The haunting sound

I started the slide down into unconscionable behavior in my late teens that began with an unholy friendship with the neighborhood bad boy, who incidentally used to beat me up in elementary school. We would go on to do drugs, steal, destroy public and private property, and pick up teenage girls. Basically we just faded into a grey mess. My friend was already heading there, just waiting for company to follow.

The day we are going to talk about he and I were on our daily constitutional of stealing money from his parents and walking the dirt road up to the back of a Wal-mart to buy something stupid...or steal it. As we made our way down creek beds and dirt roads we came to the road headed to the store when we saw this pickup truck hauling ass down the road. I mean really flying.
As we crested the top of the hill and began walking down a short valley towards the oncoming truck I told my friend "Hey, when he gets close push me out in front and we'll scare the hell out of him.". It wasn't that I thought about doing something like that before, or since. It's not that I even had time to think about what I said, but in the few short seconds between saying it and the truck reaching striking distance, my friend did as I asked.
The moment came and the truck was twenty feet away asmy friend pushed me into the road. The guy looked stunned through the windshield and swerved to avoid my stupid ass. Still moving at the speed of light he crested the hill just left of the center line behind us and then...silence for less then a second.

Then the sound glass makes when smashed under foot.

Loud.

Followed by the sound of metal being ground into sparks...for seconds after moments after years. An age of dinosaurs had came and went. The Earth had cooled, warmed, and cooled again by the time the screeching had stopped. So had my heart.

We turned around and ran the few feet back to the top of the hill. As we crested we could see the truck finally coming to rest about three hundred feet at the bottom of the hill. Then we noticed another car, in the ditch.
We ran to the small, baby blue, compact car smashed and wrapped in barbed wire. I looked inside through the shattered driver's side window I could see a man curled in a ball upside down in the passenger seat. The impact had lifted him out of the driver's seat tossed him like lettuce in a bowl and left him broken, head first in the floor board.
He didn't move. I looked at my friend with eyes wide and must have said something like "He's dead. Let's go down to the other car.".
We ran down to the truck and right about the time we got there a young guy was getting out and limping toward us. We grabbed him and sat him down on the bed of his truck. My buddy must have dropped the tailgate for this to happen because I don't remember seeing in to the bed. The young man's pant legs were ripped off and it looked like he was missing a knee cap. He asked, slurring "What just happened?" and I said "You were in a car wreck man!" and he just hung his head. His eyes were dull and vacant. It was like he was dreaming all of this and knew we were just figments of his imagination. No need to really care about the world because it would fade soon. The blood was coming out of the meaty tears in his knee like honey out of a broken jar. Nothing alarming but nothing to be happy about.
As we stood there holding the guy up in a sitting position a lady pulled up next to us and asked what happened and we said there was an accident. She said she was a nurse and she would race to her trailer (a trailer park was right at the start of the dirt road) and call 911 and come right back.
My friend stayed with the young guy and I started to walk back up to the small car. Before I got there the nurse came back and we ran to the car. She couldn't open the driver's side door so we tried the passenger with no luck. She wouldn't let me stop and told me to keep pulling until the passenger side came open. We pulled the old man out and laid him down in the street behind his car. She propped his head against the rusty bumper.
His head looked like an easter egg that was cracked, all these colors poking through. He moaned and that was the last sound he ever made.
Soon after the ambulance came, then the cops. Shortly after that, a riot. Sounds. People. Yelling and weeping.
I started to get scared and told my friend right in the middle of the crowd "Let's get the fuck out of here man, I don't want to get in trouble!" and cool like a cucumber he said "It's cool, we didn't do anything wrong."
and so, after I stopped shaking, he lied to whoever talked to him, the cops took our names.
The old man in the baby blue wreck was taken away. Pronounced dead on the way to the hospital.
We got a summons to court a few weeks later, my buddy and I. Each day the court was called to session me and my bro got out of school. We'd be driven down to the city to sit in coffeehouses and diners near the courthouse until someone came to get us. We would sit in the dark wooded chambers outside red doors listening to voices. We were never called inside.
The young guy plead guilty to manslaughter. (you see, we didn't know it but he was drinking and driving)
That was the end of life as he knew it. He would be a convicted felon. He didn't remember us or what happened. That was the end of the story.

