DO YOU BELIEVE IN A BETTER
DAY? DO YOU HAVE FAITH
IN A GOLDEN WAY?
She means; He (Ray) is too tough, and too talented to get me easy to his way. Indeed, he is too clumsy just like a cloth impervious to water. She said, the people who using the narcotic just like AMY, they see no further than their noses, with only one image that shows on their mirrors which is a false bright reflection of their self-delusions that mislead them to believe that they are the only creatures living in this world, and if any others existed, they are nothing other than worthless bugs, to whom the right of crushing is theirs anytime they feel like it. She could be double-faced and I know you should say how it was derogatory to my dignity to hang up with that woman?! I’m afraid to say, she is a close woman about her own affairs. “Honey Jennifer, life is sometimes a gamble. It is just like you spin that wheel of fortune, and playing that games of fools but, you don’t want to be afraid to take a chance because, you think, you haven’t got much to lose”! I passed by a ballet-class and stood there with tears draining like the rain from the sky upon my chin. Focusing to my past when, I was just a little girl and, thinking a dream of being a famous ballerina. I wanted to wear again those ballet-tutus and tiara and dance on stage for the whole world to see. The waves of the oceans and dashing of the strong winds so hard mashed my face that I feel like the divers without oxygen. The sound of the thunderstorm broke the walls of silence. I am hopeless. Feeling, hope is nothing except a knife in my back that nearly reached my heart from trusting others from being used and abused in some form or another from being someone’s puppet play thing or chew toy. Hope is some cruel thing we are taught to believe in so the real world can slap us in the face anytime it wants to. I am tired, weak and needy. It’s like climbing a rapidly melting mound of ice. I feel too sick, trouble raising my arms and holding myself upright. That is Sandra who was there all the time for me, gave me the courage to stand up on my feet and not to giving up my hopes and dreams. She told me, fulfilling my dreams would take a lot of hard work. She sent me even to ballet-class, helped me to put my tutus-shoes on. She was telling me all the time, when you wish upon a star, makes no difference that you are, anything your heart desires will come to you, if your heart is your dream. Sometimes in past, back days, my hopes been burned into ashes.
I’VE LIVED TO BURY MY DESIRES
AND SEE MY DREAMS CORRODE WITH RUST
NOW ALL THAT’S LEFT ARE FRUITLESS FIRES
THAT BURNS MY EMPTY HEART TO DUST.
STRUCK BY THE CLOUDS OF CRUEL FATE
MY CROWN OF SUMMER BLOOM IS SERE
ALONE AND SAD, I WATCH AND WAIT
AND WONDER IF THE END IS NEAR.
AS CONQUERED BY THE LAST COLD AIR
WHEN WINTER WHISTLES IN THE WIND
ALONE UPON A BRANCH THAT’S BARE
A TREMBLING LEAF IS LEFT BEHIND.
I remember that night, when the music of the Nutcracker began, and the curtains swung, I could see how the audience cheered, and how I grinned gleefully and started to dance. I was all I had too much fun to be nervous. When the melody seemed to rise ad swirl, I rose my arms and turned, and my ribbon floated in the air. That night, on the stage, under the bright lights, I felt like a real ballerina at last! Painfully, I tore myself away from the ballet-class, turned on my heels, and plunged into the thick matted foggy. It started to get dark and rain. It was difficult to walk. I should walk by the roadside, then suddenly, the soles of my running shoes, gripped the tarmac, just like gun metal magnets and I was nearly fell on the ground. I got home and trying to get some sleep. But I couldn’t sleep. I am extremely tired. It feels I am floating on the clouds; my life is all blown. I’m thinking but I don’t want to. Though my eyes are all in tears, I am hopeful about my exaltation. I lived, up to the time of the illness that deprived me of my sight and hearing. Sometimes, I wish I could find myself comfort and hide my face into the cool leaves and grass.
