Commandeer

David glanced at his speedometer as he was approaching speeds well above the posted speed limit; he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He did not know where he was going, but he knew he could not spend another moment here, in this town. He smiled as his foot pressed further on the accelerator, and his past shrunk in the rearview mirror.

His reverie was interrupted by a sea of red and blue lights speeding up behind him.

Dang it! He thought. This was the last thing he needed. He needed to put as much distance between him and his former life as possible. David pulled over only to find that the string of police cars flew past him. He sat there, staring at his steering wheel, trying to regain his composure.

Thump!! Thump!!

David was startled as a man slid across the hood of his car flashing a badge. The man opened the driver's side door. "I'm a police officer, I need to commandeer this vehicle! NOW!"

David unbuckled his seatbelt, looking at his packed suitcase in the back seat. "Can I at least grab my suitcase?"

"There is no time!" The man climbed into the driver's seat. "This vehicle will be returned to you soon!"

David stood on the shoulder watching the police officer take off with his vehicle, which contained his suitcase. He patted his pockets, and let out a loud groan. His wallet and cell phone were still in the passenger seat. David screamed in frustration. How can this be happening, I didn't even think this was legal outside of the movies! he thought as he paced up and down the shoulder of the highway, kicking discarded waste along the side of the road. Eventually, David sat down to wait. Seriously how long can a car chase take? He should be back any time with my car. There were at least five other police cars, surely they won't need mine.

David glanced at his watch, rush hour traffic would begin soon, and so the dilemma of hitch-hiking or waiting for his car to be returned arose. He looked towards the city he vowed to never return to, his eyes followed the cars racing towards him and then watched them disappear into the horizon, and he glanced at the woods beside him. The logical choice would be to stay put in one place for the police to find him, yet there was something so very appealing about running off in the woods, fending for himself and starting over. David put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his pocket-knife. I could do this he thought. I could live in the woods. Before he knew it his feet started to move towards the woods, away from the sounds of now busy highway, away from the city. As soon as his feet entered the tree line a sense of panic started to rise within him. He made it about twenty yards in before he could take it no longer, he collapsed to his knees and began to weep.

If David was being truly honest with himself--and at this point, honesty with himself was his sole possession, besides his pocket knife--he knew what he had to do. David must have sat there on his knees for at least an hour before he regained enough composure to open his eyes and survey the woods that beared witness to his breakdown. He now viewed each excuse he fabricated with the same sense of absurdity that a live studio audience views the antics of the buffoon character on a sitcom from the 80's, but he still persisted in concocting these excuses in hopes to feel some sort of comfort or consolation.

Without realizing it, David's thoughts has drifted from the shores of assigning blame to the violent seas of self introspection. How did this even happen he thought, suddenly feeling even more like a character in a sitcom. He viciously shook his head trying to get the cheesy notion out of his head, but no amount of denial or diversion can change the circumstances that face him. Much like the trees that surround him, the facts remain. It does not matter how far he runs, or how many times he runs. It won't matter how many times he reinvents himself. These trees will remain long after he leaves, no matter whether he travels north or south on this highway. The lives he effected remain effected, positively or negatively, regardless of his actions from here on out, his bridges remain burnt, but the choice now rests on him as to whether he leaves the ash and ruble for others to clean up and pray to God he does not burn any more, or return to the divide and sift through the debris and rebuild the bridge stronger. Closing his eyes does not clear the trees, running away does not bring forgiveness, nor negate the need for it. Closing your eyes or running away will only clear the way for a life of lies, lying to himself that the trees do not exist, that he did not bring pain to others, and lying to others, that he is indeed a good and noble man.

David stood up, grimacing at the stiffness in his knees, brushing the leaves and dirt off of his jeans, as he walked back towards the highway, contemplating whether this will make him a weaker man. Once he reached the shoulder, near where he was thrown out of his own vehicle, he sat down in the grass and waited patiently for the return of his vehicle. Of all the cars on the road, they had to commandeer mine.

