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You wake up, but you’re still asleep.

Your dreams remain with you. Winning lottery tickets fly around in your head, alongside fantasies of childhood parental approval. Instead of saying “no” that time, you see the possibilities of a “yes.” You think of your ex-whoever and relive the moment when you realized it wouldn’t last. You feel the tear on your left check that you didn’t wipe away.

You teach yourself how to fly (the secret is to know that you can).

Your eyelids raise halfway as you walk and sleep, brush and sleep, piss and sleep. Everything is a mile away and covered with a dark coating that you never attempt to remove since you don’t really care about what’s under it. Eventually, though, the sunlight hits your eyes and you’re forced to realize that there is more to existence than just yourself and your thoughts.

_

*Image Courtesy Rein

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I leaned against a display of computer towers, and computer printed price tags, while on my fifth day in a row at that place that I didn’t want to be in. A bank was holding me hostage. If I left they would kill me; they would starve me; they would let disease consume me; they would have me freeze under a bridge; they would turn me into food for vultures with bad habits.

I had begun to see things a little differently after having five years of five days in a row. Close objects became distant as my mind went in and out of focus for hours at a time while being paid by the hour to do something I didn’t want to do. I was able to tell the time by the natural light that somehow found it’s way inside that building of concrete and dead labor – the cash register became a sundial. At four o’clock I began to realize how soft my mind had become – really, how malleable reality itself was – and I began wondering about the world around me.

I could feel a customer approaching as I stared at the register to check, one more time, when and where I was.

I thought to myself, if I punch a glass window. If I punched a decently thick glass window with enough force, but also with enough speed, I think I could kinda catch it off guard and bend it, like metal or something.

I said, “How can I help you sir?”

I thought, if someone has a face like an animal what does that mean? Maybe the animal that they look like is their totem – their animal guide in this world. This man has the spirit of the platypus looking after him, I think. It makes sure he will never drown. It means he’s unique, like a platypus, and that others will view his existence with skepticism until they can hold him and touch his smooth face. Maybe his platypus spirit is watching me, looking into my soul and forcing me to tell him things I don’t want to. I hate platypuses. Fucking jigsaw animals.

I said, “Well, it’s not on the shelves, but sometimes items we’ve just received don’t get put out on the sales floor till much later. I’ll see if we have that in stock somewhere in the back. Give me a moment while I check?”

I heard the customer say, “Sure.”

“A bank was holding me hostage. If I left they would kill me. They would starve me; they would turn me into food for vultures with bad habits.”

I thought, If I could run fast enough, with my arms spread and tilted at just the right angle, I might be able to get some lift.

I heard the inventory manager say, “Nah, we don’t got that in stock. Best bet for him would be to order it to this store and pick it up, or have it delivered to his place.”

I said, “All right. I’ll let him know.”

I thought, I’m about ninety percent water. If I had to guess I’d say the rest of me is made up of stuff like iron, potassium… probably some bullshit like aluminum. All told, they’re pretty cheap. I wonder how much I would be worth if I was on the shelf next to the laptops? Fifteen dollars? Ten?

I said, “Okay sir, would you like to pick it up or have it delivered to your home? Just so you know, you would get free delivery to your home since you’re using your store credit card.”

I heard the customer say, “Really? That sounds great. Can I get it delivered to my house then?”

I said, “Sure. Give me a second while I pull up your information.”

I thought, Everything I see is just reflected light, but even light has a speed limit, right? It’s fast, but it has a limit. It takes time for that light to reach my eyes even though I think it’s instant. So, if the light I see bouncing off something is old, even by a nanosecond, then everything I’m seeing happened in the past. Nothing I see is happening now, right now. Right now only happens when I touch something. When I’m in direct contact. That’s where it’s at. Direct contact, not seeing, is what’s real.

I said, “Have a good day sir.”

I heard the customer say, “You too. Thanks a lot for your help.”

I said, “No problem.”

I thought, I can’t stay here anymore. This job is gonna fry my brain.

I thought, I have to find something new.

As the customer walked away I slowly took off the uniformed shirt that someone else had sewn a continent away while being held hostage, as I was, and folded it neatly into the drawer under the LCD screens. Deciding to leave that place I didn’t want to be in, I walked through the revolving door and into the outside world. I wouldn’t be a hostage anymore, but I wouldn’t die either. I’d find something new, something real.

