Thursday, November 28, 2013

Only One Day?

     The Divine Presence spoke through the man's dream. "I give you life and sustain you perpetually, yet you thank me only one day?"
     The man woke feeling a degree of shame. He immediately thanked the Divine Being for waking him into life one more day. The man felt happiness and appreciation of himself, his possessions, and the world  he had never known before. Indeed, it seemed that goodness and fortune clung to him like dust on his shoes. He was thankful that his mind had been opened to what his soul had always known.

                                                                        ****

     Meister Eckhart, a medieval Dominican brother, and philosopher, wrote, "If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you it will be enough." His statement may seem simple, but it is also powerful. Maintaining a spirit of gratitude expands our vision to and eliminates disappointment and sadness. 
     Especially during the holidays when people are desperate and impatient, relax in the knowledge that some delays are blessings in the long run. Holding back from the crowds rushing to shop yields time to consider the items with the best value for your money. Letting the over-crowded bus or train leave, may make the difference between feeling like a canned sardine and having a comfortable seat. The extra minutes spent waiting could well bring an old friend or a new lover who would have otherwise been missed. You could say it's the synchronicity of thankfulness. Just as advice cannot be given to someone who will not stop talking, delays provide the pauses which allow the Universe to work for our benefit. Gratitude for whatever comes to us takes us out of the chaos. Now that's something else deserving a thank you!

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Harvest Home

     Once upon a time not so very long ago Autumn was a time for tribes, families to come together. It was a matter of survival. The fruits of the harvest were shared. Everyone participated in gathering food, hunting, and fishing. Meat, fish, fruits, vegetables were dried or pickled for preservation through the winter months. Children gathered kindling wood while the men wielded axes on felled trees for firewood. Everyone  contributed something to be shared for the long winter months. 
     This wasn't invented by the American pilgrims. In fact, their population had been greatly reduced due to disease and hunger by the gathering time. If not for the native people sharing what they had and teaching their new white neighbors survival skills, the entire retinue from England would have most likely perished. Hunting, gathering, preserving was an ancient practise. People the world over did so. Native Americans, the Vikings, the Druids, the early Britons all harvested and shared with families and communities. 
     Holiday stories remind us of our instincts to share and cooperate to survive. We have a traditional version of the 'first Thanksgiving' story. Corrupted as it is, it still manages to illustrate the point. We have 'Good King Wenceslas' looking out on the Feast of Stephen, the day after Christmas later know as Boxing Day, to bring comfort to a man who appears to be homeless and starving. His warmth spreads to everything he touches, even the very sod where he tread. He instructs his servant to walk in his steps to keep from freezing.
     Remember, too, the fable of the ant and the grasshopper. The story based on Greek mythology was considered such an important lesson it is mentioned in the Book of Proverbs. The ant worked all Spring and Summer improving and fortifying her dwelling as well as storing food away, while the grasshopper sang and played. Consider too that ants live in a highly developed and cooperative community, while grasshoppers do not. Survival depends on only on foresight and diligence, but also on group effort.
     The lessons of all of the seasonal stories make a singular point. The real gift of the season is the gift of life and confidence in the future through working with other for the common good. It is not something that can be purchased on the last Thursday of November from 5PM-1AM Friday. Coupons not required.
      

Monday, November 25, 2013

Holiday Ghost Story

     Charles Dickens' most familiar works is A Christmas Carol. Published originally as a serial, it was unique in it's telling of a ghost story as a Christmas tale. It comes to us as a novella, several films and stage productions, including a musical. Lest we forget, Mr. Magoo's Christmas Tale.
     I wonder if perhaps the story should be put into current context. Marley could be Michael Milken, Allen Stanford, or Bernard Madoff. Scrooge, no doubt would have to be transformed into Kim Karashian. She certainly earned the right by raising money in the name of aid to the Phillippine Disaster Relief and then kept 90% of the proceeds. Bob Crachit might be President Obama, trying to keep everyone feeling fed, secure and optimistic even though families have been stripped of what insurance they could afford and are still going hungy without jobs. What about Tiny Tim? Need you ask? We are all cast in the role of the cripple who wants to believe things will turn out for the best.
     Selfish, maniacal people may seem to prosper. They may try to grab more than their due. Sometimes, the lack of due diligence causes more harm than good and makes getting ahead an illusive dream for the common person. However, the Spirit of Christmas Future brings the common man to right and the others to the justice they deserve. The human spirit can not be down-trodden for long. People do rise. At the end of the story we as the multiple players of Tiny Tim, we stand up and shout God Bless Us Everyone!

