A Jewish fable:

Once upon a time, a weary traveler named Isaac was granted a special opportunity to see heaven and hell. An angel guided Isaac through a magical doorway, and they found themselves in a magnificent room with a long table in the center. The table was filled with the most delicious food imaginable, a feast beyond compare.

Curious, Isaac looked around and noticed that the people seated at the table seemed sad and famished. He soon realized why: each person had long, unwieldy spoons for arms. The spoons were so long that they couldn’t reach their own mouths, and despite the tantalizing food before them, they were unable to eat.

Feeling puzzled, Isaac asked the angel about the strange scene. The angel explained, “These are the people in hell. They have been given the same feast as those in heaven, but they cannot eat because their spoons are too long to feed themselves.”

Intrigued, Isaac asked the angel to show him heaven. They passed through another doorway and arrived in a similar room with a long table filled with delectable food. To Isaac’s surprise, the people in heaven also had long spoons for arms.

But here was the difference: the people in heaven were nourished and joyful. They, too, had spoons they couldn’t manipulate to feed themselves, but instead of wallowing in despair, they were using their spoons to feed each other. Each person picked up food with their long spoon and reached across the table to feed their neighbor.

Isaac marveled at the scene, realizing that the people in heaven had discovered the secret to true fulfillment. By selflessly helping one another, they not only satisfied their own hunger but also built a community based on compassion and cooperation.

As the story goes, the fable of “The Long Spoons” teaches us the importance of kindness, empathy, and mutual support. It reminds us that when we extend a helping hand to others, we create a better world for everyone, not just ourselves.

https://youtu.be/_YcLwxkQKMU?t=1093

Her hands were never cold.

It didn't matter the time of year, or what we were doing, or where we were.

I've long heard the term "Harlow Gold." I didn't know what it meant until Google gave me the answer, but it fit perfectly, once I saw it. It's basically a white-blonde dye job. She didn't dye; she was simply the palest blonde I ever did see.

She wore her hair in a simple ponytail, mostly. Sometimes she'd try to tease it into a shape, with curls and whirls and whatnot, but mostly, it ended up held back with a simple elastic band.

I was always careful not to let her see me laugh on those days. I think that likely kept me from being stabbed.

She used to tease me, and sometimes, she knew how to make me blush. I didn't mind, though. In the end, I knew she'd let me take her home.

They hand me a folded blue piece of 8.5 x 11 when I walk in the door. It reminds me of the church bulletins from when I was a kid. I hate places like this little Primitive Baptist snuggled up between Savannah and nothing at all.

I always find it odd when they call it a Homecoming. If this is God's house like they say, then it was never really hers. It couldn't be, because she wasn't a hypocrite. Precocious, ferocious, but not pretentious or dishonest.

I recognize guys from our shared youth. Some of them knowingly nod at me. We all loved her, in our way and in our time. We each speak to the husband; she kept no secrets, and he thanks us for coming, even if he doesn't mean it.

I admit being a little uneasy. She was always good at that, and I suppose this is her last joke at my expense. I sit, staring at the back of the man she married while a stranger leads us all in prayer.

I smile and shed a tear. Her hands were never cold in the back of that old Monaco, but now it's all they'll ever be.

I got a girl right here who doesn't like Star Wars. She hasn't seen any Terminator movies. She didn't like Disneyland, despises video games, won't play board games, and isn't fond of chocolate. She doesn't like playing cards, isn't a fan of football... come to think of it, she doesn't really seem interested in baseball, basketball, or hockey either. She doesn't like jewelry. She thinks flowers are a stupid gift because they just die; and fake flower are even worse because they don't die. She's not into shopping or getting her hair done. She didn't get the "maternal" gene, so she doesn't like babies. It's a hard sell trying to get her to watch a movie made before 2013, and there only three films she's seen more than once. She doesn't keep greeting cards any longer than it takes to read them. A European vacation is a hard no. Her first boyfriend gave her a '68 Camaro... and she sold it.

Even she loves dogs.

(a ballade supreme, in *catalectic tertiary paeonic tetrameter)

Audio Recording: https://soundcloud.com/dusty-grein/hotel

The old lawyer closed his case, and said “That’s all there is, I guess.”

