Duncan's Diary

by Christopher C. Payne

  The next hour jumped by quickly, and I heard tapping on my front door. I figured it was she. I moved from the confines of my bedroom, dressed in running shorts and nothing else, and opened the door to a red-faced, smiling Hannah. She held herself up by bracing one hand on the railing next to my stairs. I was a little concerned that she had driven from her nightly activity in the state she was in, but helped her through the door. I held her as we stood in the entryway.

  I realized then how sad she must feel, needing to simply be held, and I gently caressed her shoulder-length hair. I ran my fingers deeply through the back of her neck, stroking her strands and letting them fall between each finger. I pulled her head away from my shoulder and gently touched my lips to hers. She was ready. We stood in the doorway for several minutes, kissing passionately, embracing each other for the first time. We explored the inner crevices each other’s mouths, cheeks, and ears. Our hands were frantically moving from shoulders to back to arms, then, circling again.

  We moved to the bedroom where we continued our exploration, as we got to know each other in a passionate way. Making love to somebody for the first time is a truly unique experience. I often hear that the ocean is the last frontier of unknown space residing on our planet, but I would challenge that statement. Every woman you make love to is a move into a world that is 100 percent different than anything you have ever known before.

  Each woman is exclusively unique, and each body moves and responds in a specific fashion. If you take your time, you will find how amazingly true these words are. How can anyone who really grasps this concept stay committed to one person for life? Most men, I feel, are happy to ever find a woman who will accept them and allow them the sheer pleasure of making love. Most men lack the ability to give a woman what they desire and have the insecurity of not knowing what it is they need to do to please the opposite sex.

  As I lay with Hannah and she did the inevitable after-sex snuggling that all woman crave, I realized that my connection with her was moving to a confusing level. I did truly enjoy her company. She was incredibly beautiful; and as she lay in my arms, I did love listening to her stories.

  She worked with mostly men in a construction supply business. They sold concrete forms to contractors, and she was the all-around office person who kept the place going. She had been eating and drinking with all her co-workers for a holiday dinner, and she was with only one other woman in a group of 20-plus men. A couple of suppliers had shown up, as well, and the liquor was flowing freely. Hannah was not a big drinker, so it was unusual for her to get this far out of control.

  I was surprised that she was not constantly barraged with offers from the several men with whom she worked. She stated that all of them were married, but we all know that is nothing but an inconvenience. It is definitely not the deterrent that naïve women think it is. She was also very excited at the bonus she had been given, which exceeded a $1,000 in cash. Christmas was now quickly approaching, and she would use the money to buy the much-wanted gifts for her two beautiful daughters.

  As Hannah lay in my arms, spilling her plans for shopping and recanting her stories from the evening, I casually asked her if she would be interested in the two of us taking a trip to Twain Harte where my cabin was located. The only stipulation I had was she could not tell anyone where she was going—I truly did not want my older daughter finding out that Hannah was there.

  We debated the pros and cons of a weekend together, and after weighing everything out decided the short trip would be fine. She had never been skiing before and with winter approaching, the possibilities of Dodge Ridge opening up were gaining traction. I also felt with our relationship vaulting to a new level it would be a good test for what I wanted out of life. If I were ever going to have the semblance of a normal existence, then Hannah would be a perfect candidate. She was a far cry better than the sleazy women I had been hanging around lately. I was also saving money by not perusing the Internet for a quick fix.

  I attempted to decipher the next stage of my existence. Where did I go from here? If my completeness was now true, and I only had to continue my recent string of extracurricular activities to remain content, then what else did I desire? Maybe we are all continuing the attempt to move in one direction or another. Maybe one is never happy or complacent with the same routine, but always desires more and more.

  If that were true, what was next for me? Blowing up a building? That was not who I was. I needed the search for personal connection, and that only came from the taking of another life with bare hands. Watching the eyes cease, creating an empty shell, drained of its energy, lying in a stoic pose of death. That was the personal connection. Making love to somebody, or the concept of marriage, were only false placeholders for the connection one felt in the presence of another life leaving this planet forever.

  Forever: the finality of it. Sex is fleeting, and marriage is rarely lasting in today’s society. Even the marriages that do last are mired in a bitter, tangled web of deceit and sadness. Death is the ultimate lasting experience that once complete cannot be undone. Maybe this is why it held something special for me. Again, the feeling of power and godlike ability washed over me while Hannah chattered away. This was becoming more of an occurrence every time I thought about taking the life of another human being.

  I, once again, became excited with anticipation and rolled over to take Hannah a second time before she needed to leave. She was surprised by my aggressiveness, but accepted of my advance.

  She left, after hastily dressing, to get home to her two girls. They were most likely waiting for her. I am sure she had not intended to stay out so late and most likely surprised herself at the latter contents of the evening. Smiling and happy, she left with a quick kiss good-bye and drove the short few blocks back to her apartment. She was unaware of the tangled web to which she inched ever closer and had no understanding of the venomous ending that awaited her.