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

The Magic Of, Well, Magic

     Magic is what we call the power of manifestation or the utilization of universal energy. Magic is neither black or white in and of itself. Energy is neutral until put into use. Blessing or curse are the shadings of intention as directed by love or hatred.
    Love magic is empowered by desire and benevolence. Love magic is target driven, but it leaves in its wake an aura that draws other blessings to the 'magician.' 
    The danger of 'hate magic' is that the negative emotions such as jealousy or revenge with which it is charged are difficult to focus and control. Innocent bystanders are endangered. The blow of a missed target causes the malevolence to swell and take possession of its director.
     We are the magic of magic. 

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

When You Love Somebody

     He closed the door. His entire body seemed to deflate as he leaned his back against it and the latch clicked. A flip of the switch over his left shoulder turned off the porch light. A car motor started and quickly faded in the distance. 'Thank God that's over. I couldn't go through that again.' Neither person had been happy for quite some time so when conversation turned into pleading into begging to try again he was caught off guard. 
     "When you love somebody, you can't just say it's over. Not like that. Not like that!"
     "We don't get along anymore. We make each other miserable. You told me that. We've grown apart. I'm sorry, but we can't go on like this."
     "You're right. We can't go on like this. We can go on by making it better."
     "We can't get better. Don't you see that?"
   "I will wait for you to change your mind. I will wait another lifetime if I have to. I will be with you somehow. That's how it is when you love somebody."
     "It's late. You should go."
     This is how the scene played out. He knew in his heart ending their relationship was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. Still, it felt mean. He pulled himself away from the door, heading for the bedroom. The phone rang.
     He wasn't going to answer. He knew it would be him. He was drained and had nothing new to say. The answering machine picked up. "This is the highway patrol. There's been an accident."
    He snatched up the receiver. "Hello. Accident?"
    "We found your name and phone number in the wallet of the victim. I'm sorry to tell you your friend didn't make it. Do you know if he had relatives? How can we reach them?"
     "No. I was all the family he had. Sorry. I'm not -"
     "Of course. I'll call you tomorrow. Good night."
     He set the receiver back in its cradle and staggered to the bedroom. He turned on the light. One wall was dripping in blood. It read: I'm still here.
  

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Expensive Bargains

     Once upon a time in America, we as a people aspired to being part of something greater than ourselves. Family and family friends, our parish or congregation, our community, state, country. These relationships were how we connected to the world at large, valuable beyond any price...until the war of the 'big sales' began their assault. One by one, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, and Veteran's Day were bartered away for a bargain. Thanksgiving is the next to fall, assaulted by even bigger sales by Walmart, Kohl's and Macy's...and perhaps others taking the second line. We are trading everything held sacred by those who came before us for what? A discount on things that will be resold on eBay or in the garbage bin in a few months.
     I think it bears mentioning that as infamous Wall Street and banks have become, they maintain a reverence for the holidays. There are no midnight, Red Apple or early bird sales of stocks, bonds, or CD's. None of these employees are forced to sacrifice family time in order to keep their jobs, even though markets in other parts of the world are open on American holidays. An industry that functions to raise capital and make money manages to respect family traditions by being closed. Ironic, isn't it? They seem to have learned from Ebenezer Scrooge what the rest of the country has forgotten.
     My grandparents, aunts and uncles, even a cousin or two and my father live in the memories of holidays past. They enrich the present. They instill hope for the future. I'd rather have those memories than 30% off anything.
     

If You Would Know Me

     He gazed into his companion's searching eyes. "If you would know me, really know me, I will tell you what I am. I am the emptiness that fills a cup. I am shapeless. I am nothing. I am everything. I am the droplet sliding down a windowpane. I am a puddle, a stream, a river, the ocean. Water is only ever itself, but always defined by the boundaries. I am Soul defined as body. I both anticipate and dread escape from my limitations. Be with you? I am you."