“Did my uncle really die there?” He looked up and gave a sigh,

“In the lobby’s where they found him. It was probably the stress,

of the many renovations he was planning when he died.”

That was how it came to pass that it was now my turn to try

and fix up the old stone building, like it was when it was new.

So I moved to New Orleans. This city's beautiful, that's true,

but quite soon I learned more truth, about the evil that befell

many guests who chose to stay there, and the tales told by the crew

of the ghosts and apparitions at

Hôtel Le Fontanelle.

When I moved into the place, I found that it was quite a mess.

It confused me and I couldn’t understand the reasons why;

till I woke up one dark midnight, to the gentlest caress

and the faintest quiet echo, sounding like a baby’s cry.

I sat up and found my blood was running cold, my mouth was dry,

while my fists were clenched quite firmly and my lips were turning blue.

Through the pounding of my heartbeat, all that I could think to do

was to calm my labored breathing, which I did… until a bell

began ringing somewhere near, and then I found that I was glued

to my bed, here in my room within

Hôtel Le Fontanelle.

After that I knew the time had come to find a priest to bless

every room and every hall, to help those earth-bound spirits fly

off to Heaven, or to Hell, I really couldn’t care much less.

It was my place now, and I was not afraid to dig and pry

into all the secret stories there, exposing every lie.

I discovered there’d been voodoo rituals, which blasted through

the thin veil between the realms. Into this hole, the spirits flew.

The old ju-ju woman in the swamp refused to cast a spell

which would mend the rip. Instead she laughed and said that I would rue

the day I stepped o’er the threshold of

Hôtel Le Fontanelle.

The true horror of the situation only bloomed and grew

after my attempt to free them, for I really had no clue,

that this failed attempt soon meant my body too, would start to smell,

from the bed where it lay rotting. See, the cost of sin comes due,

and it must be paid with interest, to

Hôtel Le Fontanelle.

-----------------------—

© 2023 - dustygrein

* This little used poetic meter means each line is is built of four 4-syllable feet, with the stress on syllable #3. It is catalectic (latin: no tail) because the final syllable is omitted from each line, giving it a syllable stress rhythm of:

tap, tap, THUMP, tap, tap, tap, THUMP, tap, tap, tap, THUMP, tap, tap, tap, THUMP.

What left is there for me to do?

And now, the end is near, all the years I have worked, all the plans I have made, doesn’t mean anything any longer.

So, I face the final curtain before all goes dark around me. And in the last moments my friends, I’ll say it clear, that you full well understand, so that before you, you will know I’ll state my case of which I’m certain.

Yet, for all that I have done, there is but one thing I have lacked, one thing I have longed for, and it has been within my grasp, only to slip away like a feather blown away in the breeze.

I’ve lived a life that’s full, yet my heart and soul remains empty. I have traveled the world ten times over, traveled each and every highway, yet she alludes me like a filmy ghost staring back at me through a mirror, but one thing you or anyone else cannot say is wrong; I did it my way.

We both know I’m not perfect, but then, who is? I have regrets, but then, too few to mention. After all, now doesn’t seem to be the time to really look back and make any amends.

Throughout my life, I did what I had to do. In the beginning it was just to keep from drowning. but as time traveled, I realized I saw it through without exemption.

It was then, when I was finally within reach of all my plans and goals, where I planned each charted course, being smart enough, not to waiver or fold for fear of failure, but rather take the time to take each careful step along the byway, and more, much more than this, no one will ever be able to say, I didn’t do it my way.

Now, in these final hours or perhaps minutes ... yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew what was going on inside me, but you never questioned my motives. Especially when I bit off more than I could chew. You would just stand off to the side, nodding your head when I gave you something to do and you went on about the business at hand.

But through it all when there was doubt, I never relented, did I? I never backed off or down. I ate it up and spit it out. I faced it all in my life and still managed to come out on top because I stood tall in the face of what I was up against.

I have pretty much run the gauntlet in life. After all, I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried, but when she went away, I vowed I had had enough. I’ve had my fill, my share of losing, and swore I would never let love invade my being ever again. Once was more than enough for me.

Yet, even after what, almost fifty years? If she were to walk back into my arms, I wouldn’t say a word. And yes, I would take her back that quickly for I never stopped loving her.

