Neat insanity inside my mind

What is madness anyway? I had Teachers whom use to tell me that all the time when they read my short stories. “You’re mad, this would never happen!” Or “This is so stupid.” The people who are in charge of inspiring and nurturing my brain were the ones who put me down. There were two teachers however, two that encouraged, pushed and challenged me. So when I said they told me I was mad one of those teachers smiled and asked me.

“Orlando, what is the difference between madness and genius?” I had no answer and so this teacher smiled and answered.

            “Success.”

            So as I lay awake at night, thinking about all the things that bother me, that question & others seep out of my mind. What is madness anyway? Am I mad? If I wanted to, could I look into my own mind and see if I am in fact crazy?  What’s inside the head of a writer or rather, inside the head of this writer?

            So I separated myself, placed a mask on a fictional persona I’ve named David and granted him an all access pass to the inner recesses of my mind.

            If I am mad or crazy or even insane! Surely, David, would find out.

            It’s dark all around him and then in the blink of an eye there is a single light in the distance that illuminates an aging door. The moment David takes a step the door moves back, a fail safe to protect what is mine. David has been given full access and so his next step allows him to reach the door without further delay. Easy, too easy?

            The door opens before he can place his hand on the knob, not that there is one, and he walks into a blinding light into a well lit hallway. The hallway goes on for an eternity with different style doors on either side. Could this be madness? A hallway that extends into the furthest reaches into infinity with different styled doorways that most likely extend into more never ending hallways?

            David turns to look back at the door he used to enter and it’s gone, another never ending hallway in its place. He’s scared, I can tell because he’s a part of me and now he’s a part of you. He takes another step, fighting the fear, using it, molding it into strength because that’s what I do every day. The first door is encased in ice, it’s labeled “Happy place” above the door. How can a door encased in ice be a happy place. There’s a knob so he twists and the door slowly opens to an arctic cave. There are lavender scented penguins with scarf’s walking around talking to one another in English, with the exception of two. One  has a French accent and the other with a British accent holding a cup of tea and wearing a monocle.

            It’s funny. David laughs, but it catches their attention. The French and British penguins waddle toward David shaking their heads.

            “I say, Dear Boy, you’re not supposed to be here.” The British Penguin says. David has no words, what does one say to a lavender scented Penguin wearing a scarf and a monocle?

            “If you chose to stay, Mon Ami, I suggest you slide with us.” The French Penguin says. David steps back into the hallway and closes the door. Shaking off what he saw behind my “Happy Place” door David walks to the opposite door. This one is covered in broken objects no longer discernible. He opens the door and sees my mother in the dining room throwing a glass vase at my head. I’m seven years old and I’m using the furniture to block what she throws.

            “Do you know what you’ve done!” she screams at the top of her lungs. But I didn't do anything. “You crazy Puerto Rican!” My mother is furious and because I’m not showing any emotion it makes her even angrier. How could I? I was too busy pretending I was Indiana Jones trying to escape a rolling ball in this dining room that’s become my temple of doom. David closes the door, least he be her next victim.

            He walks to the next door on his right. A warm door, bathed in soft sun light with a sea shell on the door. “Happy place” is above the door. David shakes his head as he opens the door and looks out onto a beautiful beach with a crystal clear ocean in the distance. The sky is split in two, one of bright sun and the other a gorgeous night with bright stars and meteors flying past.

            He wonders where the penguins are. There are none here but there is a Lion, not unlike the one in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. He looks at David and smiles before resting near the tide, the protector of my happy place. David leaves and walks to the next door. This one is labeled “Those let down” above the door.  This door looks sad, it’s wooden exterior unpolished and splintered. Opening the door there is a line of people that seems to go on forever.

            On the right there are ladies and on the left are men. Each one looks sad, some angry others expressionless. David looks to the first girl on his right and she turns to him.

            “My name is Jane, you promised you’d always be there and protect me. I died in an alley pushing you out the way of a bullet. I died Orlando Santiago Jr. I died doing what you promised to do.” She turns her head and looks away from David.  Opposite her is a man who looks at David.

            “My name is Marco, you said we’d be best friends forever. You turned your back on me when I joined a gang. When I was in trouble you tried to be a hero and now I’m in hiding somewhere in the world. Had you helped me before maybe we’d still be friends.”

            It’s sad in this place, David feels it but the next woman grabs his attention.

            “My name is Rose. You swore you’d protect me. You gave me your word you’d be there for me. Where were you when I needed you? “

            David tries to turn around when he’s grabbed by a man I both fear and hate.

            “My name is Devon. You could have helped me but instead you chose to kill me. You killed me Orlando Santiago Jr. and I will get my payback.” David can see the evil in his eyes, hear the lies from his mouth as he pulls away. More and more people want to tell their story, explain their grief but David can’t take the overwhelming sorrow and shuts the door closed.

            So far that room was pure madness. The next door reads “Books Written” David enters and sees a room full of characters. Each one looks like they belong in a comic book or movie theater. Some tall, some alien, some short and others as human looking as anyone you’d see walking on the street. They yell out the titles to the story which they belong to, they yell it proudly because they were given life through the pages they were written on, birthed by the imagination in us all. The room is overflowing with people so David closes the door.

            The door across from it reads “Stories unfinished” When the door opens, David can see a room twice as big characters similar to the previous room except they look sad, waiting for their chance to come to life. David closes the door, fearful they may start talking like one of the other rooms. David walks to another room and sees “People I trust” Written above the white door. Opening the door he sees only a handful of people.

