He looked at his smart watch. The time was 8:43pm. He looked down the street. Nothing yet. Slight annoyance. He should have gotten a rental while his car was in the shop. But it was just one day. It would be ready the following morning. But it was raining that night. It had rained all day in fact. How fitting, he thought, that it should rain on this day. He stood outside the closed performing arts center waiting for his ride. It had been 20 minutes since he had placed an order on the ride sharing app and still no sign of the car assigned to pick him up. He looked at his watch again. 21 minutes. Slightly more annoyance. He huddled under his umbrella as the rain eased its way out of the night sky. He had asked the usher if he could wait for the car inside.

I’m sorry, but we’re closing.

Just for a few minutes?

We’re closing.

It’s raining.

The usher looked outside. Shrug.

We’re closing.

Damian took his umbrella and defeat outside. One covered him more than the other.

Headlights. Damian felt a tinge of hope. He pulled out his phone and opened the ride hailing app. He checked the make and model. Honda Civic. He checked the color. It was red. He tried to make out the license plate as it got closer. The rain prevented him from seeing it completely, but it had to be the right car. He stepped forward to the curb. He reached above his head and closed his umbrella. Relief spread across his face. The car approached. The car passed him by. Damian’s face dissolved into a look of disbelief. He threw up his hand and waved frantically.

Hey! He yelled. Hey! To no avail.

Raindrops slapped his head. No longer was Damian annoyed. He was outraged. He mumbled one or two four-letter words to himself. He pulled out his cellphone and opened the app. He reported the incident on a live chat option. The sales representative gave him some tired, obligatory apology, told him that they would log the incident, and another car would be on its way. Shortly. The chat ended. Damian became exasperated. He opened his umbrella back up. He stood there and waited. Some minutes passed before another car drove up. Damian kept his hope in check after what had already taken place. The car stopped at the curb just in front of him. Damian opened up the door and got in.

Damian? The driver asked.

Yes.

Good. Thank you. I just wanted to make sure I got the right person.

Off they went. Damian settled into the backseat and got warm. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until he was inside the car. It would be some time before he was home. He figured he’d just sit there and unwind a bit. Maybe wrestle with his thoughts. He had been thinking a lot that day. He didn’t want to think, though. That’s why he went to see the show. A little play a friend from college told him about. She had a bit role in it. He wanted to show his support and hide from his own worries for a few hours at least. The show was good although not quite his preferred style. What was with all of the dark, depraved, nihilistic drama? Damian thought to himself. Where had all the good comedy gone? Didn’t anyone laugh anymore? Oh well. He closed his eyes and thought about the show.

Long day?

A voice interrupted him from nodding off to dim lights and garish costumes.

What was that?

I said, long day?

Oh. Yeah. Something like that.

I understand. I have a lot of long days. Long nights. Some nights are smooth. Quiet. Not too busy. Now, you may think, that sounds good, right? The work is easy, simple. I should like a night like that.

The driver shook his head.

No. I hate it. Those quiet nights. I hate them. There’s no money in that. When it’s quiet, it’s not busy. And if it’s not busy, I’m not making much money. Besides. Life shouldn’t be so quiet. I mean, look around you. Look up at the stars and see how big this place, the universe, is. If something else is out there like God. Let’s go with God. Can He really hear us if we don’t make a loud enough noise?

Damian closed his eyes. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep he’ll stop.

Now say that God can hear us. But what about other life forms out there? I’m convinced, and this is just me now, but I’m convinced there has to be other life forms on other planets.

Damian wished that some other life form was driving his taxi. Then at least it couldn’t communicate in his language.

Again, it’s just my theory. Either way, I like nights that have a little excitement about them. The little old lady taking her groceries home from the grocery store is fine, but I don’t mind a little puke in the back seat from some rowdy broad that went to one too many bars. I don’t know man. It just makes me breathe again.

Damian opened his eyes and looked down at the floor of the cab. And at his seat. He wondered how recently the driver breathed in someone else’s vomit. A car sped by and cut in front of them. Damian’s driver hammered his horn.

Crazy bastard, he said. Weather like this, you think people would drive just a little slower. You know, just a little more cautious. But nope. There’s always some jackass out here thinking his car can’t slide off the road. At least signal. Jerk.

