the leader first!” said Riley.

Then Adam said, “I call second!”

Sonnet to Him

2012-06-28T15:01:00.000-07:00

The sky still sleeps as darkness weeps with cool silence.

I lie awake in the quiet my thoughts of you while you think of me.
I am aware of your love-struck loyalty and every year you prevail with politeness.
Your forged public loyalty is laughable and obvious to me.

This undying, unrelenting connection between you and me has no room for denial.

In dreams I see your eyes and hear your voice.
We smile.
We reunite in waves of warm wet tenderness submerged in passion but not by choice.

What is this strange connection?

So unbreakable our unconsciousness’ seized and thrust together.
The unsaid words between us hold more meaning than perfection.
Mere thoughts devour my heart plunging it deeper sealing the link forever.

After the union we are released to our restless faux covets able to function in light.

Our true selves only exposed once again in the night.

By The Sword

2012-06-16T10:51:00.000-07:00

Acacia was an A student. At least she was until she finished the 10^th grade. She blamed her teacher, Miss Harris for a long time. Looking back, it was the day of the final exam in Miss Harris’ class that changed everything. Class was two hours long. At the sound the bell, Miss Harris handed out the final. There were 3 essay questions and 50 multiple choice questions covering the last 6 novels read by the class.

Acacia finished her exam in record time, about 45 minutes. She rushed to the front of the class with her test and handed it to Miss Harris. Miss Harris whispered, “Don’t you want to go over your essays and answers? You have plenty of time, Acacia.”

Acacia responded, “No, it’s good enough for an A. I’d rather just go.”

Concerned, Miss Harris said, “Acacia, you know the rules during finals. No students are permitted to leave the classroom until the bell. Did you make special arrangements?”

“No.”

“Then you need to take a seat and read or prepare for your next final.”

“I have to go to work! So I need to go now!” Acacia was getting heated.

“Acacia, if you leave, I have to give you an F on your exam and report you to the principal’s office.”

“Fuck you Bitch!”

A Cycle of Life

2012-05-04T10:32:00.000-07:00

One spring morning two doves worked tirelessly to build a nest in a planter that hung from my porch. The doves were precious. They cooed at each other and mated on my doorstep. Soon there were three eggs in the nest. Both doves took turns keeping the eggs warm. One bird stayed during the night then in the morning, the other bird would arrive to relieve its mate.

I was not the only one to notice the dove’s routine for there was a big, fat, cockeyed, brown and white cat lurking nearby. I chased the cat away but I knew the doves and the eggs were doomed. The next day upon my return home from morning errands, I walked the path to the front door and noticed two large areas on the lawn that were covered with feathers. My front doorstep was also covered in feathers. The nest was empty.

The Pleasures of Yard Work

2012-04-23T19:32:00.001-07:00

I do enjoy yard work but the next day I always feel like I competed in a triathlon and placed second - a close second - which in itself is remarkable for I was the only female competing with a bunch of 20-something year old men. And they were all good looking too - very good looking. I can’t tell you how many times I was approached for my phone number. Okay, so I was never approached but that was because I had such a huge lead. I mean, really, must yard work be so hard on my body? It’s not like I don’t workout but obviously my workouts don’t measure up to trimming a hedge, raking and sweeping. I must be old.

HIGH HOPES

2012-03-27T22:05:00.001-07:00

One Sunday morning, Emmett awoke with a jump! “Glory be to Jesus! Milly, wake up!” He shook Mildred from a dead sleep.

“Are you okay Emmett?” said Mildred very concerned.

“Saints Alive Milly! Saints Alive!”

“Are you having a heart attack Emmett? I’m gonna get the doctor on the line.” Mildred moved to reach for the phone at her bedside.

“No woman! I’m as fit as ever. I had a vision!”

Emmett and Mildred Denard were simple people. They lived a modest life in their little two-bedroom house on a quiet street. Emmett worked as a bus driver while Mildred was a cashier at the local grocery market. Together they went to church every Sunday and bible study Wednesday evenings. They very much loved the Lord.

The Apathetic Fool

2012-03-18T18:20:00.000-07:00

Dane never considered anyone but himself. Usually that’s the case for an only child but Dane was the youngest of 10 children even though his closest sibling was 15 years older than him. Dane was still loved by his mother as best she could until she died when he was 3 years old. Dane’s father was never a hands-on daddy unless Dane needed a spanking and his wife’s death hardened him even more so Dane was sent to live with one of his sisters.

Betsy was married and had children of her own but they were teenagers. Betsy took Dane in but loved him as only a sister could in that she looked after him and made sure he was fed, cleaned daily and went to school. Her children were too busy with their own lives to give much time to Dane either but they thought he was cute and that it was funny to call him Uncle Dane. For years, Dane thought his first name was Uncle. It wasn’t until middle school that he learned what an Uncle really was but it never really mattered to him. Dane lived in his own world and that world was baseball.

At 6 years old Dane played T-ball then Little League at age 9. He joined the team at school and all of his coaches through the years loved Dane’s enthusiasm for the game but they all agreed that Dane would never become a serious ball player - not with his pigeon toed feet. Dane would always be a life long fan.

