photo credit: árticotropical

Unfortunately it’s been my experience that life doesn’t often affirm ones faith in ones fellow man, now does it? In fact… The truth is life has a a stubborn tendency to erode it. Not in huge chunks, brought on by monumental life altering events mind you. Rather, it cracks slowly, over time.

Day by day.

Week by week.

Year by year.

One slap, or one punch, one humiliating degradation at a time until your faith, your trust, your hope is gone. So, as it does for everyone, life for me… Went on. I learned to take the good with the bad. I learned to keep my head down, my mouth shut and my opinions to myself.

Mostly… I learned how to take a punch.

She took a quick step forward and quickly set her feet, jutted her jaw forward and suddenly I found myself face to face. Literally within inches of my worst fear. A girl. We stood there for what seemed like an eternity, neither wanting to back down, glaring directly into each others eyes.

photo credit: Jippolito

Then out of no where she put her hands on my shoulders and slowly tilted her head while gently pulling me forward and she kissed me. Her breath was warm and smelled sweet, of watermelon Jolly Rancher and her hair was soft as it brushed against my cheek tickling the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, should I move my lips? What was I supposed to do with my hands? Why was my stomach flip-flopping like that?

Then as suddenly as it began. It ended. She brought her hands down from my shoulders to my chest and shoved me back as hard as she could. I was caught off guard and reeled backward trying to regain my balance, but it was too late and I fell… I fell hard. She turned on her heel and walked away without looking back and I sat there in the coat room trying unsuccessfully to blink back the tears welling up in my eyes from landing hard on my tailbone feeling lost, confused and alone.

You know what…

Thirty years on my feelings haven’t changed all that much!

Happy Valentine’s Day!

photo credit: Mimi Kat

My mother, quite taken aback at the sight of us rushing her threw her purse down on the table and with fear and genuine concern in her voice asked us what was wrong. We began telling her about the kittens, and how they were dying, and that they needed help when Jerry appeared in the doorway that led to the family room. Suddenly able to pull himself away from the television, he said…

“Something is wrong with your cats… I checked on them about an hour ago and they’re not doing too well. You better go look…”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I looked over at my sister to see if she had heard the same thing and I could tell she did because her jaw had literally dropped open and she was just standing there staring at Jerry. He continued…

“They’ve (gesturing to my sister and I) been in and out of that laundry room all night… I don’t know what they did but… I told them to stay out of there and they wouldn’t listen so…”. Implying that somehow it was our fault.

I couldn’t take it… “He’s Lying!” I blurted out… “We asked him to help us and he wouldn’t… He told us to leave him alone!” “He’s lying, I swear he’s lying!”

I had my back to Jerry so the first thing I saw was the fear on my mother’s face. Her eyes widened and she recoiled instinctively as my feet lifted off the floor. At first I didn’t even realize what was happening until Jerry jerked me around the other way and brought his face to within inches of mine. Jerry had literally jerked me up off the kitchen floor by the hair on the top of my head and was screaming almost incoherently…

“YOU TELL YOUR MOTHER THE TRUTH!!! RIGHT FUCKING NOW YOU BETTER TELL HER THE TRUTH!!!”

I remember the crazed look in his eyes, and a vein bulging at his temple. And his breath. His god awful rancid breath.

My mom leapt forward to snatch me back and he pivoted, she lunged forward again and he juked the other way as if he were playing a game of keep away. I could hear the intensity growing in my mom’s voice as she told him to put me down. To stop. I honestly don’t remember pain, or fear. It was more like shock. As if I were on the outside looking in at someone else.

“Not until he tells the fucking truth… He’s lying… Not me… Fucking liar!!! Tell the truth you fucking liar!”

I said nothing…

And please don’t misunderstand. it wasn’t out of any nobility that I held fast, I’m sure if I could have spoke I would have recanted my story. I just couldn’t. I was mute. Dumbstruck in horror. Shock.