He shook his head and mumbled something inaudible.

So where was I? The driver asked.

Somewhere between broads and vomit, Damian said.

Yes. Man, I have some stories. Don’t I have some stories. I have so many stories I need to start a YouTube channel.

Why not? Everyone else is.

Exactly! I may make that my second job after this one. I enjoy this, though. I meet people from all walks of life. I get to hear their stories. I get to see the city. I mean, really see it. Some people will go through a neighborhood that they’ve passed through hundreds of times, maybe more than that, and they’ll just look at the place. They won’t see it for what it is or what it was. What it will be. Take for instance where you just came from. I’ve been doing this for over 20 years and I mean, that entire area today compared to what it looked like even 10 years ago is just not the same. But.

The driver paused as if to gather his thoughts from flushing down the sewer drain.

Some places do remain the same, he said. For better. For worse.

Damian looked around. Speaking of places, he didn’t recognize the place they were in.

Not to be rude or anything, but are you sure we’re going the right way? Damian asked.

Yep. Says so right here on the map. The driver tapped his GPS screen.

What, is it a shortcut, maybe?

Shortcut? No. No shortcut. The farthest way round is the shortest way home.

Oh great, Damian thought. A driver who spoke in riddles. He didn’t want the farthest way round. He just wanted to get home. And soon.

The driver looked at Damian in his rear view mirror.

You’re worried. Don’t be. Trust me. I’ve never gotten a passenger lost before. Not once. I get them just exactly where they need to go.

Damian rubbed his left temple. He sat back and hoped this ride would soon be over.

You know I pick up people all over the city, right? And some people call for rides and they’re literally going one or two blocks over. Can you believe that? That’s a waste. I’m not driving 20, 30 minutes across town to pick someone up for a five-minute ride and a $10 fare. That won’t cover the gas I’ve just used up. Nope. It’s not worth it man.

No, I don’t guess it is, said Damian. He didn’t care to listen to the man’s complaints, but maybe if he gave a little, that would get him to be silent.

What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking? The driver said.

Do?

Yes. For work. You look like someone important. Like a manager or something.

No, nothing like that. I’m a software developer for a small marketing agency.

Nice. I don’t think I could get into something like that. I don’t have the brains for it. Hence, that’s why I’m doing this for a living.

Damian chuckled. The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Damian then spoke up.

What did you want to be? He asked.

Like when I was a kid? The cab driver asked.

Yeah.

An astronaut.

Really?

Yeah. I used to love going outside and looking up at the night sky. Wondering what was up there. I always wanted to go. Only trouble was I found out that math and science was involved in being an astronaut. I didn’t have the brain for math and science. I mean, to be honest, I didn’t have the brain for much of anything. I didn’t have much ambition, either.

Damian heard a slight break in the driver’s voice as he made that last comment.

I’ve made a good living, though. I’m not rich, you understand. I mean, say you thought about robbing me. You wouldn’t make off with much. A few singles, loose coins, some lent, and a wallet sized photo of my ex-wife and kids. Don’t ask why I have a picture of my ex-wife.

All right, I won’t.

It’s the only photo I ever had of them that fit in my wallet. My kids I mean. The only ones. All the others were too big for a wallet. I kept it in my wallet even after the divorce because sometimes it was the only way I’d get to see my kids. Brats.

Even though he said it, Damian caught a gleam in the man’s eyes and could sense that there was a touch of affection and sorrow.

Do you see your kids? Damian asked.

On occasion. Not just in my wallet, either. They visit every once in a while. They’re all grown up. Three of them. They all went through college. Got good jobs. Thankfully, they all had brains. That ran on their mother’s side of the family.

The driver and Damian shared a laugh.

Do you have any siblings? The driver asked Damian.

Damian sat there for a moment. The muscles in his throat tightened.

I. I have a brother. He replied.

Nice. Me too. Well, I have a couple of brothers actually. One older, one younger. Me in the middle. The forgotten one. What about you? You the oldest? You seem to be the oldest if I were to guess.

What makes you guess that?

A maturity about you. Something about you just says…old. No offense.

None taken. But no, I’m the younger one.