  God, It Can’t Be True

  Sudhir had enjoyed his meeting with Jason. As confused as Jason was in his personal life, his work life was meticulously crafted. Jason continually achieved the always-inevitable goal of finding and putting his culprit in a cell far away. How many people had he held a hand in apprehending, ridding the world of the added sadness that might have been inflicted? Sudhir felt a twinge of jealousy at not having felt this satisfaction himself, and he realized that he was driven to the same end.

  Sudhir was happy to be heading home. Janine was not in town for the next couple of days. He would be able to pick up his kids at his parents and spend some quality time with them on a foggy coastal evening. Every place you live, everyone talks about microclimates, but in the San Francisco-area it was never truer. You could drive a few miles in any direction and seemingly get 20-degree variances in temperature. This was most evident on the coast during a foggy day, which was the majority of days out of any given year.

  The sandy beaches were heavily burdened that day with an overcast hue. The endless, vast darkness invaded without any sun present tending to wear people down at times. This was also the main reason the coastal community enjoyed a lower level of housing prices compared to the rest of the Peninsula. Where else in the world would ocean-front homes be less expensive than comparable structures further inland. It intuitively made little sense, but the fog was really the added detractor.

  Sudhir paddled home through the thick substance after picking up his little ones, and, as usual on these days, his mother had packed him a very nice dinner. His mom didn’t take to Janine for the most part, but she did spoil him and her grandchildren. What mom does like her daughter-in-law, anyway? Talk about a Freudian-role issue, moms hated all daughters-in-laws. Nobody would ever be good enough for the son of any mother in her right mind.

  After a nice prepared meal and the night’s assigned homework, the three of them sat down and watched a little TV. Snuggling between the two kids on the couch, Sudhir could not help but feel how blessed he was. He had amazing children who loved and admired him to no
end. He worshipped his kids. Lately, with Janine going through her mid-life adjustment, they were the foundation that helped construct life into a meaningful existence.

  They were watching the last taped episode of The Amazing Race, which had now become a family tradition. The three of them would make a huge bowl of popcorn and stay glued with anticipation on what couple would be the next booted off the show. Sudhir bet that night’s exits would be the two blonde girls. The show seemed to always have one group of blonde girls who were not the brightest on the block and made you laugh at the fulfilled cliché. It was either they or the frat boys that were sure to go. How the frat boys had ever lasted this long was truly amazing.

  As the show neared its end and the blondes came up short as anticipated, Sudhir prepared the kids for bed. Story-time was out tonight—supplanted by TV, a more-often recurring theme as of late. Sudhir pushed the two into the bathroom for the tortuous task of brushing their teeth and washing their faces before bedtime. How bad could brushing teeth possibly be that it prompted bellowed yelps of protest every single night? You would think they were brushing with turpentine versus the bubble gum-flavored sweet toothpaste that kids used nowadays.

  He placed each child in bed. He, then, set a glass of water next to their bedsides, predicting their nightly requests. Funny how the glass never seemed to be touched, but the security of knowing the water was there every evening was the saving grace. This led each child into a peaceful slumber, so it was well worth it.

  After everything was quiet, he poured himself a glass of scotch on the rocks, which he had been thinking about since he first stepped across the threshold a few hours ago. He quickly gulped down the first pour. After preparing the second round, he sat down, placed the file he had been building on the coffee table, and spread out all the material. He knew he was not in a state to be much good, but maybe a different setting would give him a new perspective.

  At times in your life an event threatens to rock your very core. The foundation that you have spent years building suddenly becomes vulnerable instantaneously. Everything you held true and believed in changes. Sudhir saw a name on the list of car owners, and he lost his ability to stand. He fell to the carpeted floor and hit his head on the coffee table as he went down. Like a beacon of light on a thunderstorm-ridden evening, his eyes were drawn directly to the name.

  The flow of information that flew like daggers into every crevice of his brain was the sudden realization of the truth and what that meant. Everything added up too easily and quickly; but at the same time, it could not be true. The possibility was unimaginable and, therefore, was not real. It was not probable, and it was absolutely wrong. Could facts flow directionally to a point? Completely and totally implausibly in every sense of the definition of what wrong must mean? Sudhir recognized this name. The name held meaning to him and was something he never thought possible.

  Sudhir felt his legs starting to weaken and realized that he was gasping desperately for each breath. Oxygen was eluding him like a wasp you might try to grab with your bare hands. His failed attempts were coming in short gasps, like the rapid fire of a machine gun. He began to understand he must be hyperventilating. He stumbled into the kitchen flailing wildly and grabbed a paper bag normally used for packing his children’s lunches. He fell to the laminated floor. He raised the bag to his mouth and lay there breathing in and out. The bag inflated and deflated as he gulped air into his over-used lungs.

  He lost track of how long he lay on the floor, as memories flooded his mind. They were too numerous to count, and he felt overwhelmed with the conflicting feelings at war with his disbelief of what might be possible. How had he been so blind? Had he allowed alcohol to deaden his senses so that he no longer consciously acknowledged the very things that were most important? What world was he living in that anything like this was even possible?