Resurrection and New Life (originally written 4/5/12)

When you feel the cold metal restraints click around your wrist, regret begins to settle in for its long stay. When you see the devastated, utterly confused glance of the child you have failed, over his shoulder as he is carried out of the courthouse, by a stranger appointed by the state with rehearsed sympathy, you are haunted by the ever-increasing list of your short comings with it’s never ending string of implications and tears that will never dry. 

     It has been 15 years, but still, I cannot go out into the city without the fear of running into my son, and the shame I’d feel if he recognized me, the blame and anger I’d see in his eyes.  As awful as it sounds, I can't even remember his birthday. What kind of father am I? Well, according to the state, I'm not a father, I gave up that right the moment I gave into my addictions and urges. How foolish I was, how self-centered.  I once had such promise, such potential. I graduated high school with a 3.9 GPA, received a scholarship to Boston College, and then my life began to unravel. College began to change me, power started to drive me, control steered me, and the drugs consumed me. I am not proud of the way I treated his mother, the substances I put in my body, or the person I became, but when you suddenly lose everything you've had in life, no matter how much or little they meant to you at the time, you begin to reevaluate the life you choose to live. When you are in jail, you are positively made of time, time in which you have to sit with the choices you made, and time to figure out what you will do differently when you get out. 

    After my 12 month stay at rock bottom I moved out of the city to a small coastal town, stripped of my potential, scarred by my mistakes, and I took to fishing.  I was determined to not repeat my mistakes, so I began going to therapy, where I learned I can't control what had happened, only what will happen. And so I was again changed, though this time by the passing years, and this time for the better. Somewhere along the way I met a girl that could not only look past who I once was, but by the grace of God could love me for who I am. My wife and I have been married for ten years, and not a day goes by that I am not on my knees praying to God that I don't fall back into the man I once was.  

    Sometimes when I am alone out on the boat fishing, I can't keep from reliving that day in the court room. No matter how hard I close my eyes or how hard I grit my teeth I can't get the look on my son's face as he was carried out of that courtroom. Those days, I come home and I can't even look My wife in the eye.  I know she wants so badly to have children, but I can't help feeling like I don't deserve a second chance to be a father again. I want so badly not to shut her out in those times, but these days it is the one thing I cannot control.  

    On boat this morning, I begin to picture the scene in the courtroom, and was filled with so much regret, such a sense of guilt and shame about what Tom's life must have become, scared that he would follow in my foot steps.  I turned the boat towards the shore, in search of a distraction. I got in my pick up truck and drove to the general store to buy a copy of today's Boston Globe and a coffee. I sat down and flipped to the sports page to read about the Red Sox when I saw it. A face time has aged, brought to maturity, a face so familiar. I saw my son.

    In a quarter page spread, was a story about a high school baseball team winning the state championship, with a large picture of him being lifted up by his teammates. Arms raised in the air in triumph the look on his face was not of resentment or anger, but that of joy, of contentment, with that smile he has had since the days when I was his father. Through tear filled eyes, I read the story on the page held by my trembling hands. He had hit a walk-off triple to win the championship. The story went on to tell of all the heroics he did both on the field and off, of how involved he is in his school and community.

    I tore the story off of the page, and folded it gently and placed it in my wallet, and threw the rest of the paper away, and ran towards my truck. I sat in the driver seat, holding my keys, thanking God for the good man he had become. I turn the key and drive home instead of back to the docks, to find My wife's car in the driveway. I walk into my house to find her pacing our living room, a concealed smile on her face. Had she seen the story? How could she even know that was my ?

    "I have great news!" I said walking up to her, placing my arms around her.

    She smiled, pressing her hands to her mouth, "So do I!" she manages to say through her excitement, returning her hands to her mouth. She sits down on the couch. "You first!"

    "Well I went to the general store today to read the paper and have a coffee, and right there in the sports--" I began to get choked up. I cleared my throat and continued. "In the sports page I saw this." I took the page out of my wallet and handed it to her.