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The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog. Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 3,900 times in 2011. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 3 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

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When I first came to Korea there were a few things I noticed. Firstly, I’m strange and deserve to be gawked at. Secondly, Korean women dress half naked – at least their bottom half. Anything short of showing pubic hair is socially acceptable. Third, Korean kids are damn cute.

I’m not sure if it’s just an exoticness cast on them by me looking through western eyes, or the fact that Koreans tend to look younger than they are – creating adorable absurdities like seven year olds that look like four year olds – but with few exceptions, they are tremendously cute. My first class of elementary school students had me resisting the urge to pinch the cheeks of every one of them.

In 2009 it stirred up parental instincts that I had been aware of since 1994. Having a classroom of happy adolescents say, “Hello Alex teacher” every afternoon heightened in me the desire to see a baby that had my eyes, that had my lover’s face. I wanted to hold a child who was like me, but who could be so much more than me. I have, however, resigned myself to the idea that that won’t happen. It’s made my life a little sadder, but life becomes despair when you want things, and I’ve accepted things as they are.

A few months ago I was teaching my group of mothers when one of them brought along her child. The temporary lack of a babysitter was the reason for the new class member. She was cute, of course, and her mother Katherine introduced her to me. “Rachel, this is Alex teacher.” Rachel grabbed her mother’s leg as she shied away from me. I didn’t mind, and after straightening my back I asked if everyone was ready to start the class.

Rachel sat in the back of the room as I made the mothers laugh over questions about dating – a topic that came up in our language book. They asked me if I had a girlfriend and I told them, “not anymore.” They acted like mothers act and gave me sympathy as I waved away the non-problem. Rachel was reading an English story book and occasionally looked up.

A few more classes passed when, again, Katherine came in with Rachel. The babysitter issue arose again, and again Rachel sat in the back.

I said to Katherine, “Your daughter is too cute.” She responded by telling me with an awkward smile that Rachel was “unexpected.” Her son, who was my student, was planned for, but Rachel “kind of happened.” She had a slight look of remorse as she bent her head down a little, the awkward smile still on her face. I raised my left eyebrow slightly, but maintained my upbeat expression. “Oh” was all I could say to being told that someone’s child was an accident they most likely regretted.

Rachel smiled at me and said “Hello.” I said “Hello” right back and waved.

The little six year old girl made a few more appearances in my mothers’ class. She warmed up to me as those classes came and went. Eventually she even began to make a few cute comments, with English skills that were better than any of the mothers in the room. As with most children, I paid her a lot of attention, and smiled warmly while hurting inside. No one noticed and classes continued to be more conversation than curriculum.

One day the mothers talked about child birth. We started comparing speeds and I made a chart on the board of the hours it took for them to deliver. One mother had three children and each was three hours or so quicker than the previous. Her last child was four hours and I joked that her next child could be spit out during a lunch break. I pantomimed what the speedy birth would look like, and after making a few grunting sounds, Rachel joined the rest of us in laughter. I smiled a little more at her as we continued to talk about mothers and daughters.

“I wanted to hold a child who was like me, but who could be so much more than me.”

At the semester’s end the ladies said they wanted to take me out for a goodbye/thank you lunch. They found out that I like sushi and offered to treat. I accepted, and on a hot summer day I wore all black and sat in the front passenger seat of a sedan full of upper middle aged Korean women. Rachel was a last minute guest who smiled when I got into the car. I smiled back and we drove off campus and towards 강남 (gangnam).

There was a lot of talk on the way to the restaurant. “Rachel is always asking about you. She asks, ‘when are we going to see Alex Teacher again?’”

I said, “Hi Rachel.”

She smiled and said, “Hi.”

Throughout the rest of the ride she asked me questions like, “Where are you from?” and “What’s your favorite color?” It was a game of twenty questions that I knew would annoy me if it lasted longer than that day. For the time being, though, I answered her questions while trying to make her laugh.

When we stopped at the restaurant I was the first to step out of the car. I looked above the entrance and saw that the place was named “Muscus.” It made me twist my lips at its similarity to mucus, and while imagining an angry chef shooting a nose rocket into my miso soup I felt a little hand under my own. I looked down to see Rachel looking up, extending her hand to mine. I grabbed it, as if that was the plan all along, and walked inside. She sat next to me, and between mouthfuls of elaborate sushi rolls we continued our kiddie conversation.