            They sit at a circular table laughing and playing dominoes  David sees my father, my wife, Maryam, a stuffed bear and Pastor Jeff. David wonders why there is a stuffed bear playing dominoes but thinks it’s best to close the door. Continuing on David sees room after room but stops at a door that reads “Closest Friends.” Opening the door he sees a party going on. In here there are only a few people. He sees Joe, Tony, Noel and Sean. They have drinks in their hands and they’re telling stories around a bon fire. But there are two seats missing, One is labeled Brandon the other labeled Vince. David is confused because whomever they were they are gone and no doubt occupy a room all their own. David closes the door and continues down the hall room after room after room until he comes to the end of the never ending hallway. The door is black and there is no label above the door. The handle is gone and there is a sign that reads “Keep out” nailed in the center of the door.

            David is to have complete access and yet this door is off limits? Could this be where the true madness of my mind is, or is there something I’m protecting? Perhaps I’m hiding something from you or worse yet something I’m hiding from myself. I’ve given David free reign, should he choose he can turn and walk away. I hope he does.

            He doesn’t.

            David knocks on the door, curiosity getting the better of him.

Slowly the door opens and much to David’s surprise he sees a five year old ME.

            “You’re not supposed to be here.” Little Me says to David.

            “I’ve come to see if Orlando has gone mad.” David says.

            “What do you think?” Little Me asks.

            “I saw some really funny rooms and some really sad ones.” David says. “But I don’t think he’s insane.”

            “He is.” Little Me answers softly. “Because he let you inside.” David smiles, he laughs and then he notices the door behind Little Me open completely. Inside he sees two little girls sitting on a plush carpet playing.

            “What is that room?” David asks

            “What he protects with every fiber of his being.” Little Me says. “The sad things in those rooms he will endure over and over and over again. He will use the pain and sorrow and failures to his advantage as he’s always done and protect what’s behind this door.”

            “That’s not crazy.” David says. “That’s not madness.” 

Little Me shakes his head.

            “Says the projected self image sent to see if there is madness inside his own head.”

            “So Orlando is insane, creating someone to see if he’s right in the head.”  David says.

            “It’s a fine line between madness and genius and you can only tell one from the other through success.” Little Me says stepping to the side.

            “Did Orlando succeed?” David asks.

            “He’s lost score with those he’s helped and saved, but keeps a close score on those he let down. At the end of the day the end result is those two I’m playing with right now.” Little Me says.

            “So what happens now?” David asks unsure of Little Me’s answer. Little Me takes David by the hand.

            “We eat Oreos and play with Legos.” Little Me says leading David into the room and closing the door. Is that Madness? I think to myself before hearing the sounds of Leyla and Liany crying in the middle of the night, waking me from this dream. Was it a dream, was it madness or was it a successful experiment to prove I’m something other than what I project to be.

The Last Race

The Last Race

      

         I need money, point blank. I exhale and wait trying not to think of all the friends and family who would scream at me for what I am about to do but the truth is I need money. People are gathering with anticipation of what is about to happen but it doesn't matter, either way they're promised to get a show. Money is being collected and handed to the biggest, most buff, black guy I've ever seen. The roar of engines are deafening and they're only getting louder.

         The biggest, most buff black guy I've ever seen points to four others before pointing to me. I'm anxious, nervous, perspiring but that's only because I've not been in this situation in a year maybe two. I slide my car out of park and into D4, driving my car past the crowds to the predetermined line. I look to my left and see a black BMW 3 series with a white boy with blond dreads behind the wheel trying to act thuggish with a silver grill. On the other side of the BMW is a car that I've had history with in the past, a 1995 mercury marauder, driven by a heavy set black guy. To my right is a man I know only as Jones. He's a pimp. A pimp. A real pimp with a hat a fur coat, cane...the works.

       Jones is driving his personal car, a '76 burgundy Cadillac with a white rag top. We lock eyes and instantly I can tell we both recall the day we first met. He knows that I know that he doesn't like me just as much as I know he knows but none of that matters. What does matter is that he and I know each others style of driving and that is a problem. On the other side of Jones is a gold mustang with tints so dark I only see my reflection. Engine noises fill the air, muffling the sounds of cheering people and that's a problem too.

The longer we wait, the more likely someone will call the police. With Mayor Emmanuel in charge there are no room for mistakes, no margins for error. Not that there ever was in this world. I hear music, loud sloppy bass music, coming from nearly everywhere and I know why. The most unattractive woman I have ever seen is walking fifteen feet ahead of us. Her rolls of fat jiggling out of the clothes that are already three sizes too small for her size. In her hand she twirls, what initially I think is an off white napkin. I'm disgusted to see that it's actually her thong.

         What happened to this world I was so accustomed to? I feel old now but only because in my day the hottest woman in the area would be where this mess of a woman is now. But in retrospect I wouldn't be racing on the south side of Chicago with a pimp either. I long for those days when I raced men and women who knew what a real race was. The days when people knew who I was and feared whatever car I got in. Now, among these people, I was no one. A stranger. A joke.

          The sloppy woman turns around and leans forward placing one hand on her knee. Her cleavage is so disgusting I want to vomit. The idea of hitting her with the car brings a smile to my face until I see her swing the thongs above her head. I quickly get serious and raise my windows. The loud fast pace music is annoying, it's making me anxious and I won't win that way. Turning on my radio and selecting CD my car is filled with the soft instrumental music of Beethoven. Amateur racers would laugh, ignorant people would shake their heads but a real racer would either nod or smile with confidence as to the outcome of this race.