Almost.

Many months went by and I had pushed those memories to the back of my mind. Besides the occasional fit of backseat driving. Then on a bright summer day as I walked across the street to Mr.Hoynes house to see what he was doing it all came rushing back. Mr. Hoynes was the old guy on the block that took care of us kids; mowing the fields so we could play, clearing out snakes in the woods, and shit like that. As I walked up his driveway he was just sitting there looking bummed. I asked him why he was looking down and he said his daughter just called and she was sad. She had been sad for a little while. He proceeded to tell me me that she had been engaged but a few months ago her fiance was put in prison for drinking and driving. He killed a man after buying beer at a Wal-mart not far from here.

I went cold. I don't think that part of me has thawed yet.

Hearing that haunting sound of glass shattering and metal grinding. The sound of two lives ending.

When I was just a little bitty baby momma would rock me in the cradle

..in them 'ol cotton fields back home

Arkansas in the seventies was just as you thought as they would be, countrified. It hasn't changed much since then either.

Me and the other kids living nearby grew up in nature. Farms and fields. Woods and creeks. T.V. wasn't really around and neither were roads. You usually had two; one leading up to your house and the other cross-secting out into town.
We played outside most of the year. Mothers didn't need to come check on us. My sister and I would play and get dirty for hours...and hours. My nickname was "pigpen" because I really liked to get dirty and my sister's nickname was "chickenlegs" because she was tall early on.
We would play in the crop rows and picking strawberries and blueberries. Hide and seek down the rows that were cross cut by trails. Eating the fruit was tolerated, not allowed. We were little kids and portions were small unlike today's standards. It happened so often and naturally I never thought about it until I was a little older when someone actually had to drive to a store and pay money to eat fruit.
That makes me miss it so much more.
When we moved north into the mountains the farm was much bigger. My grandma had large crops and cattle, geese and fowl too. I won't get into all the creatures that walked and wadded in the grass with us as we imagined ourselves soldiers or hunters as the cast was always changing. I do have to mention one animal in particular, however, and that was Chief.
Chief. Man, that was a good dog. Big like a wolf and stark white. of course he was always dirty and had yellow spots from animal blood that we couldn't wash out but his original color was white.
He was gentle towards humans. Heck, he wouldn't bark if your drove up to the house and he didn't chase strangers. He was the sum total of my uncles, aunts, cousins, and friends. The decade before I arrived this pup grew up with a similar tribe of kids who ran him, ran with him, and adventured the country side day after numbered day. A warrior and friend of our extended family entrusted to keep the property safe. He exacted his toll for such a labor, in chickens and guineas, throughout the years but otherwise steadfast.

The reason I wanted to talk about Chief was his amazing ability to understand my most important command..."Chief, let's go adventure!" or some derivative there of. Sometimes I would just walk out and he would be laying under the porch swing, sleepy in the day sun, and I would say "Chief! Adventure!", and up he would rise strut off the porch cut around the house and down in to the woods. Here I would come jogging behind trying to catch up.
Out into the fields, through the woods, under fences, across creeks, on and on we would go. Sometimes he would take me to where the cattle were cooling off in the woods and we would chase them until I couldn't breathe. A small stampede through the branches. Oh the sound! Deafening. It was great. His barking, their mooing, and the sound of hooves and wood breaking. Running after cows hurtling passed trees while getting slapped in the face by branches and leaves.
Other times he would take me to a small pond where turtles and fish were fat and crowded. He would jump right in and lap at them while I tried to catch turtles as they raced to freedom on the banks. The smart ones would dive down and hold their breath until the two of us tired of the game.
Chief always took me somewhere interesting and hardly ever was it somewhere I had been before, at least in that season.