After what seemed like an eternity my mother talked Jerry down and he dropped me. Literally like a sack of potatoes, to the floor. I sat there for a few seconds. Not moving. Not crying. Just lying there trying to understand what just happened.

My mother reached down and yanked me up by my arm and began herding us into our room. “Go to bed now… Go on… Go to your room.” My sister protested meekly.“Mom… The kittens?” and my mother assured us she would check on the kittens. Right now we needed to go to our room.

I crawled to the top bunk and sat in the middle of the mattress cross legged indian style still taking in what had just happened and my sisters voice came drifting in. “OK?… Are you OK?… Hey… Hey… Are you alright?” It was as if I were coming up from under water. Her voice becoming clearer and clearer as I approached the surface, until pop. I broke the surface and came bobbing back into reality. I looked up and caught her eyes. She was standing on the bottom bunk directly in front of me. I could see the fear and we both began to cry.

In the kitchen I could hear yelling… The battle had begun…

photo credit: worak

The next morning my sister and I rushed out to see them, they looked so helpless and tiny crawling all over themselves to suckle. Three were black and white mixed and one was a solid charcoal gray color. We wanted to name them there and then but my mom said we had to go to school. I’m sure she was thinking if we name them we might get attached to them, but that hadn’t occurred to me at the time so off to school we went, thinking up names along the way.

The day seemed to drag on endlessly, and when we finally got home from school that day only Jerry was home. My mom was waitressing second shift and wouldn’t be home until about nine or so. We rushed into the laundry room to see the kittens and immediately we knew something was wrong. The kittens were so quiet, and they weren’t feeding they were just lying there. You could tell they were struggling to breathe, almost convulsing… And the smell… It was so strong. I’ll never forget it was the smell of perfume or cologne.

We ran upstairs to get grandma but she wasn’t home so we flew back down the stairs and asked Jerry to help us because there was something wrong with Ki-Ki and the kittens. He was watching television, and without even looking up he said there was nothing wrong with the cats, they were finally sleeping and besides what could he do he wasn’t a vet.

photo credit: videocrab

At first I just thought maybe he didn’t understand how serious it was so I continued… “Please… Please just come and look at them… It’s… It’s like they can’t breathe. I think they got into something because it smells funny… Please… Please Jerry just come look!” Again he said “They’re just sleeping… Leave them alone, they’ll be fine.” My sister said nothing, but started to cry quietly and I could feel the tears welling in my eyes as well as I tried again… “Please Jerry… Please help us… They’re going to die!”

To which he snapped back… “We weren’t going to keep them anyway!!! Now go clean your room or something… I’m tryin’ to watch TV!”

Three things hit me in that moment like a splash of cold water to the face. The kittens were probably going to die, Jerry didn’t care, and there was nothing I could do about it!

I was overcome by anger. By blind rage. The injustice of it all came crashing down on me like a wave. Up until that moment I held fast to the childs belief that life was inherently fair. That people were inherently good. How could this be happening?

And it began to dawn on me…

Jerry didn’t want to help them because… He wanted them to die.

photo credit: SheaAk

She was jet black. No white socks, no white chest or belly, all black. Black as the night that she ruled with a merciless iron paw! From sun up until sun down she was lovable Ki-Ki. Sunning herself on the window sill, kneading her favorite blanket, or allowing one of us to actually pet her. If she allowed you to pet her, you felt very special, and believe me. You only got to pet Ki-Ki if she allowed you to. But from sun down until sun up she was Ki-Ki terror of the night stalking every rodent, bird or rival cat in her domain.

I loved her completely and unconditionally. I loved her with an abandon that only a child can muster. A child who has yet to experience loss or understand why anyone would guard their heart.

Sadly Ki-Ki’s downfall would end up being that she was in fact. A she.

Ki-Ki was never fixed. Hell Ki-Ki only saw a veterinarian once in her life, as it ended. So of course Ki-Ki ended up becoming pregnant. I remember being rather excited about it. Because somewhere in the back of my mind I guess I thought we would keep the kittens.

Right?