The thongs are still in the air when I realize my rear view mirror is still up. With a quick swipe of my hand I pull it from the windshield and toss it into my back seat. I can't have it and I don't need it. Real street racers only move forward. Side to side...maybe, but we never look back. Something that these others beside me don't realize. They're most likely hyped from watching too many Fast and Furious movies. They all want to be Vin or Paul, turning tricks in cars with fine women riding shotgun. Not me. A girl would just add more weight to my car. Can't have that, not for this.

         The thongs come down and for the first time since I can remember I feel a part of me that I thought died years ago. As my hands grip my steering wheel and my foot presses the gas pedal I am not a loving husband and father of two. My best friend is not Maryam or Brandon. I do not hear Vince's prayers or hear my mother's disapproving voice. I do not see Eric crying for me to stop while he secretly cheers me forward. The person I project is now locked away and all that is left is someone who has been screaming in the back of my head for what seems like an eternity.

        Everything is now on the line. The first few seconds are the most crucial, not because you have to take the lead or find your rhythm. Now is when most people make their mistakes so I ease off the gas and let them. Bringing up the rear I'm behind the gold mustang with the tinted windows. He's being sure not to let me pass and I let him think he's doing a good job. We're north bound on Cicero during a shift change at the local police station. The lanes are wide open with the exception for a truck here or there.

         I start making wide swerves and the mustang tries to anticipate my moves. He does this easily and I smile because he thinks he's in control when in fact I now control his car. When I accelerate, he dips in front and slams on his breaks. When I swerve into the next lane he counters so I swing my car into the on coming lane as we are about to drive under an underpass. The light is red, I know this but he doesn't. A truck is coming off I-55 and it has the right of way. I know this, he doesn't. And why doesn't he? Because he's looking at me in the rear view mirror, at night.

        I swerve back into my lane. My timing has to be perfect, it has to be precise, there is no room for error or I've literally given the death it's wish. The Gold Mustang sees me slowing down drastically, by now his face is looking to see what I already know is happening. The truck coming from the I-55 off ramp sees the mustang and is slamming on it's breaks but it's far too late. The two collide and the mustang is no doubt sent into the air. I don't know because I'm far too busy avoiding the same fate.

       My car is drifting sideways toward the back of the moving semi. I try to remember if there were any cars in the on coming lane as my front bumper narrowly misses the back of the semi's trailer. As the truck keeps moving my car is now sliding through the intersection. I see the mustang dancing around in the distance, windows busted, frame bent and I catch a glimpse of the man inside. It's a woman most likely younger than me. Not that it matters, though many will say it does. Although my eyes are fixed on her my hands are one with the car and I already know I've slammed the car into reverse. Throwing my arm behind the seat I turn the wheel around so I'm facing the right way, throw the car back into drive, taking advantage of my momentum. and continue on my way without loosing time.

        The woman in the car is an after thought now. I lost distance playing with her and soon there will be police, ambulances and worst of all...questions. Pushing forward I fall into the “Racer's Daze”. The car is moving in a straight line. Fast. The music is suddenly softer then usual. Faster. The lamp posts that whiz past are moving faster, so fast that they begin making a humming noise. Fastest. The lights from the street lights are blurs and the objects I now fly past are colors of a spectrum unknown to me. A lost feeling washes over me as I feel like I'm falling in love all over again. I want share this with someone, see their face as they experience this drug I have come to know. Some know this but most only pretend to realize what I'm experiencing, the way I'm experiencing it.

      The image of my wife betrays my thoughts. My projected self is trying to come through and it angers me. I angers me to great lengths because I can not do this as me. My Racer's Daze dissipates and with much surprise I'm directly next to a BMW with a white boy sporting dreads behind the wheel. The first thing I notice is his car looks to be in pristine condition. A smile etches across my face as I realize where I am. The turn onto North Avenue is coming up. The driver of the BMW looks pissed and I can guess why.

       Jones or the Marauder must have attempted to do to him what I did to the gold mustang. He'll be more cautious. As North Avenue creeps upon us I'm taking the lead but I'm going to fast to reach the Apex. A word only a real racer would understand. I slam on my breaks and the BMW takes the lead but he too is going too fast. I pop my E-break and spin the wheel, my foot tense with what it must do. As my car drifts around from Cicero onto North Avenue the BMW drifts with me. The driver is determined to make the turn and he thinks he's going to make it but he looses control. The BMW leans too far and begins to flip.

     I see the car turning around as I straighten my car out and pass the smoking BMW before it can come to a stop. It's another long stretch and I'm positive the police in Cicero have alerted Chicago. I'm not sure if the guy driving the Marauder knows the way Chicago police work but I know Jones does. As I speed past Laramie I bring the car to the speed limit and cruise past Central avenue. The police station is near by and the shift change had been altered since the last time I raced this route.

     Now the clock is racing against me for real. The longer I cruise the further my competition gets from me. I play the odds in my head for a moment...and just before I can throw caution to the wind a barrage of squad cars are flying past me. They know. They know the street racers are attempting to regain the streets they lost when the new mayor stepped into office. Now the night has gone from a scene from Fast and Furious to a level in Need for Speed: hot pursuit.

       I ask myself quickly what would Tony do? What would Joe do? The only two men I know that would watch my back and tell me to throw caution to the wind at the same time. I love those guys more then I'd ever admit. So I do it. I accelerate keeping the police within sight but not gaining too far ahead where they notice me on their 6. This in itself is an art but most times police drivers don't look back and I wonder if they're taught not to look back also or are they just that confident? The police quickly swarm around the intersection of North and Oak Park. As I drive around the madness I see the police tasering the driver of the Marauder.