Still, as tears subside, in a small sense, I find it all so amusing because, just imagine it if you will. With all I have accomplished in life; to think, I did all that, without hesitation. Oh no, oh no, not me because I vowed a long time ago, I would do things my way.

Now, I am here in my last moments of life, and I ponder life’s big prank on me, for what is a man, what has he got to show for all he has done, knowing when the light goes dark one last time, you become nothing more than a memory.

Let’s face it, if not himself, then he has naught and perhaps that is the last deciding factor before life is snubbed out.

To say the things he truly feels, whether believed or not, but know these words are not from one who kneels. I have been knocked around and knocked down until it came my turn. When it did, suddenly the world changed for me. For the records shows, I took the blows and yet, I did it my way.

Your last official act is to follow the directions in the envelope and make absolutely certain everything written is followed to the letter. You must find her for me. Tell her I am sorry. And that all I have remaining, is hers.

It is my way of saying ... each heart beat I have, beats for no one but her.

Now go. I need to close my eyes and sleep, perhaps for the last time.

I don't usually tell folks about my own private Hell, and I had no intention of doing so here, despite the invitation, but a second invitation from LilEnigma has also arisen--something about vulnerability... about trust. What kind of horrible things have we donein our lives--which kind of lends itself to a type of private Hell. So why not? I'd often heard about "the gates of Hell," but I always figured the term to be sort of... fantastical. As it turns out, there actually is a gate to Hell just outside of Poughkeepsie.

Poughkeepsie-- all my life, I'd never known, or considered, for that matter, how to spell it. Strange though, the moment you see it, you know how to pronounce it, regardless of its many letters, and regardless of how one might think it would be spelled. I got stuck staring at it-- Poughkeepsie. I stared at it so long that there developed little faint white rings on some of the keys of my otherwise black keyboard--a tell-tale sign of someone who has found one of the gates.

There's divided highway east of town called Haight Avenue, which turns into Manchester Road coming through Arlington-- three lanes of traffic headed either direction. Officially, it's simply, Highway 55. About three miles east, you can take an exit onto a plain, two-lane road, Old Manchester Road, which immediately turns into Titusville Road beginning at the bridge over Wappinger Creek, then leads south into, you guessed it... Titusville.

The gate of Hell, to which I refer, is located almost exactly halfway across the 181-foot bridge over Wappinger Creek. In June of 2016, I stood on the edge of that bridge and decided to jump.

I did not. Instead, my phone rang, and it was someone saying they wanted to publish my book. The gates of Hell would have to wait.

Telling you about the gate is the easy part. I've done that so many times that it's begun to become numb. No, the intriguing part of this exercise is the vulnerability... the trust. So, let's try this.

In 2012, Kendall was 17, Ashley was 9, and their mother would harm me physically if I revealed her age at the time. Danielle. Danni. I had recently published (self-published) The Second Rape of Doctor Emily Pershing. Life was good-- damn good. Our family had been on a quest, seeking out information regarding Danni's birth mother, as she had been adopted as an infant and had decided to find out as much as possible about her past. We found out a lot. A lot.

The love was thick, heavy, wonderful. The proverbial cup had runneth over. We decided to share the story-- share the love, so to speak. Danni, Kendall, and I shared as much as we could remember, and the majority of it was handed down from Danni's mother, and a beautiful friend whom we desperately wished we could meet. The crux of this thing-- the book-- was that sacrifices were made in order to give Danni life, and in turn, give life to her daughters, creating every beautiful thing which filled the cup.

As much as I wanted to believe the story was well-prepared and researched and presented, I have come to accept that there is something missing. The reviews have been as exceptional as they have been rare. To my knowledge, fewer than ten people have ever read the thing. Call it what you will, the simple fact is... it's a failure.

On March 4, 2016, Danni's impossibly adorable brother, Percy, had treated the girls to a road trip to visit my parents, who had moved to New York for reasons that I still cannot fathom. One of our family quirks was that, whenever we saw something while traveling which made any of us wonder, "What is that?" or "Where does that road go?" we'd head off to solve the puzzle. I imagine, someone must have thought, "Why do they call it 'Manchester Road?'" Then they convinced Uncle Percy to exit on Old Manchester Road, to confirm whether or not Manchester truly existed.