I swallowed something zig zagged with mayo and drizzled with fish flakes then said, “My family is very big. I have three brothers and two sisters.”

“Really?”

“Really. And my little sister lived in Japan for a long time.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

When diner was over I got up and reached for her hand, but instead she hugged my waist. The other mothers smiled and talked sweetly to Katherine in Korean. I asked, “Do you want me to pick you up?” She nodded and I quickly scooped her off the ground, carrying her in the crux of my left elbow. She wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a long hug as we walked out into the sun.

Rachel wasn’t my daughter, and I had only talked to her for a combined amount of two hours that day, but I felt a closeness that made me want to take care of her as if I had known her all her life. Though I was aware that my feelings were colored by my own issues, I was grateful for the experience nonetheless. I smiled and held her as tight as was socially allowable by the situation.

The drive back was full of more trivia questions about what bank I used and what my favorite animal was (the eagle). She was being dropped off earlier than me, so I waved goodbye to both her and her mother. Rachel’s downturned face, sad eyes and beautiful frown just broke my heart as we drove away.

The site of them in the rearview mirror made me think of a few of my past relationships and how they crumbled. At best things ended after a night or two of soaked sheets. At worst they evolved, then disintegrated, as soon as, “I love you” was said: near misses with women I thought I could start a family with.

Katherine and Rachel were out of site. I sighed and smiled at the same time as I put the memories out of my head. The day wasn’t over so I focused on errands I had to run: cereal had to be bought, emails had to be sent, phone calls needed to be made, and many other unnecessary things needed doing. I got to them after being dropped off, and continued with similar time eating tasks throughout the next few days.

-

A week after the lunch, Katherine’s son came to my desk with a cheerful look and handed me an envelope he said was from his sister. He bowed, as they do here, and walked away while I opened the envelope to reveal a greeting card. In very good English Rachel wrote that she liked me very much. She then listed several other things she liked, and liked to do. She wrote that she wanted to be writer, among a few other careers. At the end she asked, “P.S. Can I go to the park with you?”

Rachel

I thought about the look of innocent wonder in Rachel’s face when I told her about my favorite animal. It’s a look that, from my experience, you rarely see from adults. It says that you amaze them. That breathing is all you need to do to be valuable – your presence brings joy. That joyous feeling had been missing for a while, so I decided to write an e-mail to Katharine to ask if we could all go to the park together.

Katharine’s daughter was not my daughter. I knew that. I also knew that dwelling on what wasn’t in my life was making things a little sadder than they had to be. It made my days feel long, and as I typed at my desk I realized that I didn’t need a genetic link to find something beautiful in the smile of a cute kid.

I clicked send then reread the card, feeling a little happier than I had the moment before.

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*Main Image Courtesy Whitney D.B.

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A few years ago, about ten, Josely and I were wasting an hour playing video games. This happened more often then I liked, but I had a lot of free time. At twenty one I had quit college and I quit my job. While pursuing a doomed dream I decided to read some books, write a little, and think a lot about the world I lived in. In those months me and my brother had been spending a lot of time together and I was constantly asking him questions about his life.

I had slowly become aware of the fact that Josely was dying. I was never told directly, but instead learned through the osmosis of family rumors until one day it was common knowledge that Josely’s time on earth had an experation date that was far closer than mine. I wanted to write stories, and I knew that Josely’s strange life was full of interesting, funny, and sometimes sad bits and pieces that I thought I could fit into whatever little thing I was putting together.

That day he had told me a couple of stories. He told me about the first time he had sex. He told why he picked up amateur boxing – to try to get close to my father (his step-father). He told me, in detail, what it was like to go through the jail system. He also told me about the first time he took drugs.

Shaking his head in regret he described himself as a kid recklessly willing to try anything new. All it took for him to light a pipe to his mouth was to be told by a girl he was dating to just “Smoke this.” From that point on his life was no longer his.

Household items started to go missing and my parents began putting locks on doors and cabinets. When I was thirteen he conned me out of the $100 my godfather gave me for Christmas. I borrowed a video game system from a friend and couldn’t explain a week later why it was gone. “My brother said he left it at his friend’s house. I’ll have it back next week.” Of course next week never came, and I began to realize that the brother I looked up to as a child had become more than just the black sheep of the family.