      I laugh because I know Jones is nearby and most likely he knows I'm coming. This is the most dangerous part because if I beat him and he looses face in front of someone he respects he'll come after me and I can't have that. To win I have to play a game of chess while racing a sixteen ton missile. I accelerate and as I past Harlem Avenue I notice the Elmwood Park Police in the area. They know my car all too well so I am forced to slow down to a crawl. Slamming my fist on the steering wheel I let out a multitude of sure words and racial slurs. Common sense has gone from knocking to screaming and my mind's door.

      The music has lost its effect and I refer to my secondary music choice. I turn my Zune one and move to my Need for Speed soundtracks. Maryam is in my thoughts every time I pick my Zune up. Her scolding eyes fixed on me as she prepares to rip my head off with her bare hands, if she knew what I was doing. But she doesn't...I look up after putting the Zune down and smile. The police in the area had also slowed Jones down. Time was short though, soon he'd be passing Thacher and that meant a new police jurisdiction. With his car I could loose him if he passed that road but the police were still driving lazily around us.

     “Fuck it.” I say out loud. The greatest phrase in all the history of man. When in doubt, when in despair, when in utter need of anything that is just outside your grasp... “FUCK IT!” I scream. My car roars to life becoming the beast only I know exists. Her tires grab the hair of the road and pulls back so hard its neck would snap, if it had one. My hand grips the automatic shifter, as if it could do more then what it was already doing and I soar.

      Blue lights ignite all around me as I willingly tell the police that I am the one they are looking for. No, not just telling, screaming HERE I AM, and FUCK ALL OF YOU!!! I lower my passenger side window as I gain on Jones. Matching his speed I turn to him and openly dare him to call my bluff.

     “You ain't got enough!” I scream at him before slamming down on the gas. Angered by my disrespect his car comes alive too and now he is accelerating. The police cross into Melrose Park and I shake my head. They'll be in contact with the local police and give away our description. A helicopter will be dispatched and a real chase will begin. We do not have minutes, we barely have seconds. I have to trick Jones into giving himself up.

     His car and mine are neck and neck but he knows that I know he has more juice under the hood. I notice the lack of blue flashing lights because the bright white light on the passing streetlights have gone off. They know where we are heading, someone has snitched. I know this because the police do not change their pursuit methods unless they know something. I open my moon roof and lower my radio. I think I hear a chopper. The turn off to get onto Mannheim is coming. There's a truck in the on coming lane. I have an opportunity here but the odds are slim and I know it. I turn by car toward Jones' Cadillac but he's unfazed by the move and he knows I know it but he doesn't know I know. I throw my car into the oncoming lane and lock eyes with the truck driver who is on is CB radio. Maybe giving off our position to the police? The driver is spooked enough to turn the truck into what was once my lane. He doesn't get close to Jones but the sudden maneuver from the truck driver has spooked him.

     Jones turns onto the Mannheim on ramp. I throw my hand up and stick out my middle finger. I don't know if he sees it but I pretend he does. As I go under the Mannheim over pass I hear a car crash and I am sorely tempted to look back but I don't and you know why. I quickly slow my car down and make a U turn. Heading back east I take a sharp right onto 40^th street. Going beyond the car's manufactured specifications I make another sharp right onto west Lake street and follow that into the expressway.

     It's easy sailing from here on out. My car arrives at Woodfield mall and I see a crowd of people attempting to disperse as I pull in front of the Jamaba juice. I jump out my car and everyone ignores me and with good reason. The people here know the rules, the police are in the crowd and they're expecting a white car to arrive and here I am. There isn't any time to put my real plates on the car or cool the engine down. The opportunity to make money is gone, the need for survival takes precedence.

     Eyes are on me and for a second I'm frozen looking guilty as hell. I pop my trunk and step out the car. Two guys on bikes are looking at me, no doubt laughing at my misfortune on the inside. I smile back and motion my hands for them to rev their bikes up. My heart is pounding because if they' don't do this for me then I need another distraction. One of the bikers nods and revs his bike and I make my move.

     “Fuck the police!” the other racer shouts as he revs his bike too. Inside the trunk I remove my drill gun and take off the back license plate. I then put my actual plate on and slide the fake under the car parked beside mine. On my hands and knees I bolt to the front of the car and repeat the process before getting into the car through the passenger side and shutting the door. I break the drill gun down and throw it under the seat. I grab my rear view mirror from the back seat when I hear a knock on my window and my heart stops.

Turning my head slowly I see a police woman standing outside my window. Opening the door I look up at her, the rear view mirror in my hand.

     “Ma'am?” I say but the officer looks to be about my age and she...is..FOINE!

     “Sir, could you tell me why you're in the mall parking lot after hours?” she asks and my heart leaps into my throat.

     “Honestly?” I ask, my mind racing though believable lies. She rolls her eyes and motions for me to step out the car. I get out and already I feel caught.

     “Why are you here?” she asks with an attitude. I notice her partner writing down my licensee plate and walking away.

     “Research.” I answer not knowing where I was going with this and instantly I can tell she knows I am giving her the biggest bullshit lie she's ever heard. “I'm a writer. I heard there was a race happening and I was hoping to get some inside knowledge on street races.”

     “May I see your license and proof of insurance?” she asks. As I retrieve them from the glove box she asks me what I write. I quickly throw out my most popular and she shakes her head.

     “Really?”she says with the same attitude. She looks at my Id's and tells me to get back in the car and wait. I'm caught. I'm busted. My wife is going to be pissed that I took one last race. I've failed as a father and a husband. I am a horrible friend and a menace to society. I would cry if I could but I didn't want to look bad for my jail picture. I watch as the crowds of people are pushed away from the mall parking lot and then after what seemed like an eternity the police woman comes back with my ID's.