What joy it was to lose myself in that garden of flowers, to wander happily from spot to spot! The beginning of my life was simple and much like the every other little life. I came, I saw, I conquered, as the first baby in the family always does. My father said; I walked the day I was a year old. My mother had just taken me out of the bath-tub and was holding me in her lap, when I was suddenly, attracted by the flickering shadows of leaves that danced in the sunlight on the smooth floor. I slipped from my mother’s lap and almost ran toward them, the impulse gone, I fell down and cried and then she took me up in her arms. I am getting sick and tired of this life. Life snuggling me down, walk me off my legs. It is one of those nights where I feel extremely tired but sleep evaded me as I’m worry about my future. Sandra was standing on the stairs and silently staring at me. I took a look at her and wiped my tears off of my eyes. Now, she stepped the stairs one by one very smooth and opened her hands up like the poets and declaiming some preaches to me: “Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog? When it seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in! And the great ship, tense and anxious, groped her way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-line? And then you waited with beating heart for something to happen. I was like that ship before my education began, only was without compass or sounding- line, and had no way of knowing how near the harbor was!”. She sat over front of me. I was guessing vaguely from her signs and from the hurrying to and something unusual was about to happen. So I rose on my feet and becoming impatient and off course worry to what the happening now! As she was preaching with that tune of renaissance rhythmic melody into my ears, Suddenly, I felt as if invisible hands were holding me, and I made frantic efforts to free myself, to sweep the fragments to one side of the hearth and feel a sense of satisfaction that the cause of my discomfort was removing. I struggled-not that struggling helped matters, but sprit of resistance was strong within me. I generally broke down in tears and physical exhaustion. And if my mother happened to be near I crept into her arms, too miserable even to remember how cause of the tempest. This thought, if a wordless sensation maybe called a thought, made me hop and skip with pleasure.
Sandra suddenly, with a shocked voice and excited sound like a thunder roaring: “I found it. I found it. It’s just a bright idea shot into my mind now”. I tumbled off the bed and in order to hide myself under it. Sandra took me back again onto the bed and this time with a very easier sound said: “Relax, take it easy. I just finally found out a way to everything all be done. What punishment should we take more in this life?! I can’t tolerate anymore. I am quite emphatic and sensitive but over the last couple weeks I’ve been fixated on killing both of them. I mean Ray, and Amy. What do you say! We can do this together, me and you! That vicious creeping creature Amy, and Ray, the murderer, and disgusted, criminal drug seller together! Beside, did you know Amy was Hermaphrodite? (My eyes just filled with wonder just looking at her face). Ok, I know you wonder what it means! That means she had (At birth) both female and male sexual characteristics. In another word, she was born with an unusual chromosome structure.
The word Hermaphrodite is the name given to the son of ancient Greek Gods Hermes and Aphrodite! According to mythology Hermaphroditism was so loved by the nymph Salamis that she prayed they could be united as one person-and literally got her wish. The two was transformed into one being who was both male and female.
I have never felt their much hate towards any living thing and if I had a good enough weapon or some poison, I would get rid of them and send them to hell. Probably, we should hire a professional to dispose of this witch and that filthy black bastard together in same time! You know we could just grab them and slide them down to their knees and put a knife onto their throat and cut them to death”! Her heart was pounding in her ears by now, as she was wondering to intend to kill them. I could imagine a rough hand dragging across my heart and choking me. She clinched her elbows tightly together with full of hate in her face. I was feeling to be nailed ducks to the wall, and keeping my hea
rt in dark ruins. I was rock standing out in an ocean of doubt. How could I kill somebody? This was never meant to be to get a life from someone. Ignorance breeds hate, hate breeds violence. She wants to kill them. She has lot of anger and me; I cannot stand feeling to be needed to put down those monsters. It scares me and oddly makes me feel powerless as well. Life is sucks, because we are all really just big brained primates who were meant to be living in small tribal groups and gathering food, and our pain is the natural result of or living in an unnatural environment. Did she really make that immediate decision about her new plan! There was silence between us. Silence those unsaid words, and it has an end also. She looked at my reflection and smiled.