By twenty one I had gotten over it. I asked questions not because I wanted answers, but because I wanted information, and one day the brother who I loved very much would no longer be able to tell me anything.

"This is how I want to be remembered"

I was conscious of this as he told me how the end of his life began. When he was done he cursed the woman’s name who changed his life, then he looked me in the eyes with a quietness that was rare for him. He told me to never, ever, do what he did.

We continued to play the video game. He eventually won and laughed about it afterwards. Then he asked, “Why you asking me so many questions. I feel like I’m being interviewed, or something.” I told him why, and he said, “Oh. Well, so, you gonna write a book about me?”

I said, “Probably not. But I might use parts of your life in a book.”

He said, “Well I’ll tell you one thing about me.”

I paused the game that we had started playing again and listened.

He said, “I never felt right in this world. I never felt like I fit it, you know. That I belonged here.” He shook his head and continued, “This just ain’t my world.”

In an instant Josely had explained to me what drove him. For many of us the decisions Josely made in life just didn’t make sense. They were extreme, but for him they were the only ways he knew to search for something that would make him feel whole – that would take him away from the pain of isolation that this world seems to have such an abundance of.

Perhaps he was looking for love, or just a sense of belonging to something greater. Whatever it was, that search led him into several different directions. On November 21st of this year that search ended.

Although he certainly went about it in a dangerous way, Josely’s search wasn’t that different from the one we all share. We all want to be loved. We all want acceptance, and we all want to feel like we belong to a family, and a world, that we believe cares about us. It is peace that we all want.

Today we are saying goodbye to my brother, who has finally found that peace. A brother who taught me not to be scared of my emotions, to be confident in who I am, and helped me understand that the world is bigger than I thought.

Joesly, you will be missed, and, as you always were, you will be loved.
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*note: In the photo, from left to right is my cousin Diane, my sister Stacey, me and my brother Josely.

Years ago I wrote an email to a loved one who was far away. I liked it a lot and a year after writing it I made it into this prose poem. I go to it every so often and change this word or that word. It’s finished now so here it is. If you feel so inclined please share it using the social media tools below.

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Took the subway this Thursday instead of driving. Wanted to avoid the traffic and nasty weather outside (the day’s snowstorm would’ve blinded me on the road). Got there, and I saw this obnoxiously loud group on my uptown ride on the E train. They got on at Continental Avenue, and were talking in that language/code that I could never decipher. As they looked at the subway map they laughed, they smiled, and they exchanged glances that betrayed some shared knowledge – some inside joke. Filled with paranoia I found myself looking at their teeth, all off colored and stained. Some had gray teeth; one had an odd, dark splotch on his left pre-molar; another one had large spaces between his dirty whites that indicated they were shrinking from rot. The scene made me think of you, and I thought, “If Stacey were here she could tell me what these guys are saying. She could explain what was happening – why everything seemed so wrong.” You’re not here though, and you can’t tell me anything.

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My summer vacation was fun enough. I went to a beach; I drank apple martinis; I spent time writing; I slept late; I got really physical with a Korean woman in a damn sauna of a place called Club Maktum down in Busan on a night where I was a good wing man to a sexually frustrated friend, but slept alone. It was fun enough, but it wasn’t what I planned.

I was supposed to go to New York City where I would kiss my mommy, and hopefully get really physical with a Jamaican woman.

The summer vacation I planned was a trip back to a country that I dislike, but feel at home in nonetheless. That didn’t happen, and at the end of my two weeks off I had to work – like almost everyone else in the world.

-

To kick off a new semester my department goes out for a group dinner. The discussion on where to go, as well as what the curriculum for the next semester will be, happens in the English department office at the beginning of each term. During this meeting no English is spoken, though I’m required to come.

For the meeting this semester I stood to the right of our department head, leaned against a desk, and daydreamed. To my right was Joy, my crush. She’s beautiful, speaks close to fluent English, and I’m almost sure she likes me. From the casual conversations we’ve had, however, I can tell that if we dated I wouldn’t be comfortable being myself, so I leave it alone and keep to stealing glances and finding excuses to start a conversation so I can look into her eyes.

“I was supposed to go to New York City where I would kiss my mommy, and hopefully get really physical with a Jamaican woman.”

Joy, the Korean words that I didn’t understand, and the summer that I didn’t plan all began to weigh down on me like an invisible steel sweater while I looked down at my shoes, imagining myself somewhere else. As the department head, Mr. Seo, conducted the meeting I asked Joy, “What are they talking about now?”