I remember one time we set out in the morning after grandma had cooked up eggs, sausage, biscuits and chocolate gravy (don't ask, it's a regional thing).
It was me, Chief, and my cousin A.J.
A.J. and I were a few years different in age, me being older, but we were cut from the same cloth. Full of bravado, stupidity, excitement, wonder, and humor...we made a great pair. Where I would jump over a high ledge he would wait, when I couldn't kill a snake or skunk he could. We would pummel each other daily and never think twice about it. Stealing beers from the uncles and drinking by the creek. Cussing with fervor and imagination in hopes of creating the "great put down" that could not be out done.
I digress.
On this bygone day the three of us ran, walked, crawled, and jumped for miles through pastures and around ponds. Watching tall grasses hot in the sun weave and fall in front of us from Chief running ahead. Each grain top that touched our legs felt like warm finger tips. Golden, feathered fingers reaching out to the world in groups of a million. The expanses were so unbroken and untamed we couldn't see a fence or a house for hours only the mountains, the grasses, and the sky. Our own voices stomping over the sounds of crickets and toads. At one point I slowed behind A.J. and Chief to breath a bit and looked at the dark path they cut in front of me in the oatmeal and honey. They were headed down the slope of the field towards a patch of birch trees and a creek. I looked behind me at the paths we had cut across the fields and in to the dark woods some two miles back. In the same field were I stood but just up a short hill stood a lone tree. Bright green tops and deep shadows near the ground. The grass was all worn down around it. Some lovely spot for an animal to lay in I could imagine. Nothing was there at that moment but the smell of fecundity hung in the air so whatever used that spot wasn't far away. I took in the greens, ambers, hazels, bronzes, and cobalts before taking off again to catch my two partners.
The hours went by. Yelling at each other. Yelling at chief. Talking about the world and our bravery. At times we got hungry but we knew we were far from home and if Chief could go without food so could we. We found a creek that didn't have any moss or fish. Sliding down the oil shale and in to the rock bottom we drank along with the ancient, white dog. The water bubbled up from the rocks some ten feet from us and ran down to where we knelt. With each handful we tasted cold earth and stone. Wiping some through our hair and splashing each others shirts we took off again. Down the creek and up a grassy side that had promising tree roots poking out to aide in climbing up.
It was a day that lasted forever. We were alive and living on this Earth with passion and excitement. I felt it that day. I could see it in A.J.'s eyes too. We were young and knew that this was what we were meant to do.
As boys we went on and on.
Chief lead us back to the farm near dusk and we all ran into the house...dog and all. As we gobbled leftovers and scraps parents barked disappointment masked with relief that we weren't dead.
Chief ate everything we gave him plus what was in his bowl from the morning.
Of course the adults weren't too happy but they knew it would only have been a rattlesnake that would have hurt us and that at least is an honorable death.