On the afternoon of that eventful day, I stood on the porch, dumb, expectant. The day began wobbly. Literally because my ears are still somewhat plugged and the back of my throat is aches! I’ve noticed recently that when she talks about her feelings she seems to somehow cushion them. For example today, she guessing vaguely something is about to happening, so she went to her bedroom and waited. I can sense that I feel very distraught about what will happen! I try to not to push her to get her angry. I can see she is so quiet, and when she does say anything, it’s usually how nervous she is! It’s obvious to me that when I say anything to her she get fidget and anxious, then I wished I hadn’t opened my mouth. It’s just like a checkmate! I have a hunch that maybe cushioning her feelings serves a very important purpose for me!
I would say; she had been successful in almost every way except in her marriage life. She had long ago ceased to worry and she had exorcized guilt with her conscience to run a family out of the unhappiness she could do. Be a good mother, expecting not to show any face of roughness. She really enjoyed the mother word when she heard that first time in her entire life. She made a lot of useful and secret plans to surprise me. Her plans were always made in secret, like those of a good general, and they were as rigidly enforced. A compromise might be affected. But never a basic change in a plan whether those plans were conceived in a sleepless night or on an angry morning or on a gin-aided evening. That afternoon sun penetrated the mass of honeysuckle that covered the porch, and felon my upturned face. Anger and bitterness had preyed upon my continually for weeks and a deep languor. I let out my breath in a sigh of relief. A car pulled over the curb and two dressed men got off and walking towards the porch of my house. When they got too close to me, very gently and politely while they pulling out their badges: “Hello. My name is sergeant Corny. Tim Corny, and this is my partner Roger Pinky, (I just sneaked a quick look with a little sneer at him, because his lips turning up in shy pleasure beneath his straggly little mustache). “Are you MRS Sandra Bronson”?
“No”.
“Does she live here”?
“Yes”.
“Can we talk to her”?
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Nothing, we just wanted to talk to her”.
In this time Sandra opened the door and stepped out of the house and very nervous, let her bated breath out in a long sigh and then in a very strong behavior stood there with her head up to me. I didn’t bat an eyelid; I looked her straight in her eyes. An obliged and agreeable smile was on her face. I saw, in corner of her eyelash, that she became aware of my looking at her. I was worried and agitated to know what the hell was going on! As if she said to them with a sweet smile: “Well. I am Sandra Bronson. How can I help you?” “Would you mind to come with us to the police-station please?” “Why I have to go with you to the police-station?” “Well. We wanted you just identify for us a man who murdered a woman”. “Murdered? Identify? Excuse me; I don’t really understand what you’re talking about!” “Please come with us. We’ll talk about it when we get there”. The ray of sun was shining through the window in that car. Sandra was watching me kind of a look of skeptic. I took my car and followed them. They drove fast through the streets and some alleys, and then they stopped in front of a big building. I assumed it shoud be the place. I parked my car on the other side of street. [In interrogation office], they started questioning Sandra concerned to a murder of a woman.
I wondered why they took Sandra to that office, and what she wants to do there! She can’t be alibi or neither a witness! They just found her picture in the suspect’s pocket. For the first, Sandra even if she is accused of murder or either to be coworker with suspect, I believe they shoud at least give her a warning, Miranda warning or Miranda rights! And beside how they could be so sure by arresting the right suspect! And take a consideration into that, an interview is no accusatory. Even if the investigator has clear reason to believe that the suspect is involved in the crime or has lied he should still not accuse! How do know probably suspect make a false accusations to save the other asses! But as I figured after all, they wanted just to know, Sandra could verify the suspect, which means if she doesn’t recognize him at all! “A woman names by Amy Sanders, whom has been murdered a couple of days ago. We found a picture of you, (while the agent took off a picture out of his coat’s pocket, and showing her), in murderer’s pocket. Did you know the victim, I mean Amy”? “I’m not sure what you mean by knowing her? “I’ve just had some connection with her in while” She convinced a very great aversion to that agent, before he comes up with other question, Sandra jumped up of her seat and asking for her lawyer. “You don’t need lawyer. As matter fact you are not arrested, this is just some routine of interrogation”. The intense feelings Sandra was having now weren’t those that could be satisfied FBI agents. There was a guy sitting on a chair in that room with handcuffed on. Burnt-out, jaded and hard-up assassins, his mission, get the innocents life. He looks too funny, with a tiny bulk just like a dwarf, little incapable and infirm. Light blue eyes, short in the chin with a malicious funny face, too nervous and scared looking at us, but the room is one-way mirror and sound-proof. He definitely can’t see through.