I mean. Who would take baby kittens away from their own mother? Who doesn’t love kittens?

As it turns out. Not everyone is a cat person.

photo credit: fazen

This time though. Instead of coming home to an empty apartment we found a cat! I remember it vividly to this day. Cindy was making a snack in the kitchen and I was in our room. We shared a room because there were only two bedrooms in the downstairs apartment. We used to each have our own room, because our dad slept on a sofa bed in the living room and Cindy and I had the bedrooms. But that changed when Jerry moved in, so now Cindy and I shared what used to be my room off the kitchen and my mom and Jerry used Cindy’s old bedroom off the living room.

Both of us sharing a room generaly meant twice the clutter. And I remember our room being a total disaster. Come to think of it I remember the basement apartment being a pig sty in general. Where as my father was anal retentive about cleaning my mother wouldn’t clean up around the house to save her life. Once Cindy and I did the dishes (Mostly because every glass, dish and pot in the apartment was dirty. Not because we were overly helpful or anything) and I remember pulling about two packs worth of cigarette butts out of the sink. As well as other assorted molding food stuffs that were cemented on to the plates, bowls and glasses. Good times… Anyway.

photo credit: Miro-Foto

I was looking for my skateboard because Andrew and I were going to go play and I saw a black flash out of the corner of my eye. But as I turned my head to look it was gone. I went back to rifling through the assorted clothes, toys and miscellaneous crap that carpeted the floor of our room when again I saw a black streak out of the corner of my eye dart for the closet.

I ran over to the closet and huddled in the corner trembling was a jet black kitten no larger than my fist. Her eyes were opened as wide as they would go and I could see she was trembling with fear. I called out for my sister because I wanted her to see. But yelling probably wasn’t the best thing to do because the kitten leapt into the air and took off for the other side of the room.

After about 15 minutes of cooing and coaxing Cindy and I eventually got the kitten to let us pick it up. It was so tiny. We immediately wrapped the kitten up in a bath towel and decided to find our mom to see if we could keep it. At the time it hadn’t occurred to us that someone had to have let the kitten in. The most likely subject being our mom. All we knew was the cutest kitten in the world had materialized in our room and we were hell bent on keeping it!

So off we went around the neighborhood looking for our mom. Checking her usual haunts. She wasn’t at Joan’s although she had been there earlier. She wasn’t at the “March In” (another neighborhood bar) and hadn’t been there all day. So off we went to her friend Cookie’s house with our new found kitten wrapped up like a baby.

photo credit: IntangibleArts

We found my mom. Quite inebriated at Cookie’s house. I remember my mom was sitting at Cookie’s kitchen table, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other looking at my sister and I dumb-founded as we stood there with the kitten. We could tell immediately that she was none too happy that we found her but it didn’t matter because we had found a kitten and we were overcome with excitement at the thought of keeping it.

“Look… look what we found in our room!” “Can we keep it… Can we… Please!” “We’ll take care of it… You won’t have to do anything!”

I remember she slowly set down her drink, and I thought… Uh-oh! But then I saw the frown disappear and a smile slowly begin to widen across her face as she threw open her arms and we rushed in to hug her and we were all talking at once.

“Do you like the kitty I brought home for you?” “What are we going to name it?” “Isn’t she cute?”

I don’t remember ever loving my mother more than I loved her at that moment.

And then… The moment was over.

“Ok… You kids should get that kitten home now. We don’t want it getting sick.” “Mom has to talk to Cookie about a few things but I’ll be home soon…” “Go on now…” “And think of a name for that kitty.”

So Cindy and I and our new kitten “Ki-Ki” went home.

Alone… As usual.

photo credit: Kyknoord

Just like magic… Well, except magic usually has a delightful outcome. I’m sure there was more to it. I just can’t remember.

It was really rather bizarre for my sister and I. My father went from being our full time care-giver to a weekend dad, literally overnight. We were now living with my mom who was a virtual stranger and Jerry who was a complete stranger. It made life at home… A lil’ less than comfortable.