Black maggots

There are many buildings, and parts of buildings, that go unused or are abandoned on the campus of EMU. Some of the buildings have been derelict for quite some time, and there are portions of others that just aren't meant for human habitation. Dark and lonely places underneath the bustling ground about. These were the places I would wander.
While working for the campus I was given keys to a good many of these buildings and while opening doors and crawling over obstacles I would find even more hallowed spaces. One weekend day I was doing just such an expedition around an old dormitory. This five story building once housed the brightest students on campus but now lay hidden under unkempt trees and tall fences. I had already climbed the fence once to gain entrance to the large center garden, a huge area of open grass with five hardwoods over a century old each. A tattered, grey rope hung from one tree's branch higher than the second floor with what might have once been a swing seat but was now lightning bolt shaped shred of wood. In this secret garden the turn of the century majesty of the building was much more apparent. Hand placed bricks of slightly different colors gave the walls a patchwork quality like priceless Native American blankets. White marble and sculpted plaster around every window and staircase, partially draped with dark ivy.
I walked around for several hours trying fire escapes and staircases in hopes of one being unlocked or old enough to force open. Looking in smoky, dusty, dirty, and opaque windows baked by decades of ultraviolet I could make out silhouettes. Each glimpse inside further cemented my resolve to gain entrance. I came down from the last staircase ventured and searched all the partially overgrown windows of the basement/ground floor. Handles and locks were in such states of disrepair that it looked like some metal had fuzed. Window after window. Lock after lock. From the Northeast corner all the way to the Southwest I moved sticks, grass, rocks, bugs, spiders, and wind blown garbage trying to open something. After an hour I had almost completed the circuit, some 60+ windows and doors when a half-sized window opened easy as a breeze. I laid down on my belly and slid in far enough to clear my head and shoulders. It was a public bathroom replete with stalls and mop bucket. Alas, having spent much of the afternoon exploring and finding an entrance the light was fading and I didn't bring a light. I closed the window and resolved to come back the next day.
Over the fence and back home I went with a boy's sense of excitement for something new. I'm sure I dreamt of what I'd find in there the next day. Perhaps even thought of some forgotten treasure or pirate's booty.
Ha! How am I kidding?
I don't remember waking up. Taking care of business, or why it took me almost to midday to get back to the abandoned building but I remember laying on my belly and opening that half window again.
As I pulled myself in through the window passed my chest I looked around. Dirty stalls and dark tiles like any you would imagine in a scary movie. The stall I have hovering over was about three feet below me and the toilet was white like a skull but the bowel was black as midnight. The door to the stall was missing so I could look right in to the rest of the bathroom, which is why I saw the mop and bucket. I laid there for a minute to listen for any noise, making sure I was alone to explore.
Not a peep.
I backed out of the window and flipped over so I could go feet first and slowly drop down to the floor below. I grasped the outer walls and lowered my feet down to the toilet bowel and made a successful landing with both feet, careful not to plunge in to the abyss of the toilet. It looked like hell. After I made contact with the rim and felt solid I limbo'ed the rest of the way in and stood on top of the seat quietly making sure again I was alone. As I stood there in the silence a new sound came to my ears. A stood frozen listening to the sound of movement.
Soft.
Moist.
The sound of walking over wet leaves. Stirring a bowel of pancake batter. Mashing your tongue in your mouth.
My mind raced for a moment with imagination. A squid beast loose in the building! A zombie eating some flesh!
No.
It was close. The sound was right on me, by me, under me.
I stepped down from the toilet and stood in silence for a moment as I looked around for the source of the sound and looked down in the toilet bowel. The blackness wasn't a stain. It was a thousand black maggots wriggling in some filth of a liquid. After my eyes adjusted I could see their scaly skin as each one crawled over the other in multitudes. My eyes must have been the size of half dollars. Like Frodo in the swamps of misery my head was slowly pulled closer to the black hole of maggots despite the rest of my body desperately trying to pull it back. The closer I came to the mass I saw something that brought new horror enough to force me back.
Just below the rim of the toilet seat were a series of fine spider webs. As the maggots matured and gnats flew out to freedom they would be ensnared in the web. Not all of them mind you, as there were thousands of maggots and hundreds of gnats, but enough to keep the spiders fat and happy.
I shuddered looking at the whole scene. The horror of living in that kind of dystopic habitat?
I stepped away from the toilet I had just moments before perched on and looked around my new found land. Hallways lined with appliances, furniture, refuse, clothes, boxes, boxes, and creatures that go bump in the night.
I wasn't all that comfortable walking onward but that's exactly what I did.
The horror.

The horror.