(A one-way mirror is glass which, on one side, provides a reflection, but the other side, functions as a mirror. You will able to hear what is going on inside, but they will not be able to see or hear you). Sandra was shocked to see him how he stares at her! One of the Feds said to her; “don’t worry about it. He can stares at you through that window, but he is just seeing his own reflection. He can’t see you. So, tell me, did you ever meet him, or talked to him”? “No, I never seen that guy in my life” Sandra said in a skeptic face. “You never talked to him?” “I’m afraid not. But could you tell me how it happened”? “Well, it seemed, it should be a conflict between the suspect and victim. He broke the bedroom window and that noisy woke her, and that hulky figured creature stepped into the room and tried to kill her. She was terrified, and tried to escape away, but he slammed into her neck with a piece of broken glasses and then pulled her down to the living-room. He snatched up the only thing that might have any weight”. In this time as they were taking him into his cell, he turned his face back to Sandra, with a sneering smile said; she’s going to be next, ha, ha, ha.
The first thought that occurred to Sandra that might be Ray who is behind the killing! Sandra knew Ray claimed that Amy often begging him to reconcile their relationship and that’s why she was obsessed with him. She was kind of a sex-slave for him. Amy was totally proud to talk about her private sex relation to Sandra. She proud fully one day explained her one of her sweetest sex with Ray. She said; “we were going home after we two have been through some crazy times and party with some friends. I could say I was so Horney so he drove me fast home. The second we got in the door we started heavily making out. We were all over each other. I pushed him down on the bed and ripped off his shirt. I kissed all the way down to his pants and ripped them off. I kept kissing till I got to his cock and I sucked it good. I stopped before he came. Then he got me laid my back and hiked up my skirt and fucked me so hard. I had no underwear on and he said oh bitch, you are so warm and hot! Then I stopped and got on top of him and then I rode him hard. We were both groaning so loud. Then she started
to exaggerate his cock that she loved it and 10 inch meat and blab, blab.
Well, it sounds weird to me, what kind of crazy, self-obsessed women were consulted to this? Most women I know would never to do most of these things! We are not all self-observed, insecure, over-emotional train wrecks who tell our friends everything. Most of us do believe in treating our men with respect and NOT telling every little detail about our relationships (including, and especially, anything to do with his sexual skills or how big IT is!
Closure is hardly a grief thing. We are encouraged to look for it when we lose jobs, lovers, friends and when bad things happen to us good people. Everyone should don a cape, pick up a bludgeon and play «whack a mole” with cultural foolishness now and again. It’s liberating to discard made up notions superimposed on normal feelings and milestones. However, Sandra seems to adhere to the same idea that society pushed people through grief-as if this was actually possible-and that grief, like a fine wine, should be savored. I have to chuckle a bit because by and large people move at on a pace dictated by their personalities and needs in spite of society’s best efforts to school them. Anyways, on the way back home Sandra explained me about what she exactly went through with those FBI, s agents in there. I was still over my shock and was just plain pissed off. She said, she got warned not to leave the town until the case is over. I mustered up the courage and asked her; “What kind of Fucking warn is it? You can’t leave the town, until the case is over! But if you would like to leave the town, they can’t stop you under any circumstances. Did they prosecute you for benefit theft? Which means, did they ask you to pay any amount of money? That is called, committing benefit fraud. “I’m not sure. They just wanted only a little information”. So, you’ve just been called to verify the suspect not that means, you yourself are a suspect! Now listen, according to law, you’re not either prosecuted or suspected of any committing. And despite all that, you didn’t even receive any letter concerns to that case! So why on the earth, they should stop you to leave the town! That’s because the murderer had one of your photo in his pocket! Bullshit. This is nonsense. You know, sometimes I wonder, the connection between you and Amy was just a friendship?
Ballerina Page 9