Dane thought of himself as a true baseball fan too and not just because he loved eating hot dogs; he didn’t collect player cards or pennants or jerseys like most fans. Dane preferred to collect baseballs but more specifically, foul balls. There was less competition for that. Dane would go to games and sit only where foul balls were likely to come his way. The balls weren’t worth anything especially since Dane never got a ball autographed. He was too shy to ever approach any player including his all time favorite ball player, Bucky Dent.

My Winter Rant

2012-02-16T14:40:00.000-08:00

I like to look at back issues of Playboy for three reasons: 1) To find the hidden bunny on the front cover; 2) To look at the naked ladies but not for arousal, rather to be critical at all the over bleaching they do to their teeth; and 3) To read the Playboy Advisor.

The funniest submission to the Advisor was in a back issue from May 2003. E.R. in Las Vegas wrote:

“I love to have my girlfriend sit on my face so I can lick her. The problem is that I inhale her wetness through my nose. I can usually smell her for days. It’s not unpleasant, but sometimes it kills my appetite. Any suggestions?”

My first reaction was to laugh and laugh and laugh for this was a new one on me. My second thought was, “Wait a minute! You mean to tell me I’ve been sittin’ on the best completely organic appetite suppressant for decades?!” If only it were that simple. My own scent does not suppress anything and I’d rather stab myself repeatedly in the face before sampling any other woman’s scent.

I didn’t read the Advisor’s response at first but I started to think, “Why would that guy’s sinus smell like lady-crotch days after? And what did the Advisor tell him?” I know what I would say and it wouldn’t be nice but then again, is it ever? I’d say:

“Dear E.R. thanks for writing. When you’re done being a human bidet for your woman, blow your nose and wash your face with soap and water. Feel free to get in the shower daily and rub the soap all over your body because it’s clear to me that you don’t have a fucking clue about personal hygiene. If that doesn’t work, try using a Neti pot. Good Day!”

The actual response wasn’t nearly as informative as I thought it should be but hey, it’s Playboy and not JAMA. The response is below. It’s a keeper.

“None. We love that smell.”

The Hook-Up

2012-02-09T16:45:00.000-08:00

Her: Hey you let’s chat.
Him: Ok
Her: Thanks for adding me as a friend. I hope your wife doesn’t mind.
Him: Why would she mind? She has no clue.
Her: You didn’t tell her our history?
Him: Hell no. I was seeing her at the time…remember?
Her: Oh, right. So she knows nothing?
Him: Nothing. She’s clueless.
Her: Did you even tell her about your Ex?
Him: All she knows is that she’s my Ex but I never gave her details.
Her: How come?
Him: It’s none of her business.
Her: I noticed she’s not on your friends list.
Him: Yeah. It’s complicated. Is she on yours?
Her: No. I never asked.
Him: Why not?
Her: I broke the code.
Him: Do you think she knows?
Her: I don’t know but it’s not like she’s approached me.
Him: She knows.
Her: Oh. So what’s new? Got another kid on the way?
Him: Ha-Ha - you’re funny. What have you been up to?
Her: My horses.
Him: So you’ve moved on to bigger.
Her: And better. I have needs too you know.
Him: Don’t I know it. Aren’t you afraid of disease…for the horses?
Her: I clean them every week. I am a mother you know.
Him: Does your husband know?
Her: He’s clueless too.
Him: So he doesn’t know his wife is a mega super slut?
Her: How would he? It’s not like we met in college.
Him: I met mine in college and she still doesn’t know about me. She’s ignorant like that.
Her: HaHa - but I thought she was smart. Doesn’t she have a bunch of degrees?
Him: She’s book smart but has no common sense. I think she just married me for my name anyway.
Her: Oh, I thought you married her for her name. HaHa!
Him: Very funny.
Her: It’s kind of obvious, Dude.
Him: You don’t know.
Her: I saw your son’s graduation picture the other day. He looks just like you.
Him: I’m just happy I didn’t have to pay for him.
Her: She never asked for support?
Him: No way. She pinned it on another guy after I gave her directions to Planned Parenthood.
Her: HaHa! You really did that?
Him: There was no way I was gonna marry that fat fug. She knows why she got some.
Her: She should have named him Rolling Rock. LoL
Him: Yeah, total beer goggle moment for me back then.
Her: Right. And I’m so grateful too…especially for the STD.
Him: I thought you gave me an STD.
Her: Yeah, I think I gave you herpes.
Him: Shit, that was you? Fuck you.
Her: HaHaHaHa! You’re welcome.
Him: No worries. So when can I see you? I’ve missed you.
Her: Are you THAT hungry?
Him: The wife isn’t as adventurous. It’s frustrating.
Her: So how do you manage?
Him: I just go and get a bj from one of my students. No big.
Her: Aren’t you worried about losing your job? Or jail time?
Him: My students are very loyal and the school loves me.
Her: Nice. You should still be careful.
Him: I’ve been here over 10 years. I think I know what I’m doing.
Her: If you say so.
Him: So when can you make the drive over the hill?
Her: Well, I’m partial to my horses now. I’m so stretched out but my ass is tight.
Him: That’s good enough for me. The wife won’t let me go back door.
Her: Really? What a prude!
Him: No shit. She thinks it’s a sin.
Her: Bawhahahahahahaha!
Him: I know.
Her: How’s next week?