Monday, November 11, 2013

Jokers And One-Eyed Jacks Chapter 14


     When the woman woke, she was instantly alarmed. For one thing she was tied to the bed so she couldn’t move. For another, she didn’t know where she was. Hospital, obviously by the white interior of the room and the beeping, blinking equipment, but how did she get there? She rang for a nurse. There didn’t seem to be one around. She rang again and tried to reach the  plastic cup of water on the stand adjacent to the bed. Why must hospitals always arrange for things to be just out of reach? No one answered. No one did anything about it. Fingers touched the plastic cylinder just enough to spin it off the edge. Cup, melting ice and straw crashed to the floor. I bet they come now. Hospitals cannot abide mess. Her thought proved to be prophetic. A nurse followed by an orderly with a broom and dustpan arrived almost instantaneously. They were followed by a distinguished looking older man she presumed to be the doctor. Older than the nurse and orderly, but about the right age to be of interest to the patient. Everyone got busy sweeping and clearing, checking her pulse and looking into her eyes with one of those penlights her boyfriends used on dates in automobile backseats. When the doctor placed the cold stethoscope on her left breast, she tingled with thoughts of being in love.
“How do you feel, Miss —uh, I’m sorry, we don’t know your name,” the doctor inquired while the nurse continued making adjustments to this and that thing and writing notes on a clip board.
“My name is —, never you mind. Who are you? Where exactly am I?” the woman demanded to know.
“You are in hospital, of course. You’ve had us all quite concerned. You took a dangerous fall.”
“Fall? When? I don’t remember no fall! How long have I been here? What day is it?” 
“Your accident occurred three days ago. You have been here for two. Today is Monday.”
“That means I fell sometime Friday?”
The doctor nodded.
“So where did this fall take place?”
“You apparently fell on the steps outside the St. Louis Cathedral and hit your head so hard you’ve been unconscious until now.”
“I don’t understand. If I hit my head, why are you giving me blood?”
“Like I said, you took a really critical fall. You lost a lot of blood.”
“What was I doing at the cathedral? I had no reason to be going there on a Friday —was it afternoon or evening, Doctor? See? I don’t even know what time of day I was supposed to have fallen.”
“Evening. Perhaps you were going to confession?”
Confession? Oh, doctor, you truly do not know who you’re speaking to,” the woman laughed. “Confession  is no place to go for fun on a Friday evening!”
“Perhaps with more rest, you will remember more about what happened.”
‘Wait, Doctor, before you go. Have I had any visitors? I mean, does anyone I know know I’m here?”
“Sorry, no visitors. Like I said, we don’t know your name so we don’t know who to notify. Do you think maybe you’re a tourist? Might you have been coming from or going to a hotel in the area? If you’re not from here it would explain why no one has called looking for you.”
“I don’t know. I-I just don’t know. I guess this is what being a foundling feels like. The babies are lucky. They don’t know what they don’t know.” Tears began to trickle down the woman's cheeks.
“Try and get some rest. Often in cases like yours the memory comes back just like that.” The doctor snapped his fingers. “Don’t worry yourself. This is normal for this kind of injury. You’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
Everyone aside from the patient cleared the room. The doctor dimmed the lights and quietly closed the door.
In the hallway, the doctor said, “Nurse, a word, please.”
Taking the woman by the arm, he led her a few feet away from the door and spoke very quietly. “I want to know the moment this patient wakes again. If her memory returns, we can begin therapy. If not, so much the better. She will still need therapy, but of a completely different nature. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the nurse replied.

♠♥♦♣

As the patient closed her eyes for sleep, she sighed I’ve been dealt baby hands before and won the game. What I need now is to draw a wild card. Yessir, a one-eyed Jack could be my knight in shining armor.
Slowly her chin rolled into her shoulder. Her breathing slowed. 

Instead of the soft bed, she is laying on something hard. Someone’s stoop. She is cold on stone in front of a building somewhere. The sun is just starting to dawn. She is cold. Of course she is cold. She has no blanket, not even any clothes. Suddenly, she is being lifted and held. A man is talking baby-talk to her asking her where she came from. She wants to tell him, but she doesn’t know. She coos and dribbles instead. That seems to satisfy him. He carries her to a house where he lays her on a bed. He places pillows all around so she can’t roll off the edge of the bed. He leaves her there. Scared, she cries. She wails actually, close to screaming. 
The man comes back. He picks her up and holds her and says he is sorry. He had gone next door to borrow a baby bottle. He says the lady warmed some milk for her. It tastes good. As he holds her and she sucks on the nippled bottle, she notices that the man has a patch over one eye. Otherwise a noble and kind face.

Later when she learned about playing cards, she called one-eyed jacks “Daddy” cards. As a youngster she didn’t know that one-eyed Jacks were considered to be so lucky that gamblers had them tattooed on the wrist of the hand they held their cards with. She just knew meeting her Daddy with one eye was the luckiest day of her life. She was a born winner.

When she woke the next morning, she still didn’t know who she was. She just wasn’t scared anymore.

Friday, November 8, 2013

Jokers And One-Eyed Jacks Chapter 13

Sebastian turned the corner onto Chestnut Street and noted the for sale sign in front of  Mrs. Beaupain’s house. This would be the thrid time the house has sold since his favorite neighbor died ten years ago. He wondered why people didn’t set down roots like they use to. When he was growing up people only moved if there was a job transfer or a divorce. Otherwise children like him grew up in one house, went to one school for eight grades, and one high school. No one went away unless it was for college or find a job and get married. Such thinking made him sound old to himself and he was only thirty-never mind. 
After pouring himself a glass of iced tea, he sat down in front of his computer. He logged in to the newspaper archives. He typed Margueite Deauville into the search window. The article reporting her disappearance popped up immediately. 

“Police are asking for the public’s help in finding a woman who disappeared last night from the French Quarter. According to the woman’s husband, Marguerite Deauville disappeared last night sometime between nine and ten o’clock. The couple had gone out to dinner with friends where they shared the news they are expecting their first child. Later in the evening, Mrs. Deauville excused herself from the table to go to the powder room and never returned. Anyone who has seen her or who might know of her whereabouts are encouraged to contact police.”