“They are deciding where to go. I think we’ll be going to a seafood buffet.”

“Oh.”

We drove in groups and within fifteen minutes fifteen English teachers were in the waiting room of a restaurant named “C food.” I had missed breakfast, and the grumbles from my stomach were audible. The sight of the buffet display began to make my guts cry and I looked side to side to see if anybody noticed. After making sure I hadn’t embarrassed myself, I grabbed a plate and piled some salmon slices on it.

For the next two hours we talked and joked about nothing important. They showered me with smiles and comments concerning my eating habits. “You like Korean food? Most foreigners don’t like it. It doesn’t sit well in their stomach.” “I have no problems with it. I eat all foods.” They seemed to like that response.

I found out that Mr. Yang has a first name that is an M sound away from being the Korean word for animal. He said, “I kind of hate my name.” I laughed. “When I was in school the kids would sometimes make fun of me and call me animal or beast or something like that.” I laughed even harder. “Yeah! Also, my family name means sheep, so in both ways my name means animal. Some of the students, when they want to joke with me call me animal or something.” After laughing some more I told him I would put that in a story. Then I told him about the story I already wrote that has a main character named after him.

Mr. Kim... Penguin Teacher

I found out that another teacher, a Mr. Kim, has the nickname penguin. A nearby teacher tells me this and Mr. Kim stood still to allow us both to look at him. My eyes opened wide as I saw what I hadn’t before. I said, “Yes! He does look like a penguin!” We all laugh. “You look like a penguin Mr. Kim.” Used to it, he said, “I know.”

“Penguin teacher” showed us a picture of his daughter. She’s a round ball of cuteness that looks like her father. Those who looked at the photo ohhhed and awwwed, then laughed at the resemblance.

I tell Joy I want an animal nickname. What animal do I look like? She looks at me with a slight smile for a silent second or two and says she can’t think of anything. Says she’ll get back to me. She asks what animal she is. I look at her face and smile with restrained awe. I use the opportunity to take in all her features. I look at her large, almond shaped eyes, her full lips, her wide un-Korean nose. I had an excuse to stare, and I took it. After a few moments I tell her she looks like a cat. She doesn’t seem to like that too much, so I tell her that cats are beautiful, just like her.

On my fifth plate I started feeling a lot better than I did earlier that day. I stopped eating and sat in the moment. Blaming the endorphins being released by my food filled body I went back to stuffing my face with sliced pineapples until I noticed another group coming in. As is typical with many Koreans, some of them sported t-shirts with strange and/or nonsensical English phrases. I laughed at two of them and noticed a third – a little boy with a plate full of kimchi and beef. His shirt read, “We are all connected.”

Not a big believer in coincidence I took no small notice of it. I looked around the table, and realized (or rather remembered) it was right. Mr. Seo asked, “Alex, are you full?”

“Not yet. I’ve still got room for more.”

_

*Image Courtesy Raoul Dyssell

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Isaac turned away from Helen and, again, towards the RV window – unconsciously avoiding his wife’s talking points. From the interview Isaacs’s mind went back to replaying the funeral.

The priest told a story. “… He asked Simon to touch the holes in his hand. Simon had said he needed proof that Jesus had return. There it was. Because he lacked faith Jesus told him to look at his wounds, look at the scars he had been given so that humanity would be saved. Jesus than told us – that’s right, us as well as Simon – that blessed are those who believe without needing proof.

“Today we’ve lost someone very special to us. Abraham Locmin was our brother, friend and father.” Helen squeezed Isaac’s arm a little harder as he cried. “He was also a Christian and understood that the promise of our lord was the promise of a resurrection for those with faith. We also know this promise and realize that though we are saying goodbye, Abraham will never leave us.”

That unknown thing that gripped Isaac at the funeral began to take hold of him in the RV, and he found himself fighting back tears as Helen sat only four feet away. He thought about the sunken skin on his father’s face. Eaten up by prostate cancer Abraham’s body had betrayed him. Weakened from years of stressful living and scarred by fruitless operations to save him, his body put on display, for anyone willing to look, the truth about the world he had helped create. Not one for reflection, Isaac never noticed that truth shining brightly from the dying man’s face – but he was beginning to see. And he was beginning to question what his life had become.