The Devil May Care

...but most likely he didn't.
I don't think I ever bothered to describe what the devil looked like so I'll do that now before I go any further.
When I knew the devil he was still a young, twenty-year old, skater punk with sandy blonde hair. His face was rather average if not cute with a complete lack of facial hair. He was about 5'11 and average of build. He was really someone you could walk past in a store or party and not take notice. It was only when he smiled did you realize that hell was upon you. You see, the devil never smiled over social norms...not babies, comic asides, or the mundane. He only smiled when it meant someone's suffering somewhere at some time. His toothy grin was biting with eyes that reminded you of the blood-thirsty teens you would see playing shoot-em-up video games. His eyes were blue and empty like a sky after a storm. He usually stank, not like fire and brimstone but more like someone who doesn't care that he sweats or eats mexican food too much.
Now I will tell you about the dorm room we shared together in Minot, North Dakota.
If you opened the door to our room you were first presented with a small collage assembled on the interior of the door. It consisted of an image of Dustin Hoffman dressed as a woman when he played "Tootsie" glued to a piece of cardboard under which I had written "We're pro Queer" in red with an adjoining red ribbon drawn to the right. under that was an upside-down cross with the letters "SANTA" written with sticky mailbox letters. I think there were some random stars and hearts stickers we took from the blood donation place a few weeks before...the glittery kind.
Once inside our lair you would see my meager, wooden, fold-up futon against one wall with one of those tapestries your grandad kept in his garage hangout...the weird one with woods and deer and shit hangin' out like some old ass lady sat at the edge of these scary woods and hand loomed a fuckin' blanket while watching nature scenes at dusk, but i liked it.
then there was the little TV area in the corner of the room with speakers and junk...used mostly for watching porn and skate videos. on our windowsill was the true piece de'la resistance...a collection of lawn ornaments stolen from around the city of minot. we had the yard gnomes pushing wheelbarrows and holding shovels that the devil jumped over a fence and stole from the yard of catholic monastery. also, a virgin mary statue that i stole from an old ladies house the same time i took the "chairman of peace" rocking chair that i will talk about later. the devil defiled the poor statue with paper mache horns and the same markings on her forehead and hands as charlie manson sported when he went to trial. and a little cherub that was squatting to admire some other lawn art originally but we had placed a fake turd under instead.
but wait, hold your judgements for the next part.
after i had built the devil a tall-ass bunk bed to keep him from fuckin' with me in the night he had decided it framed the wall behind it much like a mural in ancient greece. so he adorned it with his own work of art.
from the back pages of all his hustler, juggs, hippo and playboy mags he cut the ads you never looked at. the ones that offer sex hotlines, escort services, man on man feasts, and whatever advertisement you could think of that gets slapped in your hand by the porn pimps as you walk down the strip in vegas. yup. pure smut.
and he cut out pictures. words. numbers.
and made the wall of porn.
an eye sore even to the most dirty, lonely, over-weight, unshaven, unemployed ex-con. this went past funny into the grotesque.
and how we passed our military room inspections every month i do not know.
maybe they were only able to stand at the brink of hell and look in for fear that their immortal souls were at risk if they even viewed our monstrosity.
and so it kept our little slice pretty quiet. no one ever really came over to hang out. so we were free in our room. to be our selves.
the art and stolen artifacts only grew with time until the fateful day i almost destroyed the devil.
but that's another story.

She was white, with long fangs.

Oh yes. Lucy could really pull a bender on you...weeks of destruction and havoc. Waiting for you to go to sleep before running wildly through the house and meowing. Letting you chase her into the dark because at least you would be unhappy with her. And occasionally attacking you while in deep sleep.
She would warn you like a shark does by bumping your feet as you float on the crest. Except Lucy would run across your body over the covers full tilt so there wouldn't be a mistake in her request or angst.
I some nights I would have to put Lucy in a carrier just to keep her from terrorizing us. And some nights we just let it go.
Finally, we moved out to the coutry side where Lucy was free to stay outside. And very little did we let her in. Since she had started to corrupt the new cats we had gotten to try an equalize our household. Fearless Lucy still kept it unreal for our day to days. I remember our neighbor coming over one time with two big ass barking dogs and wanted to go for a walk. He stood in the entryway with the dogs and Lucy came runnning through the house and confronted the slobbering beasts. They pulled at their chains and barked like mad. Lucy got even closer to them and proceeded to take swips at their face. No one could believe it. Not even the dogs.
Lucy started to single her opressors out. When I would do something to her in any way punishing she would get retribution on my person. Her first foray into smart bombing came when i started spraying her with a water bottle to stop heinous activities like attacking guests or tearing up furniture. She went into my clothes hamper and pissed all over my clothes...not Dawn's..mine.
And then one night I had to lock her in the spare bedroom as she was getting out of hand. Throughout the night I could hear her mournful meows...and in the morning i let her out. running through the house and bitching about everything as she made her rounds. A few minutes later I went into the spare bedroom and looked at my art tablet with all my sketches on the desk. The paper was all curled and the most foul odor emminated from the paper. It was yellowed...ah yes, she had pissed on my artwork.
Touche!
We decided to try and get rid of her as soon as possible and put an ad in the paper. People would call and never come over once they heard her age. Then one day a mother and her daughter came by to visit Lucy and see what she was all about. They sat on the floor and the little girl held out her hand to a curious and somewhat friendly Lucy. We were standing over them watching with surprise and delight as the minutes whittled away and Lucy started loving on the little girl. In her lap Lucy purred and rubbed. Sweet as a peach.
The mom looked at us as if we had provided the answer to Christmas. All was well with the world. The little girl leaned down to kiss Lucy in her upturned face. Lucy sweetly and quickly bite the living shit out of her cheek. The little girl screamed and jumped up with a little blood coming from the puncture wound.
Lucy had foiled our plans! She knew what they had come for...and she knew how to make it stick that we weren't rid of her yet.
That bitch ass cat!