  Sudhir felt the immediate need to connect to somebody and bring some sense back into what was happening. He was navigating the mundane tasks and was forever finding himself lost in the daily routine. It is usually at the moment of self-reflection with a forced dose of reality check that one reevaluates their lives.

  Sudhir remembered a time when he was younger. He and a bunch of friends were playing at one of their houses. Everyone was swimming in a pool and playing as boys do with adolescent abandon. The sudden fights that erupted usually dissipated quickly. If you were forced to narrow down the differences of boys versus girls, it would have to be that boys get angry and move on. Who remembers what yesterday’s fights were about? Who really cares when there are more important things to do in the present?

  Girls get angry and remain so for hours, days, and even weeks. The anger they feel builds up inside them. If they are not careful, it can consume them from the inside out, leaving them hollow and alone. Why can’t girls agree to disagree without one of them having to come out on top? Does there always have to be a winner and, sadly enough, always a loser? Boys, in most cases, can’t even remember what a fight was about the following day as new adventures and unexplored avenues open. Boys hold simplistic ideas, like strapping a firecracker to the tail of your dog and watching him chase himself silly until it explodes.

  Sudhir’s mind wandered to the day when there were five of the neighborhood’s boys running, jumping, and playing in the local pool. It was early, so nobody was around. Parents were still waking up. They had been playing for a couple of hours already and were sitting on the lawn chairs, exhausted from the devotion being thrust forth in the latest activity. Life was simple then, not like now.

  Sudhir was finally feeling a sense of control coming back to his breathing and felt strength returning to his limbs and torso. He slowly raised himself up from the floor, grabbed the metal arms of the kitchen chair, and braced his stand back to fully upright. It was too much to handle right now, and he just needed to let things digest before he went any further.

  He now frantically started looking for his glass of scotch and decidedly filled it up with fresh ice cubes. He grabbed the entire bottle and sat down in his favorite recliner. He flipped on the TV after his third glass, and he felt the drunken numbness filter to the very tips of his fingers. He knew he would not be in control of his drinking tonight. He would finish the bottle with utterly no care other than getting drunk and staying drunk for as long as he possible could.

  He aimlessly flipped through channels, but he never stopped for longer than a few minutes. His vacant stare was sign enough that he was not really paying attention to the contents of what he was watching. He was merely using the background noise as a distraction from reality. He paused on one channel where a boy stood with his dog. They were playing fetch on some beach as the dog dutifully ran back and forth, excitedly, bursting off each time the boy raised his hand.

  How many trips to the beach had he taken? Grabbing a friend’s dog, tugging and playing in heaps of arms legs and tails? Sudhir often watched his friend’s dogs. He would volunteer for the effort. Taking enjoyment out of the peace a dog brought with its joyful exuberance. Dogs were fantastic creatures. He only wished that Janine would allow him to have one someday--someday, before he was no longer part of this world.

  The fogginess was now at full force, and Sudhir felt his eyelids growing heavy as he sipped of his drink. The inability to feel has its advantages though the permanent results are sad. You will always wake up, come back to the real world, and be forced to face reality. The only perceived benefit is the postponement of dealing with the issue.

  It is not always a bad thing to let the dust settle and approach the same formidable obstacle from a new angle. Sudhir knew what tomorrow would bring. He felt as though somebody had dropped a steel wrecking ball from several stories high directly on his head. The next day would require him to remove the ball and face the truth.

  He would hold out hope that he was wrong and that his leap to a conclusion was the result of his own imagination baselessly freefalling out of reality. A person could fabricate all kinds of hypothesis, but
only facts led to a firm conclusion. He would wake up tomorrow, filter through the facts, and not let his emotions sway him any longer. He was feeling isolated and alone. He could not tell anyone of his instinctual thoughts until he knew completely that he was either right or wrong.

  Sudhir didn’t feel the glass slip out of his hand. It tumbled to the floor from his outstretched fingers. The contents seeped into the deepest recesses of the padded cushion beneath the Berber carpet. Sudhir’s eyelids were now tightly shut as he snored. The volume of his snoring always matched the amount of alcohol he drank.

  Every drink he took of scotch seemed to increase the volume knob one click on his labored nightly breathing. It would be another night in the chair for Sudhir. Troubled thoughts haunted his sleep as to what was to come.

  How Can Everything Go Wrong?

  I find it odd how quickly at times things run their course and cease to have meaningful value. Kids are trained from the beginning to ensure that there is no single thing that can truly hold its luster for any length of time. Christmas is the perfect example of the throwaway society that we have constructed in today’s materialistic United States.

  Kids vigorously tear through wrapping, ribbons, and boxes to quickly attain the treasure hidden inside, then, only minutes later discard the object for the next attack on a nicely packaged item. We are inundated with programmed propaganda telling us how we need to move on and discard the old. Buy, buy, buy: it is how we are educated to keep the economy churning at full speed. The early 2000’s were kept alive by the blatant disregard for thoughtful spending as we continued to borrow money to buy things we did not need. We, then, worked harder to make more money to buy more things that were tossed in a corner when a newer model supplanted the old.