     “Okay, Mr. Santiago.” she says with a smile. She's smiling because she gets to take me in. Her big collar.            

     “Are you in this are often?” she asks and I quickly shake my head.

     “No.” I answer back and she nods her head.

     “That sucks. My brothers kids are fans of your book Rogue Accord. They'd love a sign copy if you could.” and when she says that I nod my head and smile back.

     “It would be my pleasure.” I answer back.

     “Okay, get out of here.” She says and I quickly start up my car while thanking her. “Oh, one more thing.” she says and I freeze. Is there a catch? What did I miss?

     “Yes?” I ask.

     “The Rake was awesome.” she whispers and I can feel my ears blush.

     “Thanks.” I say avoiding capture.

Breath

Breath

      While in Spain I had saved the company over a billion dollars over the course of two weeks. Our biggest supplier was looking to cut costs on their end which meant a massive layoff on top of down grading their products which in turn would effect our business and well, that's a problem. I was a newbie, still wet behind the ears but my boss was desperate and since I always had ideas he put the pressure on my shoulders and off I went.

     By the end of my last day in Spain I had three contracts signed ensuring the future of both business but I told our supplier that pen on paper means little to me. I said this in a room full of lawyers and big time business men. I wish you could have seen the look on everyone's face because the tension behind their eyes was slowly turning to rage. I simply stood up from the conference table and walked over to the big boss and held out my hand.

He looked me up and down for a moment, unsure as to what my end goal was. So I told him. I said anyone could sign a piece of paper but right now I give you my word that we will keep our end of the bargain, weather or not you hold up your end. Now I had no right to say such things but it meant the world to our supplier. He stood up, shook my hand and kissed me on the cheek before signing the documents. Handshakes went around the room and I could not have been happier.

     Naturally they all wanted to go out for drinks but after crunching numbers for two weeks I had no desire to drink myself silly. So I left my co-workers and took the long walk back to my hotel alone. The hotel I was in had a wedding earlier and so the entire place was decorated with flowers and fancy bows and ribbons. I noticed a sign that had a photo of the happy couple inside the lobby. The Groom looked Spaniard while the Bride looked African.

     “Good for them,” I commented more to myself than anything but the hotel's concierge overheard me.

     “The Bride was breathtaking,” he said with a wide smile. Indeed she was beautiful, eyes like Aishwarya Rai with Alicia Keys' nose. Her mouth reminded me of Charlize Theron while her body was like Beyonce Knowles. A unique and yet beautiful combination making her one of the most stunning women I've ever seen. Thunder then echoed from the outside breaking the trance the picture had clearly put on me.

     “Got here just in time!” the concierge commented before patting me on the shoulder and departing to continue his regular duties. I nodded my head as more thunder alerted us to the coming storm. Making my way toward the elevator when I heard my phone go off. Reaching for it I checked the ID I saw it was actually a text message from a number I wasn't familiar with. After hitting the elevator button I opened the message.

Billy, where are we meeting at tonight? I'm finished getting ready and can be at your house in an hour.

     I shook my head, a wrong message. Poor thing, I thought to myself when I heard some laughter along with the clinging of glasses to my left. I glanced over and saw a man and woman walking out the hotel restaurant arm in arm. The sight was beautiful to me as they made their way toward me, obviously trying to get to the elevator. Then it hit me, why deprive myself of one drink before going to bed. It's not like I had far to go before I was in my room. So I walked into the hotel's restaurant and notice the bar is empty with the exception of one woman sitting alone.

     I took a seat at the bar, ordered a rum and coke and sat silently on my end of the bar. I had been nursing my drink for no more than ten minutes before my phone went off again. Checking the phone I saw that it was another text.

Billy, it's Ashley. Why aren't you calling me back? Are we going out still?

I felt bad for Ashley since she had been looking for her friend. So I answered her text.

Hello Ashley, I'm sorry to tell you this but this isn't Billy's number. I hope you have another means of contacting him.

     I pressed send and placed the phone back in my pocket when it dawned on me who the woman was sitting across the bar from me. The bride from today's wedding was sitting alone in the corner of the bar. Now I should tell you that I do have an addictive personality my main addiction being beautiful women and as strong as this addiction is my second addiction kicks in. When a woman is in trouble I feel compelled to help. I don't know why but I feel this need to reach out to try and sooth their pain.

So I stand up and make my way to the end of the bar and before she could bring her cosmopolitan glass up to her lips I hovered my hand over her drink. Her quick glance at me was an infuriated one. Wouldn't yours be if a stranger came and hovered their hand over your drink?

     “Save yourself the trouble and leave me alone,” she snapped with a British accent.

     “Why don't you tell me what happened?” I asked removing my hand.

     “Two guys have tried to pick me up and their pick up lines were much better than that,” she took a sip from her glass. “If you have a better one let's hear it before you sod off,” her eyes looked into mine once more as her lips pursed and her hand tightened around her glass.

     “Okay,” I said taking a seat. “You talk, I listen and when you're done I will give you some input before bowing graciously and leaving you to contemplate your actions,” I said and when she opened her mouth to speak the words had escaped her.

     “I need you to use your words,” I said.

      “Are the drinks on you?” she asked.

     “Depends on how long you plan on keeping me here, I do have a flight to catch in the morning.” she laughed only to mock me but then settled down.

     “I got married today,” she began.

     “I saw the picture. Your family and friends must be furious.” I said snapping my fingers in the air to grab the attention of the bartender.

     “How would you know that?” she asked in confusion and then my phone rang again with another text message. I reached for my phone and read the text.