    "What is this?"

    "This, is my son, or was my son." I wiped tears from my eyes, "His team won the state championship.  Look how happy he looks! The story tells all about how he helped his team win, and how active he is in the community... He's not-- He didn't turn out like me.  He's not resentful, he has turned into a fine young man... I didn't--" I clear my throat again, "I didn't ruin his life."

    "Oh honey, that's-- That's so wonderful!" She wraps her arms around me, and I bury my eyes into her shoulder, to dry off all my tears. 

    "So, what's your news?" I ask, as she grabs my hands.

    "I'm pregnant!"

    My hands raise to my hands to my brow, and a smile fills my face.

    That night, after a dinner consisting of--well we were so excited, I can't exactly tell you what we had--We went to the beach to walk along the shore. All I could think about was how I get a second chance of being a father, a chance to do things different. We walk hand in hand, talking about our hopes and dreams for this new life we are bringing into this world, as the waves wash over our feet, wiping away all of my guilt and shame.

Advent of a Family (written 12/16/12)

 Through the cloud of his rapid breathing in the cold December air, Rusty stared out, through the woods he is momentarily nestled in, at the Christmas lights that illuminate the small town square. It’s not supposed to be like this, Rusty thought. After catching his breath, he looked around him to make sure he was not being followed and set out in search of a home traced with a glow of the Christmas lights, and a tree proudly displayed in the front window. If they can’t find me a family for Christmas, I’ll do it myself.It was a rather desperate attempt, but in the mind of an eleven year old, what other hope did he have?

      Rusty has lived nearly all of his life in the margins, as an asterisk. Deprived of the most rudimentary necessities that modern society assumes an infant should receive, such as care, love, and affection. Upon the discovery of the depth of this child's depravity, the state finally intervened, and in the absence or apathy of the next of kin, he was placed into the system. As time passed and Rusty developed from an infant to a toddler, so he was passed from family to family. Finally, at the age of six a young couple materialized and choose to adopt this young child with developmental deficiencies  and developing anger and rage issues. For the first time in his young life, Rusty felt loved. The anger was still deeply ingrained within Rusty, and despite his rage and problems in school, their love remained unconditional, though at the cost of this young couple's marital bond. The couple split up and Rusty went to live with his adoptive father. As time continued on its steady course, Rusty grew into a sweet, polite, and kind boy, though the anger still remained nestled deep within. Rusty continued to have his issues in school, and the father's mind often wandered into thoughts of how long his love for Rusty could remain unconditional, and it took a toll on the father's health. Rusty took the unexpected death of his father especially hard. In Rusty's limited time on earth, this man was the only person who stood by his side and loved him, despite his anger problems, though through Rusty's limited I.Q. all he saw was that his daddy wasn't waking up. Once more Rusty was passed back to the adoptive mother, who this time, was less eager to take him in. Now whenever this mother looked at Rusty all she saw was a reminder of her deceased ex-husband, whom she resented, and this child's now magnified anger problem. Rusty, now nine, could not explain let alone control his easily triggered anger and rage issues, it was all that he knows, a product of his tragic up bringing. For the next year the mother unknowingly projected her resentment of her ex-husband onto Rusty, and when he would act out she would constantly tell him what a bad child he was and in her frustration yell such things as, "you don't deserve parents!" Without knowing any better, Rusty began to believe the words of his mother and as a result, he began to have worse and worse behaviors, and once again the state intervened and took Rusty out of the home and placed him in a residential home with other boy with shared behavior problems. 

     The staff at the residential home quickly grew found of Rusty, despite his frequent outbursts. Each night, staff would pray with Rusty, he could have yelled, screamed, and cursed at them, throwing objects and threats, but no matter the circumstance, the staff would always pray with him and thank God for Rusty and for what a good boy he was, and with his eyes shut tight, hands crossed, and rocking forwards and back, Rusty would quietly repeat that mantra over and over to himself, "I'm a good boy, I'm a good boy."