Sebastian held the photo shopped photo next to the computer screen. They were virtually identical. So the old gypsy woman was indeed the long lost Marguerite Deauville. Where has she been all these years? Why was she apparently living on the streets when she had a family who would have loved nothing more than to have her back home? However, the twenty-five million dollar question he faced was: how do I break this news to Ursula, Gigi and Charles? He printed the article, making three copies. Sebastian would keep one, give Gus one, and take the last with him to dinner tonight. He wondered which bourbon he should bring as a chaser.
Something clanked downstairs, the sound of metal hitting metal. At first he didn’t know what it could be, but then he realized it was probably mail being pushed through the door. His iced tea could use topping off, so he took his glass downstairs. There was only one item on the floor near the front door. It was a large white envelope. When he picked it up he could see it had been opened and then taped shut again. He froze when he flipped it over and saw the address label.
The envelope had no business being there. The address belonged to his friend Cliff Nolte in Brooklyn, New York. This was the overnight packet that contained the last letter he received from Sean. The letter that he didn’t see until after Sean was killed. The letter he refused to read. How had it wound up at his house. His New Orleans address was no where to be found on it. Was Cliff in town for a visit? 
Sebastian couldn’t open his door fast enough to greet his best friend. However, Cliff wasn’t on the veranda. No one was. Sebastian stepped out so he could look down the street. No one was in view on the street. 
From around the corner a car horn sounded and brakes screeched. From the end of his veranda, Sebastian spotted the cause. Arpels, Mrs.  Rafferty’s bichon frisé had gotten out of her yard again. Sebastian ran to the street to retrieve the errant dog. As he came back around the corner he encountered his worried and grateful Irish neighbor. 
“There you are, you little dickens!” Mrs. Rafferty exclaimed.
“I live here, Mrs. Rafferty,” Sebastian grinned as he handed over the escapee.
“Oh, you!” Mrs Rafftery laughed. “You know full well I was talkin’ to me dog. Thank you, Sebastian. I’m afraid one of these days Arpels is goin’ to get herself killed. We’ve never been able to figure out how she gets out! She doesn’t do it all the time. You’d think she’d have gotten over it as old as she is.”
“I’m always happy to come to Arpels rescue, you know.”
“Thanks again, Sebastian. How have you been keeping yourself. I was sorry to learn about what happened.”
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Since you’re here, may I ask you a question, Mrs. Rafferty?”
“Of course. What would oyu like to know.”
“Just now someone stick an envelope through my mail slot like the one you sent to me in New York. Did you happen to see anyone walking or running away? Or the postman? Has he been around yet today?”
“Nossir. Can’t say I saw anybody. Mr. Sayville made his deliveries a couple hours ago. Why? Was it mischief?
“Hard to say. Certainly strange.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for ya, Sebastian, like always. I’ll let you know if’n I see anyone suspicious. Well, I’d better get this one home. I left a pot on the stove.”
“See you. Take care, Arpels.” 
Sebastian went back inside and examined the envelope once more for any signs of his Chestnut Street address. Nothing. He pulled the end of the tape. Inside was exactly what he expected. Sean’s letter. Sebastian had not the slightest curiosity in its contents. As he had commented to Cliff when he first received it in Brooklyn, the postmark was the day Sebastian arrived in New York. Sean was most likely just reporting about the Monsignor’s coronary bypass surgery. That was old news by now. He took the large envelope as well as the letter with him to the kitchen to retrieve his iced tea. The larger envelope went into the trash. The letter he was contemplating burning on the gas stove. He thought better of that. Instead he proceeded to the garden patio where he planned to feed it to the gas grill. 
“Aren’t you at least going to read it first?” he heard a voice ask.
“Sean?”
“I wish you would read my letter before yo set it on fire.”
“Go away. There is nothing for you here. I don’t want you here.”
“That’s because you haven’t read my letter.”
“Forget about the fuckin’ letter, Sean.” And with that Sebastian lit the gas grill, tossed in the letter and closed the lid. “There now, it’s gone. Done. Go!”
Somewhere someone had an outdoor stereo playing the Four Seasons. “I’m workin’ my way back to you, babe, with a burnn’  love inside. Yeah, I’m workin’ my back to you babe and the happiness that died —”
Sebastian sat down on one of the wrought iron patio chairs. He buried his face in his hands which were resting on his lap. He was crying and he didn’t want to cry. “God damn you, Sean! Just go away and leave me alone. You’re the one who fucked up, not me. You’re the one who died even though I pleased with you to hang on. You’re the pervert, not me. You’re the one who lied, not me. I don’t want to feel sad over you. I don’t want anything to do with you. Leave. Me. Alone.” Sebastian continued to cry inconsolably. He was so distraught he didn’t even hear the garden gate open and close.
“Sebastian?” he heard a voice ask.
He looked up. CJ was crouched down next to him and had placed an arm across Sebastian’s shoulders in an attempt to comfort him. 
“CJ. What are you doing here?”
“It’s a quarter to seven. You promised my aunt you’d be at her house no later than six thirty, so I came by to see if you wanted a ride. What’s happened to make you so unhappy?”
“Nothing. Just a sudden case of the blues, I guess.”
“You cookin’ somethin’ in the grill?  Somethin’s burning.”
“Shit!” Sebastian shouted and he got up to turn off the gas. “Give me a minute to wash my face and I’ll be ready to go.”
“Sebastian, if you’re not feelin’ up to an evening with people I understand. Ursula will understand also.”
“Thanks, CJ, but I think the best thing for me is to go out and be among the living. I’ll wash up. It’ll just take me a couple minutes.”
When Sebastian returned, CJ was admiring the garden. “My parents designed and planted it. I just replace plants as they die.”
“It’s beautiful, Sebastian. Just like you.’
“I’m not beautiful, CJ. Just adorable sometimes.”
CJ stood toe to toe with Sebastian and put his arms around him. “You’re beautiful now, Sebastian, now that you’ve been crying. Even knowing this I promise you I will never make you cry.” He coldn’t resist the impulse any longer. He kissed Sebastian full on the lips, and then parted those lips with this tongue and kissed him until Sebastian finally responded in kind. 
When the kissing was over and they were standing looking at each other, Sebastian began to weep. “Well, we can check broken promise off the to-do list.”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think tears of happiness count. Shall we phone my aunt and tell her somethin’s come up and we can’t make it to dinner?”
“You dirty man! Come in here and make me cry and now you’re going to cheat me out of a free home cooked meal? Shame on you, CJ!” Sebastian rotated his hips causing his pelvis to rub again CJ’s. “Yeah, somethin’s come up all right, but it’s gonna wait until baby’s been fed.”
CJ laughed and kissed Sebastian on the cheek. “Prick tease.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Like what/ What’s the worse thing anyone has ever called you/”
“Late for dinner. Now let’s go. You go back the way you came in. I need to get something for Ursula from the house and lock up. I’ll meet you in front.”
Sebastian picked up the photos and a bottle of Wild Turkey someone had given him that remained unopened, locked back and front doors and met CJ at the curb.
As they pulled away, Sebastian looked back at the house. An upstairs curtain moved.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Jokers And One-Eyed Jacks Chapter 12