Yeah, brothers are nice. The driver said. But I’ve often wondered what it would be like to have a sister. Do you have any sisters?

No, it was just my brother and me.

Got it. Got it.

Damian looked at his watch. How long before he got home? The ride seemed to be longer than he originally anticipated. He took another look out the window and saw a familiar building. It wasn’t one in his neighborhood, though. He saw more familiar buildings. They definitely weren’t on the right side of town.

Hey man, I don’t know what’s going on, but your GPS has us lost. Damian said.

No, sir. My GPS has never gotten me lost. The driver responded.

Dude, I know where I live. And this isn’t it. We’re all the way on the other side of town.

Damian saw more buildings. More familiar streetlamps. Some of the buildings were abandoned. Some were hanging on but barely. An empty lot was still empty. Then the cab pulled up to the park. A torrential pouring of emotions overcame Damian. Anger. Disbelief. Fear. Hurt. Sorrow. A sorrow that he had buried years ago. There was a glassy look in his eyes. He hadn’t been to that park in 20 years. But he remembered it. He looked at the driver.

Why did you bring me here? How did you–

I didn’t. Look.

The driver pointed at the small GPS device on the dashboard.

I don’t enter the location. I enter the name. I enter your name. My name. Anyone’s name. It doesn’t matter. It automatically sets the destination. Maybe not where you want to go. But where you need to be.

How is that possible?

Don’t ask silly questions. The driver said. Get out and go face whatever it is you have coming to you.

You’re kidding.

Damian sat there and looked out the window. Memories rushed through his head. He turned forward and looked at the driver.

No. He said. Damian had a stern look on his face. I’m not getting out. Keep driving and take me home.

I can’t do that.

Yes, you can. I didn’t pay you to bring me here.

Damian’s voice began to tremble.

Yes, you did. You may not have wanted to be brought here, but here we are. I can’t go anywhere until you–

Listen. I don’t want to be here.

I can’t help that. I know you don’t want to be here. Most people who get in here don’t want to be where this ride takes them. People have a strange idea about the past. About how to solve past hurts. They think that if you look away from it long enough it’ll cease to exist. But that can’t be. For if it was so, you’d cease to exist. No one likes to solve problems, but we have to at some point. Now get out.

I just told you I’m not getting out.

Now you listen. The driver barked. I don’t know why you belong here. I don’t have any idea what happened here or when it happened or why it happened. It’s not my business.

The driver turned off the vehicle. He turned over his shoulder and his eyes met Damian’s.

But we’re not going anywhere. So go in there. Get it over with. I’ll wait for you.

And having said that, he turned back around. His entire face and body became rigid and Damian could tell the man wasn’t going to say anything more. He hesitated. He got out of the car. He shut the door and stood before the park. He opened up his umbrella. There was the same gate that was the entry into the park. He trod towards the gate and opened it. The gate screeched as he pushed it open. Damian looked back. The vehicle was still there. Damian turned back around and entered the park. He walked along that old path he had traveled so many years before. He looked around to see what was different. The path took him past the baseball field. It was a pool of mud. The white lines had faded and there were no bases at first or third. The gate behind home sagged under its own decrepitness. Damian kept on walking. There was the playground. He had hoped to find a new swing set, a new slide, a new jungle gym. But these things were not so. They were the very ones he played on as a kid with his brother. Metal slides where the color had faded. The swings blew back and forth in the wind.

He kept walking. He went past the lake where the old men would fish or feed the geese. He went past the miniature playground. He went past the ancient brick shed that housed the restrooms. He arrived at the basketball court. One hoop was still missing a net. The other hoop had a net, but a few threads were missing.

Damian stood there and gazed upon the court. The rain stopped. The night faded into dusk where there was just a hint of sunlight. Damian saw a seven-year old boy. That seven-year old was running after his older brother. The older brother dribbled circles around his younger sibling before taking a shot at the basket. The ball clanged off the rim of the basketball hoop. The younger brother retrieved the ball with a wide grin. The older one smirked. He crouched in a defensive stance only halfway interested in trying to steal the ball from his brother’s smaller hands. The younger one turned his attention to the basket. He dribbled. He dribbled. He dribbled. Suddenly, he picked the ball up, launched himself into the air, and shot the ball just above his older brother’s outstretched hand. Swish. The younger brother gestured and held his arms out wide for an invisible crowd just in awe of him on the sidelines. He bowed. He blew kisses. The older brother grinned from ear to ear. He went to retrieve the basketball. Kids bigger than Damian had joined the court. Taj, Damian’s older brother, knew them from his high school. Taj directed Damian off the court. Tension settled in the center of the court. Rising tempers. Rising voices. Curse words. Threats.