He pin pointed the thing that made him cry at the funeral. It was the fight that he never put up. What if he yelled in his father’s office. What if he had gone to France that summer? What if he did become Senator? Or even President? Would his life improve at all? Would he, or could he, enhance the lives of others? Did he even care, or was getting power the whole point and not the means to something greater? If his father never seemed satisfied with life, what made him think he would be? What or who was it that determined that he would live so well while the world was filled with people who clawed at the dirt with their bare hands for food?

When all of his hairs turn gray, and he dies, what will happen to him? What will heaven be like? Would he be taken there? Or maybe he would just rot in the dirt – with all that he ever was ending up as food for earth worms and fertilizer for the lush green grass at Saint Benedict’s Cemetery.

As Isaac began thinking about these things – really for the first time – he was forced to notice the speeding Locmin Mobile. Helen was shaking his shoulders to bring him out of the teary eyed trance he had fallen into. Waking up, Isaac found himself in the middle of panicked yells. He shouted, “What’s going on?”

The RV was racing over bumps in the road and swerving through small curves.

One aide said “The breaks are…!”

“We’re going down a fucking hill!” another yelled, interrupting the first.

As fast as the Locmin mobile went, it was never this fast.

Isaac shouted, “The emergency breaks!”

“Nothing!” an aide hollered back.

Time began to slow down for Isaac as he looked around. He looked at Helen and wondered, “What if?” He looked at his aides and couldn’t figure out why he needed them. He looked at the stack of handouts that had found their way to the floor. He saw a foot print on his photo and looked at the details of his bio sheet – a life he didn’t choose. Amid the loud noises and fear that was flooding the Locmine mobile, Isaac felt pity. Pity for the man in the picture that was starting to look more and more alien to him.

Suddenly, with a loud crack, the rattling stopped. The RV hit a divider at the bottom of a downhill curve. On the mountainside rode the divider separated the interstate road from a much lower lane, and after breaking through the RV was falling. Isaac looked out of the window for the last time and saw that the Locmin mobile was heading for the asphalt of the other road, soon to be crushed head first under it’s own weight.

Isaac heard each and every sound – the screaming, the cursing, the begging, the crying – and for a moment he thought he was yelling too. He wasn’t. Instead he was looking at the horizon with open and attentive eyes. From his height he saw land that stretched out into the pacific. He thought about the Isaac Locmin who was living out the ideals of his father’s world – as a politician, as a husband, as a human being. His own motivations had been eroded and replaced with mysteries he was just now beginning to understand. Just now.

In the same second, Isaac saw the slight semi-circle of light that separated the sky and the earth. Scared beyond understanding, words came to Isaac that he didn’t understand. He looked at his photo, closed his eyes, and with an honesty in his voice that he had been working towards his whole life Isaac Locmin said to himself, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Isaac woke up with his hands near his toes and a pen jammed into his thigh. His back was to the window he had been looking out of and that window was on the side of the RV that was laying on the ground. He laid there breathing heavy, trying to pull his thoughts together. John was next to him. John’s face was pressed against the window and his neck was bent at an ninety degree angle towards his left shoulder. Isaac’s eyes opened wide and his body shuddered at the sight of death. He held in his horror and pulled out the blue bic from his right leg.

Helen was unconscious too, with a gash on her right temple and what looked like a broken arm – but Isaac could hear her breathing in the quiet wreck that the Locmin mobile had become. The vehicle had ripped open in some places like a shredded soda can and light came in through those cracks near Isaac. He made his way towards it and squirmed out onto the road.

Still lying on the floor Isaac took out his cell phone and dialed out for help. The screen’s broken glass cut into his face.

“Hello, Emer…”

“There’s been a accident  on Route 162 near…” He looked around frantically. “… Near exit 20. I think at least one person is dead. Maybe more. I… I…” Isaac trailed off as his eyes focused on his stepped-on photo on the floor of the RV across from him.

“Okay sir I’m sending help now. They should be there shortly. What is your name sir?”

Isaac’s fear subsided a bit as his smiling face started back at him from the other side of the wreak.

“Who am I speaking to? The operator repeated.

“Isaac Locmin. I’m a…” Isaac looked down at his button “I’m Isaac. That’s it.”

“Okay Mr. Locmin. Do you feel alright? Are you injured?”

Isaac removed his button and slowly placed it on the ground.

“I think. I think I’ll be fine.”