Sebastian caught up with Gus Meinhart, the police detective he had been speaking with earlier. “Hey, Gus, you got a quick minute?”
“Sure, Sebastian, what’s up?”
“I was wondering. Could I possibly get a copy of the photo your guy took of the victim?”
“That’s kind of odd, Sebastian. Even for you. May I ask why?”
“I want to take it to someone I know who has an age progression program to se if he can reverse the process. Something about this old woman seems familiar somehow.”
“Why didn’t you say so! I can do you one better than giving you the photo. I can have one of the guys at headquarters run the photoshop, for lack of a better word, for you. Get in the car. I’m heading over there now.”
“Terrific, Gus! I didn’t know ya’ll were so high-tech.”
“Watch what you say, boy, we may not be New York, but we all have color TV down here,” Gus quipped. “Wait here a minute. I see our guy is still here. I’ll tell him to meet us over there.”
Sebastian stood outside of the car and watched Gus walk over the an older guy carrying a camera. After a brief conversation, Gus returned.
“He’ll meet us there in a half hour, Sebastian. Is there anywhere else you’d like to go while we wait?”
“Actually, before we leave, could we take another look at the house she apparently fell from?” 
“Be my guest.”
Sebastian walked with the detective over to the house, but Sebastian’s eyes were on the townhouse across the street.  He tripped on a brick that had shifted in its place in the street and nearly fell down. 
“Watch yourself now, Sebastian. The precint can’t afford a civilian injury.”
“Sorry, Gus. I got distracted I guess.”
“You guess? You have taken your eyes off that house since we started over here. You haven’t even so much as glance at the house you said you wanted to see. You gonna tell me what has you soo spellbound?”
“Nothing really, Gus, except some broken glass here in the street near the curb.”
“That’s nothng unusual, Sebastian. There’s got to be more to it that that.”
“Well, there’s that pair of broken french doors up there. Probably where this glass fell from. Interesting don’t you think, Gus?”
“Yeah, sure. A real rubic’s cube.”
“Anyone live in this ol’ place that you know of, Gus?”
“I don’t know hin as such. Some ol’ guy. Lives alone near as I can tell. Says he’s a duke or something. I think he’s a little off his nut, but harmless.”
“I met someone yesterday who told me he lives here. Invited me to come to call. I thought the place was empty, so I was surprised when he gave me his card.”
“I think I’d toss that card and forget about it. Like I said, I think he’s a bit touched,” Gus said as he pointed to his temple. “Shall we go now?”
“Yeah, let’s see that magic your guy can work on that photo. Know what, Gus? I think you should have somebody sweep up this glass and take a look at it. Might find something interesting.”
As they approached a couple of police officer that were taking down the yellow tape, Gus ordered, “Murphy, how about you and your partner there get someone from forensics to sweep up that broken glass over there and take it to the lab.”
“Sure thing, Detective.” The two stopped what they were doing to find someone from CSI to do the detective ordered. 