Before seven-year old Damian could understand, gunshots. The group fled. A body laid at halfcourt. It was Taj. Damian stood still. He wanted to yell but couldn’t. He ran to Taj. His L.A. Lakers jersey had a splotch of blood in the center of it. Seven-year old Damian began to cry. 27 year old Damian began to cry. Others gathered around the small boy. Damian’s parents were among them. His mother made some awful noise that was akin to a wounded bat. She wept into Damian’s father’s arms. Damian’s father, a strong pillar of a man, made no noise. But tears fell down his face. Rage turned him bright red. Police soon cordoned off the scene. They asked Damian questions. He understood the questions; he didn’t understand the answers.

The crowd faded. There was no more yellow tape. Eventually, Taj was removed. The shooting was talked about but quickly forgotten. Just another day in the neighborhood for most people. Damian didn’t forget. 20 years to the day. He never thought he’d be back at that park. He’d avoided it ever since Taj was murdered. He couldn’t bear to face the pain. But there he was standing on the asphalt of grief. He had often wondered how life would have been if he had grown up with an older brother all the way through middle school and high school. He longed for a day when he could have told his brother about his first crush. The first girl he kissed. The time he lost his virginity. He wished Taj could have been there when he crossed the stage at high school and then again in college. He imagined Taj was looking down with that smirk he always wore.

The rain had eased up. The night had grown late. He really needed to get home. He headed back to the entrance ready to go home. He swung open the gate to find his ride was no longer there. He wasn’t angry so much as he was surprised. He still couldn’t believe that the driver had driven him there of all places. But so it had. He pulled out his cell and opened up the app to order a new ride. In a matter of minutes, another car appeared just as the final drops of rain were settling on the ground. Damian hoped it was the same car. It wasn’t. He settled in and they took off.

Fine night to go playing on the swingset, huh? The driver asked.

Damian just sat there in thought. He thought of Taj pushing him on that same swingset so many years ago. And he smiled in the memory and at the memory.

No. The previous driver dropped me off here. Damian said.

What, was he lost? Wrong location? You know, in this rain, he might’ve had trouble seeing the streets and–

No. This is exactly where I needed to be.

I acknowledge you—you acknowledge

Me—we acknowledge ourselves here

In this present moment, and let us—

acknowledge all of our moments before—

They seem so far away gone—my

Memory fades, but my imagination

Remains—strong, your touch remains

Strong—each gentle caress lingers

On: this is a passion that reminds me

Of eternity—we acknowledge our

Promise to press onward into eternity

Where we will—shut our wild eyes

And we will form our own strange language—

Our own foreign lands—to delight in one another,

Framing ourselves within a structure solid

On our beautiful reality—there

How do you do poetry?

Do you make

Words fall

Off the page

Like the last drop

Of rain from

A

Storm?

Do you shape words

Into images that open the mind

And calibrates the man into a new

Understanding?

And is this poetry -- however you do it --

Released only to the gifted

The learned -- or is this free to

All

Like a healing stream through which flows

Eternal knowledge

An image, a

Man and a

Woman

With high forms

Of movement ---

A faint morning

Somber, hesitant

In the moment --

Conversion

In darkness --

Celebration, ripe

Intractable song

Fitted by death --

Attended to by

God --

Some are hunched over

Some are limping

Some have dull and disciplined hands

All day they move in uniform

Grinding under the intimidating sun

Lifting and pulling and pushing and toiling

Looking for the next rest period

Where they sit

Where they eat

Where they fill the air with small talk

Where they smoke a cigarette (or two)

Where they take a shit--

Don’t be general;

They are generals

These microcosms of an undying universe

Making themselves hiding themselves

Being themselves amongst friends

Amongst others

These men lay the foundation

These men are the foundation

Their skins crisp under a most forgiving

Sun

#poetry #freeverse #poem

This love can't

grow by being

sheltered--

Let it go outside

and endure the rain

I am

Flesh. Is that

Enough?