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“Venus”

We fucked the first night we met, and it was pretty good.

Neither of us were looking for anything serious. What it boiled down to was that everyone has needs, and it’s hard to get those needs met in a foreign country where men perm their hair and women want to get married before they’re twenty-two.

I saw it as all very temporary, so I didn’t care when she wanted to hold my hand during our walks to every and anywhere. It was nice, but that’s all it was. I didn’t mind when she rested her head on my shoulder as we sat through long bus rides, or that she began telling me how much she missed me when I wasn’t there. Though, I admit that the words slowed the beat of my heart when I heard them – touching the place in my chest that heated up when I saw someone I loved in a casket, or when I first really noticed a baby’s smile.

Time passed, but I didn’t think about the possible impact of all those weekends we spent together, or the nights we stayed up talking about our dreams, our past relationships, and what we wanted out of life. It was just sex, and I knew that was all we could have. This was true even after I said “I love you.” She cried in her bed with me inside her, and holding me tightly said, “I love you too.”

The night before she left the country I thought I was losing a convenient sex partner and nothing more. When she waved goodbye to me from the airport departure gate, though, I realized that I lost something else.

Catching her scent in the air of my tiny apartment later that night I breathed in to get as much of her as I could before she was gone from me forever – I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.

With a long exhale, and quiet tears, I let her go. I missed her, I loved her, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life holding her in my arms.

My heart was shattered into a thousand brittle pieces, and I asked myself, “How did I get here?”

_

*Image Courtesy Raoul Dyssell

____________________________

Helen wore a softer version of Isaac’s outfit – with light beige replacing the navy blue. A homely looking woman, Helen had broad shoulders that were accentuated by her many business jackets. Isaac glanced at her with dull eyes before returning his gaze to the trees, bushes and mountain scenery flying past the window. He was glad he married her. She was smarter than him, and he knew it. Helen was the strategist behind Isaac’s campaign who did everything from writing his speeches and policy initiatives, to setting up promotional events and contacting the media.

Only an hour before Isaac had finished an interview, set up by Helen, with a local news show in Mendocino County. Though it didn’t go as well as Isaac had hoped, everyone else was pleased with the direction it took. He was being told by his staff that he came across as “intelligent,” “truthful,” and “likable.” These were the qualities that voters looked for in a leader, said his anonymous staff.

The reporter had said, “Representative Locmin, you’ve been called a homophobe.” He looked Isaac in the eyes, then looked down at an index card. “You have connections with the ultra conservative religious group GAFF, who’ve published material calling homosexuality a, quote, ‘abomination.’ You yourself have been on the record saying, ‘what two human beings do in their bedroom is their own business, but marriage implies that the government approves of it, and I don’t think that’s a message we should be giving out.’ ” After looking up from his index card, the young reporter raised an eyebrow then asked, “Though they may sound like bland words representative, do you really think the people of your district will vote for what’s implied by those words – the opinion that being gay is wrong? Do you think they’ll want you to represent them in the State Senate?”

Isaac responded, “A senator is basically a representative of the people, and I believe that in this state, and specifically in my district, many agree with my stance. That quote, for example, was made before I became a representative for the third district, but I’ve never denied saying it. Its main idea, in fact, was what much of my platform was based on. It’s why I was voted in.

“Voters were well informed and knew what they wanted in their representative. I think voters are still well informed, and when it’s election day they will know what they want in their state senator: someone who says what he means, and is willing to accept criticism from anybody who genuinely wants to make things better. That’s what my office has been doing for the last eight years and that’s what I’d continue to do as senator in the state of California.”

“So are we to imply that your opinion is the same as that of GAFF leaders?”

Isaac smiled, “Honestly Daniel, my day to day responsibilities as a representative don’t allow me to be fully involved in some of the organizations I’m a member of. My father was a member of G.A.F.F. and fully involved in its activities. I haven’t been able to be so involved. However, I do believe in a lot of what they stand for: personal responsibility, faith and family. I will always stand for those ideals, and that’s what my campaign stands for as well.”

The reporter pressed no further, and soon moved on to Isaac’s ideas on “tough urban policing.”

Isaac’s answers were given with all the right body language: His eyes remained open (avoiding the half closed sleepiness they sometimes exhibited), his hand movements were of the right type and pace, and his face expressed sincerity and humility. What he said also stayed on message: his words gave a sense of strength and confidence, while at the same time displaying his faith in the intelligence of the average person.