Not long after arriving at headquarters, Sebastian had a copy of both the original photograph of the deceased woman as well as the simulated younger version. He thanked Gus and the photographer and left. 
He hopped the St. Charles streetcar and took out the two photos to study them again. He was amazed at their similarity. After seeing both of them, it was surprisingly easy to see the younger woman in the older one’s face. He was convinced he had seen the younger face before. All he needed to do now was verify his suspicions as to her identity. 
And then what?  She was still alive yesterday when the he saw her face in the mirror. So how could she be who he wants her to be? Once again, more questions than answers.
Suddenly there came strains of that song again, the recording by Meatloaf. He looked up just in time to see car waiting for the streetcar to pass with the windows rolled down and the stereo playing. At first glance, Sebastian would have sworn the driver was Sean and he was smiling at Sebastian. Sebastian smiled back. The smile turned into a grimace when the impossibility of it being Sean registered and remembered how he felt about him. The music faded into eventual silence as the streetcar continued on its way.
Sebastian decided this was imagination not a vision. Sean was gone. Period. He returned the photos to the manila envelope, and anticipated his stop.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Jokers And One-Eyed Jacks Chapter 11

[To be honest, I'm considering cutting this chapter. Tell me what you think.]


“Do you have your list, Sister Woman?” Charles asked.
“I have my list in my purse. I’m ready when you are,” Ursula replied. “Gigi? Honey are you ready? Charles wants to go now,” she called to her friend who had gone upstairs to shower and change clothes.
“I’m coming. I’m just putting on some lipstick. I’ll be right there,” Gigi shouted.
“Where do we need to go first?” Charles inquired.
“The produce market, of course. I want to get the green tomatoes, garlic, and butter first. Then we can go to the fish mongers for the amberjack. I want to get that from Sammy.”
“He’s sweet on you and always weighs your fish a little light,” Gigi teased as she descended the stairs.
“He has the freshest fish!” Ursula insisted. “When fish is fresh it doesn’t weigh as much as when it’s a day or two old.”
“Who the hell told you that story?” Charles laughed.
“Sam did and he should know,” Ursula stated defensively. “Well, it’s true isn’t it?”
Charles and Gigi just looked at each other and rolled their eyes. “Don’t start me to lying,” was Gigi’s only comment. “So we’re going to Sammy’s.”
“Yes, we’re going to Sammy’s after the produce market. Now are we going to stand here all day? Those boys will be here soon. They’re going to expect us to have something for them to eat, so we best be making some tracks, y’all,” Ursula instructed. “Charles, did you call us a cab?”
“No, I thought we could walk and get some exercise. We can bring a cab home since we’ll have fresh fish, but it isn’t that far.”
“Gigi, do you feel like a walk?” Ursula asked with the hope she’d say no.
“Sure, why not. It will do us good; help release some of this stress we’re feeling.”
“If you’re sure, little Sister.”
“Let’s go then. Talking about food is making me hungry,” Charles said as he hooked arms with each lady.
“Fine. Since ya’ll want to walk, we’ll walk. I would’ve paid for the taxi,” Ursula pouted.
“Thank you, Ursula. We’ll take one on the way back,” Charles replied.