Or do I,

Like mirrors, exist

For vanity?

Our love once bloomed in

a fresh spring: that's where

you were perfect and pure as

though baptized in a triumphant morning --

But now you suffer through a bitter

winter: a disobedient sickness that

refuses to release you from its

long shadow -- And

All through the night, I hold your

hand: a delicate posture that requires

us to isolate ourselves within one

another's trust --

As you lie there, I look

into your eyes and see a

foreign distance --

oh, how far we have travelled

Down this road to the

stripping darkness, the moment

our love was made for

Edward never paced and yet he found himself walking back and forth around the house all that morning. The lawyer, Timothy Brock, was going to drop by his house at 10 a.m. sharp. Edward watched the wall clock in the living room slowly creep to the top of the ten o’clock hour. Ten minutes until Brock showed up. Edward thought of himself as a collected man, never one to be easily rattled. But this situation was something unfamiliar to him. He was having sleepless nights and on some mornings he noticed clumps of brown hair on his pillow.

He had been on leave from the police force for over a week. He felt under siege in his own home. Edward hadn’t left the house much since the incident happened, but each time he did, whether it was to take a walk in the park to cool his head or to go grab a couple of burgers through the nearest drive thru, he felt someone was watching him. He wanted to dismiss it as paranoia, but he kept thinking someone was waiting for his back to turn so they could take a potshot at him.

That day had been replayed over and over again, on the news and in Edward’s own mind. He didn’t need to see it on television. Each day that had gone by, he analyzed the scene like a film. He slowed down certain actions frame by frame and wondered if he had done something wrong. He asked himself if there was something he could have done better.

It started with a simple call. An owner of a convenience store had called to report a couple of guys loitering right outside on his property. They hadn’t made any purchases and had refused to leave after numerous requests to do so. Edward took the dispatched call and made his way over to the store. He was familiar with the area, and knew a few of the business owners personally. It wasn’t the ritziest neighborhood, but for the most part, the people there tried to do right. Edward arrived on the scene and asked the men to leave. The first guy was chubby, with an overgrown beard, and a t-shirt that allowed the underside of his belly to stick out. The second guy was more athletically structured, braids under a wave cap, a tattoo on his neck, and long arms that seemed to dangle just above the ground.

While the chubby young man started to acquiese to Edward’s demands, the second guy still refused to leave. Edward was used to people being annoyed that he had pulled them over. He had encountered drug dealers who were so belligerent that he had the nerve to arrest them while doing a sale that they needed to be forced to the ground. But in five years, he had never had someone flip out for asking them to hang out somewhere else. But that’s what happened. The guy began to unlease a tirade at him, laced with profanity. And before he could process it all, the guy reached in his pocket, and began to withdraw.

Edward removed his gun and fired off two shots before the young man fully removed his hand from his waist. The guy collapsed to the ground instantly. Edward went to him and saw the young man’s eyes. They bore a look of a sudden realization. Edward looked at the rest of the guy. One shot in the shoulder, the other in his tattoo. He called the station for back up and an ambulance. Edward had no hope for the guy, and once the ambulance arrived, they pronounced him dead at the scene.

It wasn’t long before a mob had gathered. A myriad of faces screaming, crying, cursing. Other officers were on the scene trying to maintain peace and order.

Over the coming days, many took to the streets, demanding his head on a platter. Politicians took to any and every social media platform, any and every news outlet, to score points by denigrating Edward. One internet meme had him in a portrait alongside Hitler, Stalin, Mao, and other villians of the twentieth century.

He finally stopped pacing when he saw the family picture. He thought to himself, ‘If it were only me, it wouldn’t be so bad.’ But that’s the part that hurt him the most. It wasn’t just him. It affected his wife, Leanne. Some of her friends refused to be seen with her in public, or at all. Leanne had taken to grocery shopping at obscure hours of the night to avoid the glares and the derision she suffered one evening after work.