Sorry to bother you with the text messages

     “What can I get for you?” the bartender asked. I looked up putting my phone back in my pocket.

     “One rum and coke and another cosmopolitan for my friend here.” I glanced at her once more then looked at the bartender. “And two shots of the strongest stuff you have in the house,”

     “That can be pricey,” she said arching an eyebrow.

     “I just saved a bundle on my car insurance,” I said with a smile. The bartender nodded and walked away.         

     “Please forgive my rudeness. Continue.”

     “No, you were going to tell me how you knew my friends and family were upset with me,” I took a deep breath before finishing the last of my drink.

     “The simple or complicated version?” I asked but couldn't contain my smile when she answered back.

     “Both,”

     “Simple version, you've got a British accent and the man you married earlier today is clearly from Spain. The British and the Spaniards get along worse the Puerto Rican's and Cuban's.” I said and she dropped her jaw looking down in shock.

     “And the complicated version?”

     “Your ring finger is missing it's newly acquired jewelry,” I said pointing to her ring hand. I also noticed her clothes were off. “You're wearing a tee-shirt and jeans but your shirt is fitted.” she looked down at her shirt curiously.

     “So?”

     “The hour is late and you're suppose to with your husband and I believe you tried to be but something happened and you decided to leave your room in a rush. So much of a rush that you forgot to remove your embroidered outfit meant for your husband's eyes. You look lovely by the way,” she quickly pulled at her shirt realizing that parts of garment could be seen through her shirt.

     “Bloody hell,” she said in shock. “Notice anything else?” she said just as the bartender handed them their drinks and poured their shots.

     “This is the most fun you've had in ages but you feel guilty that your here with a stranger instead of in your room with your husband and yet after this conversation you feel compelled to stay here and see how it ends.” I said taking a sip of my rum and coke. She took a moment to think about what I said before finishing her first cosmopolitan.

     “How does this end?” She asked with tension in her voice.

     “It ends with us shaking hands and parting ways as what I call therapeutic friends. Nothing more,” she took a moment to contemplate what I said then nodded.

     “Therapeutic,” she whispered.

     “Therapeutic friends yes. I'm hoping that I can convince you to pick up the tab afterward,” we both shared a laugh before she shook her head.

     “I'll be your therapeutic friend tonight but I am not picking up the tab!” she said said.

“Then I should be telling you my problems then!” I laughed and it was at that moment all the defensive walls came down. She began to tell me how her family got into some financial trouble and her husband agreed to help the family if her father consented to give him her hand in marriage. She was like a character plucked from a fairytale waiting for her prince charming.

“It would be great if the right man came along and swept you away,” I said.

“I had a prince charming once,” she said sadly.

“All women think they do, but Prince Charming doesn't exist. Sure it might seem like it for a short while but in the end he ends up to be like all the others.”

“And why is that?” she asked putting her hand on my arm for a moment before removing it.

“It's because in reality Prince Charming represents something new, something noble and true like all people when you first meet them. But then you get to know the person and realize they have flaws too. Some more than others.” I said with a laugh. “Then the routine between you and Prince Charming gets old and you feel choked until another Prince Charming comes along and you can breath again. Then it starts all over again,”

“That was beautiful,” she said shaking her head. “Kind of sad but with enough truth that it makes perfect sense.”

“I try,” I say with a shrug.

“So are you saying that at this very moment you're my Prince Charming?” she asked grabbing her shot glass. I took my shot glass and clinked it against hers.

“No, I'm your therapeutic friend remember. Prince Charming is upstairs in your room.” we both placed the shots to our lips and took them back. She proceeded to tell me how she tried to like her husband. Looking for something to find in him but all she found was an ordinary man with wealth and while the money was appealing the idea of having to have spend the rest of her life with a man who could never truly satisfy her was daunting. She told me about her intentions to make her wedding night special by dressing in sexy lingerie only to find her husband passed out on the bed with a bottle of Dom Perignon in his hand.

     “I am so sorry,” I said.

     “I'm trapped.” she sighed.

“Leave. Get out of here with the clothes on your back and make a new name for yourself!” was all I could think of.

     “A romantic gesture but I love my family too much. My husband would destroy them if I did such a thing.”

      “So what other option do you have besides rebelling when he isn't around?” I asked and she simply shrugged.

     “I wish Prince Charming did exist,” she said softly. I reached down and grabbed her hand and held it firmly.

“You're a good woman,” I said remembering that the entire night I had been talking to her I never got her name.

“Harmony,” she said. “My name is Harmony. Thank you for listening to me, sorry if I was a bit apprehensive earlier.”

“Truth be told you were more than a bit,” I said with a straight face. She laughed tightening her grip on my hand.

“Why do you look so serious all of the sudden?”

“I feel bad that there's nothing I can do for you. That I'm not the Prince Charming you needed,” She pulled me close and gave me a hug.

“You're definitively a charmer.” she said as I held her in my arms. When we released each other we did so slowly, our cheeks brushing against one another softly before our eyes locked on one another. We were in such close proximity and the chemistry between us was exploding all around us.

“I never got your name,” she said just above a whisper.

“Art.”

“As in Arthur?” she asked and I shook my head. “Art as in Arturo?” and when I shook my head she waited for me to answer.

“As in work of.” I said and she nodded her head.

“Your mum named you well.” she blinked her eyes slowly, her lips inviting me to taste them. I pulled back, placed my room key on bar and took her by the hand. The bartender quickly swiped the card and placed the card back on the bar.