A moving truck lost a wheel-- an entire wheel-- while crossing westbound on the bridge over Wappinger Creek, causing the driver to lose control and cross over into the eastbound lane. Percy, Danni, 21-year-old Kendall, and 13-year-old Ashley were hit, head-on, bouncing their minivan up and over the guard rail and into the creek, killing everyone inside.

My heart damn near chokes me when I think about how I used to joke that life was going to suck when Ashley turned thirteen. I thought she'd be such a tremendous pain-in-the-butt, so head-strong and argumentative. I thought she'd be impossible.

She wasn't. She wasn't. Dear God in Heaven, she was absolutely perfect!

I've found salt formations to be remarkably resilient. How they last under constant abuse is beyond me. The only thing which seems to break them down, other than some type of cleaning agent which I haven't the heart to employ, is the very thing which created them. And here I am, having once again, added more droplets, which will eventually dry, the salt crystalizing, reinforcing the little white rings.

The publisher who called about the book was complete BS-- wanted me to spend hundreds of dollars to have them redesign the cover, proofread it, and put absolutely zero effort into advertising it anywhere other than where it's already easily found... and that's the hard part: the vulnerability. Sacrifices were made, lives were uprooted, hell, lives were lost in order to ensure just the possibility of Danni's existence. Her life was made possible, Danni's children's lives were made possible, and I was, by far, the greatest beneficiary of those lives... and now they're gone. All there is, to demonstrate the awesome selflessness of the people and the extraordinary beauty of the sacrifices made, is this story--my contribution, my effort-- and as I stood on the edge of that bridge and stared into mouth of the gates of Hell, it was my greatest, most profound and contemptible regret, in this cruel life, to have known that in that effort, I had failed them. All of them. It's as if none of them were ever here.

And neither am I.

"So... Tell us, stranger. How did you get here?"

"Mm... That's a really interesting question. You mean in life? Or physically? Cos... I don't really have an answer to either to be hone-"

"How did you get here. With me?"

"I was on a walk. I was looking at the clouds. I saw one shaped like an alligator eating a little egg-chick-thing before whatever the fuck happened. Is that the last cloud I'll ever see? That's kinda cool."

"You don't seem frightened."

"Am I supposed to be?"

"Do you think someone's coming to save you? I'm going to kill you in the next five minutes-"

"Hopefully two if I'm annoying."

"...you're really taking all the fun out of this."

"Fine. Look. I was scared when I woke up cos I'm not great at adjusting to new things. But like... I dunno, I've learnt ways of suppressing my emotions as best I can. If you'd been behind me you might've seen my hands twitching cos I didn't want it in my face but nope, you're staring at me. With a... Barney head on. That brings back weird memories. I can't believe my purple dino bestie from childhood is about to murder me. I had literally no friends, this is harsh B, thought we were buds-"

"Stop making a joke of everything!!"

"If I get serious, we'll both get sad. Why are you talking to me anyway? Please don't torture me before you kill me, just put that gun to use. And not the way Fight Club movie-and-not-the-book did it. Make it a clean swipe, yeah? I don't want anymore pain. Oh, yeah... No more periods when you're dead. Send me to the ground homie."

"...your generation is so unstable. It makes my fun so... Not fun. Maybe I should start hurting you all."

"I mean, sure? That doesn't sound very nice but I can't exactly stop you. Sorta tied up and about to be an expired can of blood and meat, here. Not that you needed to. I'm not stupid enough to try to run. Or smart enough. I'm not sure which is the right option since we only just met and I've never been kidnapped before. Ooh, have you been stalking me for weeks for this kill? Secretly in love with and or obsessed with me?"

"Nah, I just-"

"Saw me on a walk and went "fuck it, why not?" aka my entire life philosophy. I won't lie to you... That's a little disappointing. But for my life, it does sound about right, so-stranger. I think my heart is clenching up, as it sometimes do. I'm gonna have a panic attack, maybe. That's embarrassing. Or something breathing-related since there is no air here at all. Not even ac, shit. Do me a favour and don't look at me if I get all twitchy and moan about my heart-chest-area. I don't wanna be more embarrassed than I already am."

"Forget all that. You're about to die."

"...is this like in Fight Club where the guy only does the gun thing so the other guy goes be a vet? Cos if it is... I don't know if I have any really cool goals. I always kinda wanted a cat but money and shit. I always wanted to kiss and date a girl but like... Life is hard and I'm not great with people, anyway."