My Suspicions Have Been Confirmed

2012-01-26T14:46:00.000-08:00

When the term Short Sale started being tossed around a few years ago, a lot of people thought it would be somewhat of a saving grace to get out of a property that was under water. But, there was major bottle necking on the bank’s end. Why? The bank agreed to process short sales in the first place so why the hold up?

Here’s why: The banks want the properties to foreclose. Oh, I’ve heard too that that’s ‘ridiculous’ for the banks would lose money. Not so. If there is one-thing banks know, it’s how to make money with very little effort. So that being said, not only did the banks manage to swindle the government out of billions of dollars with false promises, they also know that more money could be made on a property if it’s written off as a loss.

Moreover, the banks keep the deeds and then rent out the properties to Section 8 people. Now there is a domino effect. The Section 8 people move in, crime and vandalism goes up driving down the market value of the all the neighboring properties and thus creates more foreclosures and a sprinkling of short sales.

What we have here is an old fashioned shake-down. The government wants more regulations so the banks cannot sell fraudulent loans. The banks don’t want regulations b/c they want as much money as possible regardless of who suffers for it. And who suffers? Regular hard working people suffer for it. The banks are writing very few loans and demanding more money for down payments so unless you have over 20% to put down, you will not get a loan with a fair interest rate. Sure, lenders are dangling low interest rates to get people through the door but then they will convince you and that a credit rating of 750 isn’t good enough to secure a loan at the available rate.

So what can the people do about this? No, really. What can be done? If you don’t have the cash to buy a home outright, then you have to deal with the banks. The Occupy protesters had a good idea to take money out of the banks and use credit unions but that’s not enough and not everyone is on board with that. I know the banks are holding out until a republican is back in the oval office. When that happens, a windfall of loans will be written but the interest rate will be ridiculously inflated.

My Recent Dream

2011-12-29T14:43:00.000-08:00

I was standing in an empty dirt lot with two other people - one being a small child. I had decided that this was a nice enough spot to build a house for myself. So I tried to force the house to appear with my mind and it wouldn’t. I couldn’t understand it for I could still conjure up big red apples to the palm of my hand at will. And I did to make sure I was still enchanted. The apple appeared in my hand then I gave it to the child who then ate it.

A group of surveyors showed up and began running diagnostics on the land. I approached one and asked about the property. I wondered if there was toxic waste or something abnormal in the dirt. I guy said no and then led me into the house next door. The house was very large and clean. I walked to the back door that had a large window in it and looked out. I saw four very large colorful cobra snakes grouped together. In one cobra I could see the form of a small child about 2 years old. His knees were slightly bent. In another snake I saw the form of a larger child about 7 or 8 years old lying motionless in the belly of the snake. Another cobra had swallowed what looked like an adult. This snake was much bigger and the person inside the snake was around 5’8. The last snake was the biggest. I’d never seen a snake, especially a cobra snake, this large. It swallowed an adult male and the man’s body took up a good portion of the snake’s body.

I thought about going outside and cutting the bodies out but the people were most likely bitten and therefore dead from the poison. Then I saw the two smaller snakes that had eaten the children, fighting over what looked like the tail of a dog. One was trying to pull the tail out of the other’s mouth. My only thought was that I had changed my mind about living in that area. I said, “I’m going back to California.” Then I woke up.

Have a Nice Day!

2011-12-12T16:35:00.001-08:00

My Morning Rant

2011-12-05T11:27:00.001-08:00

I appreciate the super markets hiring intellectually changed people. A lot of companies don’t. I only ask that the ‘special’ employees wear visible tags that read, “Don’t ask me shit ‘cause I don’t know shit.”

I was in line at the register and while emptying my cart, realized that I had forgotten hotdog buns. So I asked the bagger, who was just standing at her bagging station, “Elizabeth? Hi! Could you do me a favor and get me one bag of hotdog buns, please? The store brand is fine.” Poor Elizabeth looked at me like I just asked to see her tits then the cashier repeated my request to Elizabeth then sent her to the bread section. A lot of time pasted, enough to scan and bag $100 worth of groceries, when Elizabeth finally and slowly returned. She was holding a French bread baguette. My only thought was, “Damn Bitch! You don’t even know what a fuckin’ hotdog bun looks like - and I know you probably live on that shit too.” The cashier, seeing the mistake, quickly left her station and within a few minutes returned with hotdog buns. She apologized for Elizabeth who was busy conversing with my 3 year old.

So, I feel my request is valid for no one really likes spending more time than needed in the grocery store and don’t you hate it when you’re in line at the register and the momentum is lost? It’s like being trapped in a one-way tunnel. You’ve got all your shit out of the basket only to stand there and wait and wait some more. I was the only person in line at first but by the time Elizabeth returned from her odyssey in the bread section the line at the register was three people deep.