     “I hope this was therapeutic for you,” I said helping her to her feet. I turned to walk away, my hand releasing hers when her grip tensed pulling my attention back toward her. She wanted to speak, she wanted to say just the right thing but the words had escaped her. So instead she picked up my room's key card and placed it in my hand before she followed me to the elevator.

     The truth is a bit blurry after that. Did she part ways with me after I walked her to her hotel room? I remember doing that. Getting off the elevator and walking with her in silence right up to her door, shaking her hand and standing off to the side as she walked into the room and closed the door.

I also remember going back to my room and seeing a rainstorm hit the window with sheets of rain, the lighting illuminating my dark room before a knock on the door. I recall feeling puzzled as to why someone was knocking. When I opened the door I know I saw her standing in the hallway staring at me, her heart pounding out her chest with what she had just done.

     “I need my charming therapeutic friend.” she said walking into the room and closing the door behind her. The soft touch of her hands as they cupped my face to bring my lips closer to hers. My hands slowly removing her shirt before she tore my shirt open sending the buttons to bounce in all directions. Picking her up, our lips locked as we made our way to the glass windows. Like hungry savages we tore the rest of our clothes off.

I know I tore her expensive black lingerie open freeing her firm breasts as she gasped for air. Once naked I lifted her into the air once again, her legs wrapping around my head. Hands running through my hair as my tongue penetrated her, my taste buds tasting sweet nectar. It took a moment before her body began its uncontrollable shiver and she released a scream in unison with an orgasmic explosion.

Sliding her down slowly so my lips could leave a trail of kisses I stopped at her breasts while her hands took hold of my throbbing shaft. Her lips kissed my ear before she pushed me back. With such force this gentle women was now the aggressor pushing my back against the glass as she knelt down wrapping her mouth around me as her hands took a firm grip of my ass.

       It had to have been a dream. It could not have been real. Hours ago she had taken a vow, although to a man she did not want or love, a vow none the less. But her touch felt real...and had it been real I should have stopped her before letting her come inside my room. Though if this wasn't real and only a manifestation of my desires coming out through the alcohol then why should I deny myself?

Lighting flashed illuminating the room again as my hands stroked her hair and caressed her face as I moaned to to the silent rhythm we both danced to. Before I could cum I pulled her up and kissed her fiercely. After a moment she stepped back, took a moment to inhale the moment that now lingered around us. She took another few steps back until her legs were against the bed, only her silhouette visible. Slowly she turned around and crawled onto the bed stopping halfway where she lowered her head against the sheets, silently inviting me to enter.

     Without hesitation I walked to the bed and took the opportunity to indulge my tongue once more licking from the tip of her clit to the bottom of her wet arousal. I continued to do this, a form of sexual anticipation until her body exploded once more.

        “No more, I need you inside me.” she gasped as I stood up. Grabbing myself at the base I slowly guided my tip until it was enveloped inside the wet folds. A moan lost to the sound of lighting as I slid deep within her, slowly picking up pace until a steady rhythm was met. Her hands gripped the sheets and tightened as she screamed passionately into the bed to muffle her own voice. I know I did my best to hold out from finishing, no small feat knowing who was moaning to a higher power before me. Her body tensed after a moment then shivered before collapsing onto the bed gasping for air.

“Are you okay?” I asked kneeling on the bed.

“I've never came so much,” she said after a moment of panting.

“Do you want some water?” I asked but she was only interested in one thing.

“Lay down,” she said or rather ordered me. As I sat on the bed, my back and head propped up by pillows she slowly straddled me, guiding me inside her once more. Even in the dark, her light eyes fixed on mine while gyrating her hips. It wasn't long before she was moving faster then even I could handle as if in competition to finish before I disappear.

I grabbed her shoulders slowing her to a stop.

     “What? What is it?” she asked with confusion. I brushed the hair away from her face slowly.

     “Look at me.” I said. “I'm not going anywhere, breath.” I said running my hands down the side of her body, resting on her hips. “Stay in this moment,” I whispered while guiding her hips to rock back and forth at an even pace.

     “This isn't just fucking is it?” she asked with much confusion in her voice.

     “No. No this is much more.” I answered. She then leaned forward and kissed me while letting my hands guide her and after a moment she grunted.

“I'm cuming,” her hands clawed at my chest, before moaning aloud. She took a deep breath afterward then lowly came to rest on top of me.

“Breath.” I said stroking her hair. “Just breath,” was the last thing I recall before opening my eyes at the crack of dawn only to see her in my doorway.

“Harmony?” I asked half asleep.

“I have to go,” she said sounding sad.

“My flight doesn't leave for a few more hours.” I said trying to focus but my head was throbbing from the liquor and shots.

“Sometime today I should probably consummate my marriage.” she motioned for the door handle while saying. “Thanks for being a therapeutic friend.” and then she was gone and to this day I can't figure out if she really came to my room after we parted in front of her hotel room door or at that moment when she snuck out my room.

“Art, you live a rather interesting lifestyle.” Stephen asked from his chair in the corner of his office. Art slowly sat up from his psychologist's couch and nodded.

“Yeah I get that a lot,” Art said with a smile.

“Harmony seemed fixed on wanting to be alone and yet you forced yourself into her life when you tried to prevent her from drinking. Then you comfort her, speaking in riddles and creating a fantasy in her subconscious that she couldn't refuse. Don't you feel ashamed?” he asked adjusting his glasses while waiting for Art to answer.

“I didn't force myself. At least I didn't intend for all this to happen the way it did or may have happened. I know I tried to walk away but if I did then how did she know what room I was in?” Art asked shaking his head.

“You payed for the drinks with your room key. Couldn't she have seen the room number when you handed it to the bartender?” Stephen asked and Art agreed.

