Remember.
#6.
They say things don’t happen the way we remember them. Vantage point, your eyes are the device that lets you sneak up and spy on the world. Then your mind takes that information and it becomes your perspective. It may not be what the man next to you saw, but it is what your mind perceives. It’s the human mind’s trick to believe that everything happens the way each person thinks. You are always right. Even when you are completely wrong and lying to yourself it is right. You can not do anything, unless on some level you believe in it. Even hurting yourself is right when the mind is convinced.
Daybreak cascades across the horizon and grows with intensity. We’re sitting in a diner across from an old burned out gas station ninety minutes from the warehouse. The seats are a shiny red vinyl that matches the 1950s replicated Formica. Three steps from the table stands Madge. She wants to know if we need more coffee or a slice of pie. I shake my head and she moves on.
My coffee is cold and Steven is sitting across from me avoiding eye contact. There are unanswered questions racing through my mind. The stitching on my chest feels heavy when I breathe. From the corner of my eye I can see that the bandage on my arm is soaked red and needing to be redressed.
I can remember cutting out the piece of my arm. Steven wanted to take part of it for them. That’s how I remember it. To hear him explain it sounded more convincing before.
Before I manage a word, he starts… “How do you feel?” The knife feels sharp against my inner arm. Steven continues to hold tight to my hand waiting for a response. Slowly the knife traces against the painful reminder of a clumsy misstep, a five inch scar that runs up the inside of my arm that Steven recalls just as vividly I do.
“I can not give you answers. Now is not the time. Right now Ethan needs to leave us and he needs something from you.” Madness crawls back into his eyes before he cuts into the familiar wound and plunges toward my hand. “I can do this… or you can do this. Either way it has to be done. Before you ask it… Ethan won’t do this.”.
Nodding I take the knife and think of the memory of the wound. That summer night nearly ten years ago when I slipped on the wet cement outside Steven’s house and landed onto the rod-iron fence. Through and through. Three minutes of bleeding profusely and struggling to remove my arm from the fence before anyone found me. And here I am about to re-open the old wound.
Carefully, Steven leans in with his stare. Ethan gets up and lights a cigarette. I can hear my heart beating as I slice in deeper and deeper. Carving out a small slit of flesh from my arm. The blood drips quick and brightly. My hands are shaking and I can’t seem to accurately carve. It’s me watching a butcher cut up meat. Only I’m the butcher.
Ethan takes about five more drags off the cigarette before setting back down next to me. He’s getting ready to collect the result of my efforts. The blade shakes in my grip. Digging in further, almost to completion. Steven takes a deep breath and gets up to his feet. His serious face hasn’t broken since I’ve started in.
“It’s done!” The thick chunk of flesh falls onto the white chair. Stains of red slide along the upholstery. Drip. Drip. Quick hands gather the fallen tissue and place into plastic then a cloth satchel.
“Honey, that was fucking savage. I honestly didn’t think you could do it. Let me clean you up again.” Ethan pulls out a small cloth bandage and another syringe.
Steven has already walked away. In the darkness, I can see him dragging the body of the Cajun over to a lounge. He begins breaking furniture. Tossing chairs. Shoving layers of plastic and materials to the corner of the room. Then lifts up containers to pour liquid over the body and across the plastic covered furniture. Gasoline from the aroma. The chaos goes up in flames as he drops a match to it.
“Forget that. Wrap her up. Let’s MOVE!” Steven walks back over as the far wall of the room goes up into flames. Ethan tightens the cloth and hands me a box of syringes. Steven grabs my body and lifts me up as he kicks over the tray of tools.
Ethan parts from us as we leave the warehouse. Steven walks over to a black Cadillac Seville and tosses me in. Ethan heads in the opposite direction from the flaming building.
Hot. Bright. Daylight. Madge wants to pour more coffee. Ethan should be returning soon. Steven hasn’t said more than three words since we left. Now he’s decided to give conversation a bit of a go.
“Now that you’ve lost a little blood we shouldn’t have to worry…” Steven perks up between a drink of coffee. Still avoiding eye contact.
“Excuse me. I don’t call that a little.”
“Excuse me, but you are alive and I could have taken your whole hand.”
“Of course that’s the important thing.”
A red El Camino rolls up and Ethan gets out before the driver takes off.
Steven breaks eye contact to watch Ethan walk up to the diner. “It’s important that you’re not a factor anymore.” Reconnecting with my stare, his voice quiets and reaches a near whisper. “This way… they might think you’re dead.”
#6. This should have been up sooner. Sometimes things are out of our control. But rather later than never. Still not sure about this whole thing, but persisting in its completion. There is more I want to give, but I'm gonna hold it back. I'm excited about quite a few things. I've reworked something that came two months ago... and there's more. enjoy! m.
#5 - Sacrifices.
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