His oldest boy, Matthew, was jeered and taunted at school. He had been in a couple of fights since the shooting happened, and still had the bruises to show for it. His younger son Eric, while only in third grade, hadn’t suffered as visibly as Matthew or Leanne, still felt the tension and uncertainty in the atmosphere.

A knock came at Edward’s door. He looked at the wall clock. Right on time. He went and opened the front door. Brock was a clean cut man who kept an efficient dress, and a precise manner. His hair was always slicked back and his eyes were thin shaped, like razors, that still managed to perceive everything going on in the room.

“Come in,” Edward said. Brock entered and Edward looked outside for a moment. The street was empty and though he couldn’t figure why, it unnerved Edward. He shook it off, shut the door, and followed Brock to the living room.

“Can I get you anything?” He offered this as Brock sat on the couch.

“No, thanks,” Brock said. He examined Edward as he stood there.

“How are you?” Brock asked. How have you been sleeping? Have you been sleeping? How’s Leanne and the boys?”

“Which question do you want me to answer first?”

“Whichever one you can.”

“Leanne is...coping.”

“Coping? What’s that? Describe it.”

“She’s getting along as best she can.”

“Hmm. The boys?”

“Matthew has had some trouble at school, but we’re getting that straightened out. Eric is day by day, but not too...”

“And you?”

Suddenly Edward became annoyed.

“Is this a mental examination?”

“No. I was being polite and I thought I’d ask.”

“Right.”

“Look. I’m sorry. I know you’re having a tough time, but I’m here to help. I’m on your side. Others are too.”

“It sure doesn’t feel like it.”

“Trust me, you have supporters. But you, you are strong. You’re going to get through this.”

“I hope so.” Edward started to pace again and Brock’s eyes followed him until he came to a halt.

“So what’s happening?” Edward asked. “Tell me something.”

“An investigation is happening,” Brock said. “You know there’s an internal investigation obviously, but the county prosecutor is looking into it as well.”

Edward sighed in frustration.

“Now, that’s not necessarily an automatic negative. They’re assembling all of the facts and testimony to see if there’s anything there. They, he, the prosecutor, wants this to be as transparent as possible. I’m not sure how long this will go on, but you’ll just have to sit tight. One shining light is that fat boy has changed his story a couple of times so that’s one for our side.”

“Speaking of sides,” Edward began, “when do I get to tell my side?”

“Soon. You actually go in to the prosecutor’s office tomorrow morning. Didn’t you know that already?”

“Yes. But what about the media?”

“Now, Ed you know that’s out.”

“Have you seen what they’ve been saying? You want to talk about transparency. At what point are we going to be transparent and tell everyone he had a gun. Ilegally, I might add. And he was aiming to use it.”

“Look -”

“What about the store’s video cameras? Surely they tell the same story I’ve already told you and my superiors down at hq.”

“There are some, and I’m not one of them so let’s be clear there, but there are some who say that the video isn’t as conclusive as they’d like it to be. He was at an obscure angle and it’s hard to tell what he was really doing. I’m not the one saying that. It’s just what’s been circulating around.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“You’re going to get some sleep. You’re going to try, I know it will be difficult, but try and live somewhat normally. This is going to be a long haul and your family needs you. I know it’s frustrating -”

“That’s not quite the word I’d choose.”

”- But that’s the way it’ll be until this thing ends.”

Edward knew that even once the investigation ended, this thing wouldn’t be over. The entire ordeal had changed his life in a way he still couldn’t define. It wasn’t easy on anyone in his household. A permanent mark resided in their lives now.

“And one last thing,” Brock said. “Don’t watch the news. It won’t do you any good.”

“Yeah.”

Brock stood to leave. “Is there anything that you need? Anything I can do for you?”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll manage.”

Brock headed towards the door with Edward right behind him.

“If there is anything that you need, you have my number. Any time. Day or night. I’m around.”

“Thanks, Brock. I appreciate it.”

Brock opened the door, stepped out onto the porch, and jerked back.

“Oh, what the f--”

Edward stepped around Brock to see what had caused him to jump. He looked on his front porch and saw a soiled brown paper bag. He didn’t need to look inside. Just the odor that immediately hit his nose was enough for him to realize what it was.

#fiction #flashfiction #shortstory #story #crime #police