“But she came to me out of free will,”

“I don't believe so Art. You created a fantasy through your conversation that rooted into her subconscious and then you allowed her to come to what she believed she was her conclusion when in fact you had been guiding her all along. You were her 'Prince Charming' hiding behind the mask of her 'therapeutic friend'. Then you took advantage of her when she entered your room.

“And if it didn't happen? What if she did go into her room and dreamt the sex?”

“It wouldn't matter Art, because it was real to you and until you get these urges in check then the next time it might be real and some other woman will get her feeling hurt.” Art too a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Now what about the text messages from the Ashley woman?”

“What about her?” Art asked.

“Where does she fit into all of this?” Stephen asked taking notes on his notepad. Art nodded his head and laid back down.

“Ashley was a slow occurrence entering into my life a text at a time.” 

Moments Before Fatherhood

 Moments before Fatherhood:

           I am sitting in the laboring room as my wife lay still, strapped to a machine listening to the heart beats of our soon to be born children. The room is otherwise quiet and while all our friends and family are waiting to hear the news from my wife, I can't help but take a few moments and reflect on my life. My life if filled with adventures most people would swear were fictional, at times I too thought some events never happened but the people fortunate enough to witness them keep reminding me. I tell you now that I have cheated death more times than I'd care to admit. I have lied, beaten, taken and given life. I've raced a real Pimp, had dinner with real Chicago mobsters, shaken former and current presidents hands. I have seen the inside of the White House, saved a little girl from being hit by a bus, resuscitated a pregnant woman after a car accident. I have fought gangs and matched wits with many influential men. I've even taken a gun and knife from would be attackers.

       All those moments, all those lives touched or friends lost. And I can't remember being as scared as I am now. The voice in my head keeps me calm, it tells me to be brave and show no fear for my wife's sake. It doesn't help to see my wife in pain knowing I can't take it from her, though as a woman this is her right of passage. Still, I am here alone. I do not have Maryam here to hold my hand and give me words of encouragement. I do not have my father who would place his heavy hand on my shoulder and tell me it's alright without ever muttering a word. I do not have Brandon or Vince to offer prayer to a God that I still do not understand. So I sit in the dark corner of the room, while my wife sleeps through her contractions, and wait. I'm pondering all the things I've done in my life. I'm saying silent prayers to God because I'm afraid my bad deeds out weigh my good and if that is the case will that determine the kind of father I will be.

       Am I really up to this challenge? I know its late to be asking this sort of question, it's not that I'm not ready but my reality is changing and my responsibilities have not doubled or trippled but quadrupled. It's only a few hours away before out children will be born. These are the thoughts I have moments before fatherhood.

too good to be true?

I'm too good to be true?

Before the first book that you read me on
There were people already tryin' to get me gone
My own mother Tellin' me to quit writing
“Just work a 9 to 5”
but my imagination kept fighting
But my friends had my back
So I wrote the chapters
Put out Swift Killas and the haters talk went flat
It was funny at first but then the humor faded
When mother gossiped that it was she who helped me make it.
Then the critics said I was to be good to be true
Some were saying ghost writers were writin' all that I do
So I had to disprove it
With the Rake I detailed just how I do

And with that I raised the bar,

so high that now I make the rules!

Denied the interviews because they want to twist my words

Just to infer that I said something fucking absurd

Oh, did I lose you at infer?
Not used to hearing a phrase that uses over first grade vocabulary words?
People used to infer that I was manufactured
Now I've got the comments on file
Which people said what
about my unique style.
So now I have every enemy screaming insanity
All they're ever gonna be's another big fan of me
Bitch!

Not Today

I hear people running off at the mouth
Trying to convince me that I'm running on empty
Trying to convince themselves that the Rake was a fluke
That the books that I'm writing is a mistake

and that I'm taking more than just a brake
Lemme tell you where I'm at with this
You critics are gonna have to take back that shit
I'm not plastic and fake
When I write I take facts and lay them out for the masses
You best pay more attention then you did in your college classes
But I'm trying to be bigger than the bickering
bigger than the petty name calling
under the breath talking
Go on and say what came to say
keep talking while I'm walking away
'cause my mind's made up anyway
I'm soaring above you
this is the last time that I'm gonna trust you
You can say what you have to say
'cause my mind's made up anyway
all that bullshit you talk might work a lot
but it's not gonna work today

Keep running off at the mouth
Trying to make me take my safety off
lemme spell it out plain for you
angry groups complain about the things they can't do
I'm not changing direction, I'm stepping my game up
Maintaining my name, the same way I came up
You're gonna see that I'm not playing
And start asking me the names that I'm not saying
but I'm trying not to mention the names of people who wanna siphon attention
You like the hype but pretending you're part of the picture wont pass
You're like a high school dropout, no class
You can say what you want about me
keep talking while I'm walking away.
Why does it always have to be
Somebody's always watching me
All I really need is some room to breathe
Is anybody out there listening?
'cause I can't stand to keep this in
All I really want, and I'll say it again

Why ask why

I was just messing around trying to get my right hand into typing shape and came up with this.

One of the first things I asked people when I was younger was “why.” Forget “No” I wanted to know why. If my mother said I couldn't go outside to play I had to ask why. When I was in high school and wanted the car but my dad said no, I asked why. In college when the girl of my dreams said we needed time apart you best believe I asked why. I asked myself “why” when I realized I was stuck in a job that had no growth. When my life long best friend told me he was dying I couldn't help but ask why. And when I met my maker and he asked me to explain what I had done with my life, I took a deep breath. Straightened my jaw, squared my shoulders and stood my ground before I boldly ask why.