In truth, it was all just an elaborate way of avoiding the issue. Simple smoke and mirror words used to hide his political track record. In the privacy of his own home Isaac hardly cared if others used the word “faggot.” That’s what worried him about the interview. He wasn’t sure if his words had concealed that fact well enough. He decided to let it go and trust his staff.

_

The events of the day – though very much crafted by Helen – were mainly the end result of years of grooming by Isaac’s father, former California Senator Locmin. After graduation his father got him a position within his management-consulting firm where Isaac made large sums of money by advising companies on how to best fire their low wage workers in times of crisis. Isaac later ran for, and became, a state representative for his hometown district.

In the Locmin mobile Isaac thought about those years; he had been filled with all the enthusiasm expected from someone whose actions were based on the decisions of another. The position of a representative didn’t enhance his life much, at least as far as he could tell. It afforded him power, which he sometimes took advantage of, but it was simply a job.

Isaac took a another sip of room temperature water; the driver pressed on the gas a little harder than usual; Helen was going over key issues to bring up at church; Isaac covered his mouth with his palm as he yawned.

The Locmin campaign was touring Isaac’s home of Solano. They planned to spend the next two days rallying up home town nostalgia for the cameras. On two occasions Isaac was to make his speech with his sleeves rolled to the middle of his forearms. Helen reminded him that “That type of body language lets people know that your not just another rich guy running for office. You’re one of them.“

_

The church that Isaac, Helen, and their mob of advisors were heading to was the same one Isaac had gone to as a child every Sunday for the first fourteen years of his life. His father would hold Isaac’s soft hand in his as Isaac’s attention shifted from the cold and lifeless words of the priest to the cold and lifeless images on the church walls. Dead things, they would look at him with indifferent eyes and emotionless faces. Looking at his father in this way he would see the same expression until he turned his head to look, once again, at the priest. It was an often repeated four point movement.

On his first Sunday home after graduating from Harvard Business School Isaac met his father to discuss the future. They met in Abraham’s office after an important conference call, and while looking over his notes Abraham asked, “How was the flight?”

“It was fine.”

“Good.”

Abraham continued looking through the papers. “We’ll meet your mother at the church in an hour.”

“Okay.”

After a minute Abraham put aside his notes and looked across his desk at Isaac who was sitting down – patiently waiting.

“Your position hasn’t been created yet. I’ve got to talk to Daniels at HR, but it shouldn’t take any more than two weeks. In the meantime you’ll assist Donavan. He’s working with the Columbia account and you’ll watch what he’s doing. A sort of refresher course from the internship. Assist him with the number crunching, but you’re not his damn secretary. You’re free to make recommendations and comment if you think he’s wrong.

“When it comes to the employee interviews though, let him conduct them, and just watch. When the paperwork for your new position is cleared you’ll be his supervisor.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

Abraham looked down at his paperwork again. After a few seconds he looked up again to see Isaac still sitting there, quietly breathing.

“You have any questions son?”

“Well…” Isaac’s eyes wandered slightly in response to Abraham’s piercing stare.

“Well what?”

“I know we talked about me working here after graduation, but I was hoping to take a little break. The girl I told you about was planning on going to France for the summer. I never really got any time between Stanford and Harvard to relax, so I wanted to go with her. Maybe practice my French.”

Abraham’s gaze into Isaac didn’t change.

“Isaac, you’re right. We did discuss this. We discussed you working here and taking a leading role as soon as possible. We discussed this after Stanford, and we discussed this right before your recent graduation. With you here I can run for the state senate seat without worrying about the business, or my name. There is no time in that plan for you to leave the country and practice your French.” Abraham looked away from Isaac for a moment as he thought. Then looking back said, “You can get a tutor if you want.”

Isaac exhaled long and silently.

Abraham looked down at his papers. While highlighting a sentence he said, “besides, you know Jenna Mathis’s daughter likes you.”

“Helen?”

“Yes, Helen. She’s smart. Smarter than you. You two need to spend more time together.”

“Okay.”

“After I’m done here we’ll head to the church.”

Isaac looked down and thought about shouting, “Fuck!” Shouting the most offensive words he knew until his breath was gone, and his  throat was sore from the strain that would be needed to let the old man know how he felt. Instead Isaac lifted his head back up and said, ”Okay.”