I spent most of my time upstairs with my grandmother, or at Andrew’s house, or just wandering the neighborhood. Anywhere but there. I hated it there.

The weekends were my respite! On the weekends we got to stay with our dad. He had moved into an apartment building owned by My Uncle. It was a crappy basement apartment, in a crappy run down neighborhood where I didn’t know anyone, but I didn’t care. He could’ve lived in the Robert Taylor Homes for all I cared. As long as it got me the fuck away from my mom and Jerry.

Besides. My dad was a great weekend father! We went to the show every weekend. I swear to you in a span of about 2… Maybe 2 1/2 years I saw a movie every weekend. Sometimes it was hard to find one we hadn’t seen yet. We always ate out. We went to Old Chicago (An indoor carnival/amusement park) almost as much as we went to the show. It was every kids dream! It was just like old times, just the three of us together again. From Friday night until Sunday night we were a family again.

On Fridays I would rush home from school and get my clothes together that I would need for the weekend and wait out front on the sidewalk. Watching the street for any sign of my dad’s sun-bleached and washed out Blue Country Squire station wagon with the faux wood paneling on the sides. God I loved that car! Well maybe not the car itself, afterall… It was a station wagon. But the sight of that car coming up Wolcott meant I was free!

In contrast on Sunday afternoons my dad would always remind us to get our things together so we wouldn’t have to hunt for them that night. But I never would! I hated going back! As much as I loved Friday nights. I dreaded Sunday nights even more!

Oh how I hated Sunday nights.

photo credit: Pink Sherbet Photography

We, of course were still living with our father full time, downstairs from my grandmother, but my mothers appearances had become more frequent. Not that she ever dissappeared entirely, she would stop in every now and again to visit, whenever the urge or her conscience struck her just right. But she had been stopping by every other day for a good month or so.

She and my grandmother would get into terrible fights. Screaming back and forth at each other until you thought they would come to blows. They both had the same quick temper, a German temper. Fast, fierce and furious! Looking back on it now I’m sure they were fighting over what would happen next, but at the time it scared the hell out of me. I would run out into the back yard and try to lose myself in my imagination.

That morning my mom took my sister and I to McKinley Park. Only we weren’t alone. He was with her. I remember being frightened climbing into the back seat of his car, it was bigger than any car I’d ever seen. It was a Cadillac, Fleetwood if I’m not mistaken, and it was hard for me to climb up into it.

photo credit: thebig429

My mom introduced him. “Kids… This is Jerry.” He put his hand up on the passenger side headrest and turned his head as if backing out of a driveway, and smiled down at us, but didn’t say anything. He just sort of nodded his head and then turned back around and put the car in gear and we were off.

Once we got to the park my sister and I were pretty anxious to go play. I remember they had just put in one of those giant jungle gym, slide combinations, you know the kind with a rope bridge and different decks. So we were chomping at the bit to have at it. Unfortunately my mom had other plans.

“Kids… Jerry and I… Well… We’re going to be married.”

photo credit: Jeff Belmonte

I remember thinking. “So What!” I didn’t really care if she was going to marry this guy. To be honest I didn’t really care what happened in her life. You have to understand. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my mother. It was more that she wasn’t really an integral part of our lives. She didn’t affect us. At least not up until now. So the impact of that statement was lost on me.

Jerry said absolutely nothing the entire time. He just sat there looking uncomfortable, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words, and my mother. She sat there smiling tensely, as if she were waiting for Cindy or I to say something. But honestly… What was there to say. Finally after what seemed an eternity of awkward silence she told us we could go play.

I remember an immense feeling of relief as my sister and I ran off to play. I hated awkward situations and I was glad this one was over. God was I wrong…

Looking back on it now. I think I might have a better understanding of why my grandmother hated him so much. But let’s be honest, that’s part of what made hanging out with him so appealing.

I’m sure it’s one of the main reasons he hung out with me. At least in the beginning. Having some kid worship you. Hanging on your every word probably wasn’t such a bad deal. And I did. The better part of my day was spent listening to Andrew’s thoughts and philosophies, such as they were on life and girls and parents and girls.