♠♥♦♣

At Sammy’s the trio greeted the man with the broad smile behind the counter. “Ah, it’s the fair Ursula and the lovely Gigi!” Sammy sang out. “Hello, Charles. What could I get for you today?’
:Hello, Sammy. Gigi and I are making luncheon today for a new friend of ours and my nephew. I’d like four amberjack fillets, boneless and not too thin, please.”
“Fresh caught this morning, Ursula. I’ll cut boneless fillets for you right now.”
“While you’re at it, Sammy, I would also take four amberjack fillets, boneless of course, please,” Charles added. Whispering directly into Ursula’s ear, “Now we’ll see who gets the nicest order.”
In no time at all Sammy presented the two packages of fish on top of the counter. “Here you are folks. Two pounds each of amberjack fillets.” As Charles reached for the larger appearing of the two, Sammy playfully smacked his hand. “That one’s Ursula’s. Here’s yours, Charles.”
“Sammy, would you be so kind as to put both orders on my bill?”
“Anything for you, dear lady. Anything else for your folks today?”
“I almost forgot! Sammy, I need a pound of crabmeat. Charles?”
“Ursula?”
“Do you need a pound of crabmeat, too?”
“Ah, no, not today. Thank you.”
When the order was completed, Sammy came around the counter to hand Ursula her purchases. “I put a few oysters on the half shell inside for you, too, Ursula. No charge. I figured you might want some kind of appetizers for your luncheon.” Sammy was smiling bashfully and his cheeks had turned shrimp pink.
Ursula couldn’t resist pinching one of those cheeks as she said, “Thank you, Sammy. You are always so considerate. I really appreciate it.”
Charles reached for his bag from the counter. “Yes, thank you, Sammy. We appreciate your fine service. Best seafood in New Orleans we always say,” he said brightly in an attempt to conceal his disdain for Sammy’s overt flirting with Ursula.
Gigi smiled, and good-bye in a way that sounded a lot like call me tonight as the three of them left the shop.
Once outside Ursula double-checked her purchases against her list. “Oh my God, y’all. You’re going to want to kill me. I forgot to buy butter. We’re going to have to go back to the market.”
“Not a problem, Sister Woman, but rather than go back, there’s another very nice market just up the street here. You could buy your butter there. It might be easier to find a cab from there too,” Charles suggested.
‘All right. Let’s to that.”
They hadn’t walked very far when Ursula realized they were headed for the house on Ursuline that she doesn’t like. She was just about to suggest a detour when she spotted the yellow police tape and police officer directing traffic away from that corner.
“Look at that, will you? I wonder what’s happened.” Gigi was the first to comment.
“I don’t mind going around. I have never like this corner anyhow, “ Ursula replied.
“Let’s see what we can find out,” Charles suggested. “We have to keep going in this general direction anyway.”
As they got closer, Ursula spotted Sebastian and CJ talking with another police officer. “Well, how do you like that? Our luncheon guests are over there in the thick of things. Now we must go over and find out what happened,” 
Charles was almost gleeful. Gigi was distracted by all the handsome policemen that she needed to be told twice about their change of course.
“CJ! Sebastian! Over here,” Ursula shouted and waved from the public side of the yellow tape. 
The two young men looked over and waved back. CJ left Sebastian with the officer to greet his aunt. “What a surprise seeing you over here, Aunt. What’s goin’ on?”
“I might ask you that same question, CJ. We’ve been shopping for our luncheon and just about to head for home. What’s going on here? Why the barricades and so many police?”
“An old woman was found dead over there. Apparently she had climbed or tried to climb up that balcony over there and fell to her death. The police found pieces of her clothing, if you can call it that, caught in the wrought iron up there.”
“Why are earth would anyone try a stunt like that? Especially an old woman?” Gigi asked. Then added, “Poor old thing must not have been in her right mind.”
“We arrived before the body had been taken away so we got a look at her. Get this, ya’ll, Sebastian knew her!”
“Sebastian knew an old homeless woman?” Ursula was incredulous. 
“He didn’t know her know her, but he had met her. When he went walking toward his home after leaving us at the Two Sisters, he said this old gypsy came running up and grabbed him. She gave him a warning of some sort about the Devil coming for him, or something like that. Then she pressed a charm into his hand and ran off.”
“How bizarre!” was all Gigi could say.
“Does he still have that charm?” Ursula wanted to know.
“No. He showed it to me after we left the morgue —”
“You guys visited Suzette? What did Sebastian think?” Ursula asked urgently.
“One thing at a time, please, Aunt. I’ll tell you about that in a minute. Anyway, he pulled the thing out of his pocket to show me. It was the typical feather and string sort of thing you find down here, you know. What was different about this one, though, was that there was a miniature ace of spades folded up inside of it. I thought that was kind of strange.”
“You saw it, CJ? You’re sure it was the ace of spades?” Ursula was starting to tremble.
“Sure I saw it.”
“Does Sebastian still have it?” Ursula demanded.
“That’s where it gets really weird, Aunt. After he showed it to me, he dropped it on the ground and left it. He told me he didn’t think he needed such a thing. We got in my car and drove off. I happened to look in the rear view mirror while we stopped at the traffic light and saw that a sink hole had opened up. A hole a little bigger than my car opened. We missed being swallowed by mere seconds, Aunt! I’ve never witnessed anything like it, here or overseas. That’s what Sebastian is talking about to that  police detective. The guy is also a friend of Sebastian’s. Ray Coulter, I think he said his name is. That guy sure gets around, I tell you.”
“I’m speechless, CJ. I can’t imagine anything like that happening. At least you had already driven away. How’s Sebastian doing?”
“He’s amazing, He takes shit in stride and never bats an eye. Want to know the reason he tossed that charm away when he did?” Not waiting for an answer CJ continued. He said, and I swear this is God’s honest truth, he said his mother told him to put that thing down because he didn’t know where it had been.”
“His mother? Is she here?” Gigi asked as she scanned the crowd trying to guess who she might be.
“No, Gigi. His mother isn’t here. She passed on nearly eight years ago.”
Gigi started to swoon. “CJ, catch Gigi before she hits the pavement and we have another dead old woman here.”
Gigi immediately straightened up. “Who’s an old woman? I’ll remind you, Ursula, I’m younger than you.”
Ursula smiled. “Of course you are, Gigi, but you missed your chance to collapse into my nephews well-muscled arms.”
“Oh you! You ruin everything!” Gigi scowled.
Ursula turned her attention back to Sebastian. “I knew there was something special about that young man when I first laid eyes on him. I have every confidence he’s going to find out who killed Suzette and why.”
As Sebastian approached Ursula and CJ he laughed, “Okay, I’m back. Time to stop talking about me!”
“Why, Sebastian, why on earth would you think we were talking about you?” Ursula denied.
One glance at CJ’s unusually rosy cheeks and pulled in lips told Sebastian he was right even though he only meant it as a joke. “Because you were. Just look at your nephew, Ursula. That man couldn’t tell a lie to save himself. No matter. I like a man I can trust. Now about that lunch —.’
“You are in for a real treat. We have all our ingredients and heading home now to pull them all together,” Ursula interjected. “You boys must have quite an appetite by now.”
Sebastian lower his gaze to meet Ursula’s eyes. “Would you mind very much if we didn’t have lunch today, Ursula? A couple things have come up that I need to tend to.”
“But, Sebastian, I’ve been planning and shopping and looking forward to cooking something real nice for you. Are you sure you can’t come for just a little while, long enough to eat something. Gigi will be so disappointed.”
“Anything I can help you with, Sebastian/” CJ offered. “My car and I are at your complete disposal, you know.”
“Thanks, CJ, but not this time.” Then turning his attention back to Ursula, “Would whatever you planned to fix for lunch be just as good for dinner, Ursula?”
“Well, I suppose so. At least all this fine food wouldn’t end up going to waste,” Ursula agreed, pouting, but nonetheless agreed.
“Fine. Then what if I come to you, say, half past six or so. We’ll enjoy your wonderful home cooked meal. How’s that?”
“CJ, does that work in your schedule?” his aunt inquired.
“Sure thing. Sebastian, we’ll see you at six-thirty. Can I drop you anywhere now?”
“No, thanks, CJ. I’ll see you both later.” He took Ursula’s hands in his and said, “I hope you know I wouldn’t hurt you or disappoint you for the world. Thank you for being so understanding.” He then sealed the deal by kissing her lightly on the cheek.
“All right then, Mr. Smooth. I’ll expect you at my home at six-thirty sharp.”
Sebastian turned to leave, “I’ll be there. May I bring anything?” He asked over his shoulder as he continued walking away.
“Just yourself and an appetite!” Ursula replied. Then you turned to her nephew who stood there beaming after Sebastian. “Honey, you’re going to have to be on your A-game with that one. Sometimes I do wish I’d been born a man.’
“Lucky for me you weren’t.”