"Those sound like excuses. Also, stop with the Fight Club references! You are going! To fucking! Die!"

"Interesting. Okay. I believe you. Heart is still pounding but she'll hopefully shut the fuck up eventually so I can be fully present. I think my soul is trying to pull away from my body so I don't have to properly go through this but I do wanna be here, buddy, I promise you that. Buddy... What are your pronouns?"

"SHUT UP!"

"Okay... I'll just stick to gender-neutral shit. Speaking of gender-neutral, do me a favour? When you kill me... I know you won't send a note explaining stuff to my family. That's a little over-nice for a killer- not to presume anything about you without knowing you! That was sort of mean of me, Barney-bee, I'm sorry. Okay. I'd ask you to burn me and release my shit into the air but fuck that, Nature and the worms underground got to be fed. But what you can do is not take me back to them. I'm sorta glad I don't have to die where they know I am. That way, I don't have to have a Christian funeral and be buried in clothes I probably won't like, surrounded by people who didn't give a single fuck about me. I've been to the funerals my family has. Lost grandparents and all, half of which mattered, half of which kinda don't. Anyway... I don't like the way my fam does funerals. So... Since I'm about to die, thanks for fulfilling this last wish, purple dino. I get to be myself in my last moments. Afraid and free all at once. Like I always was. At least the chains feel a little lifted now that I'm... Literally tied up. I am the weirdest fucker I know."

"Fucking hate this hobby, now. You suicidal bunch of assholes."

"Oh... I wouldn't call myself that. I am totally an asshole; part of me anyways. Suicidal though? I dunno. I never did get that therapy, which means no fancy words and acronymbbreviationwhatevers to describe my mental state. Guess I don't need any of that where I'm going. Heh, heh? Laugh with me friendo! You're the last person I'll ever meet!"

"Fine... You're a little funny."

"Gasp. That's so sweet. I bet you're kinda attractive under that mask. Not in a let's-sleep-together way ewwie I don't know you don't touch me or I will not hesitate to injure you. More in a let's be besties and cuddle way. Is this the part where we do a one-eighty Stockholm Syndrome Beauty and the Beast style and fall in love??"

"No more fucking talk, kid. Now... Say your final words and get ready to be nothing."

"I totally get why you'd want this kind of power. But it's also a little mean, not gonna lie. Not everyone would be as calm and panicked as I am babes. Anyway... Last words, last words... Shoutout to probably at least a little pretty random stranger for being "the one". I'd always hoped my death would be sudden and... Soon but they were nice enough to gimme room for reflection. Wait, wait- is there a deadline for this or...? It's not that I want someone to find me, I hate ruined plans and I wouldn't do that to you, love but like... Last words are such a big deal you know?"

"I haven't got all night, dammit."

"Okay, okay. Be nice. I hope you're smiling under there, must've taken a lot for you to go against societal norms and expectations to murder somebody- I don't even know if I'm your first but either way, you've been handling this really nice. Last words, last words... Okay. Thanks for the opportunity by the way. It's been - in many, many ways - a shitshow. However. I liked some of the music you living beings have in stock. And the food could be nice when it didn't turn my stomach into a war zone. And people could be cruel... But they could also be kind? Also I had the best time watching stuff and reading stuff and being a simp and once in a while, I'd have this random day where I felt truly alive. Maybe cos of breeze or a violent rainstorm or a song or shitty ballet dance or self-squishy-loveydove softness. So... Thank you-ish? But also no thank you. Here's to hoping I get a rest now, please do not send me back cosmos. Hit it, best friend!"

*POW PEW*

So you sailed away, to a blue sky morning. Remembering the pain, Love can be so boring...But I can by myself flowers, and dip my toes in the sand, It's not so bad. You're only the best I ever had, Don't want you back, But you're only the best I ever had. I want you back. You're all I ever wanted, You're all I ever needed, I'll fill those canons in your wall like a river, I'll lead you home. And I'll walk a step behnd in the shodows so you shine. Just ask it will be done, and I will prove my love. So you're sure that I'm the one. Looks like we made it. Look how far we have come my baby. They didn't listen. Look at what we could be missing.