He never got tired of talking, and I certainly never got tired of listening. Later I would come to realize that half of the crap he told me was exactly that. CRAP. But at the time, well at the knew everything, and didn’t mind sharing that knowledge with me.

I remember once. We were talking about building a fort in his backyard and he said it would be great if we could figure out a way to install some booby traps. I remember him saying it. “Booby Traps“. I was flabbergasted. I had never heard of such a thing.

photo credit: Ethan Woods

My shock and disbelief must have been too pronounced to mask because immediately Andrew asked. “You do know what a booby trap is… Right?” I responded the way any kid who has no idea what his friend is saying but still wants to seem cool responds. I said. “Pshhhht Of course I do…” To which he responded the way every kid responds, who knows you have no idea what the hell he is talking about and that you are only pretending to know responds. “Ok… What is it?”

I squirmed for about 20 seconds with the obligatory “It’s ummmmm… Well it’s kinda’ hard to explain… It… Uhhhhhh” and he finally let me off the hook explaining that a booby trap was like a cave or hole that soldiers were tricked into entering where they were trapped and eventually died. This seemed to make complete sense to me. Except for the booby part. So my assumption was that the boobies were what lured the soldiers into the cave, tunnel or hole in the first place.

Hence a “booby” trap.

I had visions of caves with tits hanging from the ceiling and walls. With hapless soldiers wandering in mesmerized by the magic of the boobies. Knowing that danger lie ahead but unable to resist the draw of the boobies.

photo credit: sanberdoo

Come to think of it. I don’t think I was that far off the mark. I still feel the irresistible draw of the boobies. The bottom line is I’ve entered into more than one relationship, knowing it probably wouldn’t end well based solely on a nice set of tits.

Andrew and I were best friends through all of my early childhood. In fact most of my earliest memories are of Andrew. His father however, had passed away before I had met him, so I have no recollection of the man at all. Everything I know about him was learned much later in life, and mostly from neighborhood gossip. Which is why I say I’m still not exactly sure how Andrew’s father died.

Over the years I have heard numerous versions. Some say it was suicide, some say it was accidental. Some say he was insane, and was actually institutionalized, others say he died to avoid prison. So much bullshit! Neighborhoods are much like small towns in that, everyone knows everyone, opinions abound and judgement is a given.

The truth of the matter, or at least the truest version of what actually happened is probably something along these lines. Andrew’s father came back from Vietnam with more than just bad memories, unfortunately he acquired a habit. Upon his return to the states he sought and received treatment but was unable to kick the habit and he subsequently, and most tragically died of a heroin overdose.

photo credit: Mr. Theklan

That is probably as close to the truth as anyone is likely to get about Andrew’s father’s death.

The thing is the entire time I was best friends with Andrew. He never once told me that. I’m sure it was because he didn’t really know at the time. I’m assuming it would be pretty hard to tell your child of four or five that his father had suffered a fatal heroin overdose. But later. He must have known. If I heard the rumors you can bet he did.

We didn’t discuss his father much. The subject just never seemed to come up that often. When it did, it was always he who broached the subject. I would never bring it up on my own. It felt taboo. Every once in a while though he would say something that would bring up the subject and that is when it would get awkward.

I think in the time that Andrew and I were friends I heard 15 different stories as to how his father died. Each one completely different from the next. Some with absolutely no correlation whatsoever. It was almost as if he were searching for an acceptable explanation for his father’s death.

photo credit: C.S. - Now Version [2.0]

I never questioned him. I never called him out. I would always listen and nod, accepting as fact any memories he chose to share about his father’s life. Or death. It was his father. His memories. His story. I was his friend, there to listen. Not judge.

Andrew would come to terms with the truth of his father’s life, and death soon enough, he had his own cross to bear. As for me I think that was where I first learned that honesty isn’t always the best policy. It was where I first learned to don a mask.

Traits I would later come to regret.