Friday, November 1, 2013

Shades And Shadows In The Looking Glass

     On Samhain it is possible to look into other worlds. Visit with ancestors and family members who have passed on. Past and future meld into the present. I sat last night in my room in front of a full length mirror with only a single candle for light. I made myself comfortable sitting upright, arms relaxed with hands palms up resting on my thighs, feet flat on the floor as I would for any meditation and waited.
     Before long, the room reflected in the mirror was filled by a rolling fog that looked like clouds blowing through. My image disappeared. When the fog lifted enough to see anything in the mirror again, someone else was sitting in my place. A dear friend who passed at the end of May told me he misses me and his family, but he is happy where he is. As my maternal grandparents breezed in and out they smiled and waved at me. The fog rolled dense again.
     This time when it lifted I witnessed a scene of a young woman with a male companion browsing an antique store. "Look! They have old books made with paper!" she exclaimed. The young man sighed and asked what she would want with those dusty things. "I'd read them," she replied. She picked one up saying it looked intriguing and announced she would buy it. It was my first novella, The Dashing Mister R. The fog boiled up until it filled the reflected room again.
     When next the fog cleared, light was dancing on water as the sun does on the ocean in Summer. I was looking up at it as I rose to the surface. As I broke through the surface, both my mirror image and myself began coughing as though I had swallowed some of the water. I continued coughing until I had to actually spit out the water. The mirror changed back. Now it reflected only the dim images of my room. I coughed up a little more water. I felt reborn. I went to bed and dreamed a new life.