     Before he knew it, Rusty had been at the residential home for nearly nine months, and the holidays were quickly approaching. Rusty has had his fair share of ups and downs while at the home, but overall Rusty has come a long way since he was first brought to the home, and it came time for his mother to work towards bringing Rusty back home. Still unknowingly projecting her resentment towards her ex-husband, and concerned for her own safety, the mother informed Rusty that he would not be invited back to his home. Rusty was all alone once more, and though this was by no means uncharted territory for him, the sting ran deeper. He found himself getting frustrated over the oddest things, such as his Silly Bands getting tangled together on his wrist.

     "Stupid Silly Bands, they should be called Idiot Bands!" he yelled to no one in particular.

     Rusty found himself becoming sad for no reason and cried uncontrollably in the most inopportune times, such as at church.  "I just want a family!" Rusty would cry. "Is it too much to ask that someone could find it in their heart to love me enough to let me live with them? I can be a good boy! I promise! I could try!" 

     The staff would often try to comfort Rusty, and would ask him what he wants in a family. "Well, they can't have any other kids, well maybe some kids, but I'd prefer they didn't have any other kids. They got to live on a farm and have lots of animals. And Shrimp, they got to be really good at cooking shrimp, like the best shrimp in the world!" Rusty's face would light up each time he was asked what he would want in a prospective family. And so he waited, and waited, and waited. Days went by, weeks went by, but still not any movement towards a family. Finally, Rusty could wait no longer, if they couldn't even find him a family without any kids, who live on a farm with lots of animals, and can cook the worlds greatest shrimp, then he would have to do it himself, he had to have a family for Christmas.  He emptied the contents of backpack on the floor of his room, and stuffed as much clothes as he could, and made sure he had enough room for his stuffed bunny.  When the timing was right, he bolted out the door and ran as fast as he could towards the woods, as the snow started to gently fall.

     Rusty began to shiver as the snow continued to fall, he pictured himself in front of a fire with his new family, opening presents, and the thought kept him warm. If he stood perfectly still he could hear the faint cry in the background, "Rusty! Rusty! Where are you? Rusty?" He knew he could not go back, not without a family.  He continued on, following the the glow of Christmas lights he saw through the woods. Rusty made his way through barbed wire fences, across creeks and fallen trees and finally came to the house. This could be my new home! he thought to himself.  "Rusty? Rusty!" he could hear voices calling his name further back in the woods, but he marched on, around the side of the house and up to the front door. 

     He rang the door bell and took a step back, surveying the home of the family that would surely take him in as one of their own. He noticed a Christmas tree in the front window with a fire roaring in the fireplace. Just as the door to the house opened up the voices from the woods grew louder, and beams of light from their flashlights shown forth from behind the trees.

Welcome. (I couldn't think of anything clever)

Welcome to my new blog, well my only active blog at least.

My life's main ambition is to be a writer. Plain and simple. I can look back throughout my life and see that this is what I was meant to do. There have been times in my life in which I have become discouraged, sidetracked, and talked out of taking this path, but in all honesty, when I picture how I want to spent the rest of my working years of my life, I can think of no other profession that would bring me as much joy as stringing together decorative or informational strings of sentences. I know most people would find the idea rather drab and boring, to sit in front of a computer all day, but I could not think of a better career.

At the moment, I may not have the most writing experience, and I am waiting till fall to go back to school to earn degrees in creative writing, but I have created this blog to keep me motivated in my writing. I have said for years that I wanted to be a writer, but when asked for writing samples, I have not had anything to refer to, most of my stories are scattered in various places, posted on random websites, stored on lost flash drives. This blog will serve as my writing portfolio. My goal is to post at least one short story on this blog every other week, to keep me motivated, and to sharpen my writing abilities.

I hope you enjoy my stories as much as I enjoy writing them. Feel free to leave comments or critiques on any post, or if you have any questions for me.

Thank you for reading.

Welcome.