The Night They Drove ol' Lucy Down

That cat could learn quick!
Man alive. Could she...When I'd put on my uniform she'd disappear no matter what room you saw her last in. Deftly darting from furniture to shadow. And there she would wait for my exit from the front door. Sometimes I wouldn't know which way she would be coming.
We didn't want her out because we lived near a road and the citizens get paid for crow's feet and stray cat's tails. And when we moved on base the cops were called on animals that roamed.
But.
This was Lucy. And what Lucy wants, Lucy gets.
After a few weeks of getting out successfully Dawn and I kicked in Operation "Deny Freedom". But, the retribution was just as severe.
Lucy began to attack me and Dawn by luring us in with purrs and rolling around in our laps. Her tactic was very sweet. Up into the lap lolling against the stomach with little purrs. Back and forth across the legs and lifting her face into yours. Sometimes even rubbing her nose against yours. Oh man...it was good. And just when you would be so into it with your eyes closed and just almost laughing at the fuzzy goodness she would bite right into your nose. And I don't mean like a Jaws flesh bite across the bridge. I mean she would sink her teeth into your nostrils at the right point where if you pull back her teeth catch under the edge of your nose. Ouch!
OUCH DAMNIT!
Man, I hated that. And for some reason I never learned.
Oh but that wasn't the most sinister of all her crimes against us during this phase.
This one day while I was at work and Dawn was doing her thang in the apartment. Dawn heared Lucy somewhere in the livingroom let out a loud meow. Out from the office she came to see Lucy standing on the back of the loveseat perched next to the door. Eyes locked in. Demands being made with a stare down.
I forgot to mention recently we had moved our loveseat right next to the front door with this gorgeous clay floor lamp. Cream with a stucco looking finish.
Dawn said "Luuucccyyy" with that sound you give to warn your child a whoopin is eminent.
"MEooowwwW." Lucy warned back. Turning toward the lamp putting her paws against the side, up on her hindlegs.
Dawn said "Lucy!" with shock and proceeded to walk towards the couch for a little "Obey they master!" smack down. But, before Dawn got very far at all Lucy pushed up and rocked the lamp. She pushed harder and thar she blew! right on the tile.
I don't remember what terrible things Dawn did next but by the time I got home the living room looked like the bottom of a pan full of sauce. Pieces of fur and gore all over the couch and floor. I even saw her head. Severed off with a giant piece of a lamp shard.
Well, that's what I was thinking anyway when I walked in the door to see the aftermath looking like a giant cookie, broken pieces all over the places.
That cat was straight up wrong.

Lucy Fur

In the late 90's my ex and I lived in northern Japan. We were young lovers all alone in that strange and wonderful part of the world. She didn't have a job and was left to herself in the house we had in downtown Misawa-shi near the train station. After a few months of all the solitude we both agreed that something warm and fuzzy needed to be added to our lives while I was toiling away at the bomb dump.
I mentioned to a friend of mine what we had decided and that a cat was our goal. He said that another bomb guy's wife ran the animal shelter on base and that I should talk to him about getting a good cat. So, I went over to this guy's office to see what he could do. As soon as I mentioned that we wanted a cat he picked up the phone and called his wife. After a short but animated discussion he said that tomorrow his wife would have something for us.
The next day we went to the shelter and met the lady who already had the cat with her in the main area. And oh what a cat. Such a colorization! Whites blending into browns and blacks that seemed almost painted on. A siamese cat. More precisely a Snowshoe Siamese.
The cat warmed right up to us and begged for attention. With her natural beauty and immediate interest in us we took her without much discussion. Homeward we went. Once there Lucy, so we had named her during the drive, took off through the apartment exploring and claiming her new territory. Meowing around corners and running up and down stairs.
After a day or two Lucy started to show her true colors.
One afternoon I was sitting downstairs watching TV and the ex was out shopping. I heard Lucy crying upstairs. I thought maybe she had gotten shut in a room or something and so up I went and walked around the corner to the staircase. As soon as I rounded the corner and put my foot on the staircase I saw Lucy flattened against a step about halfway up the flight looking right at me. The second I made eye contact she leaped from her spot right at my face. I screamed and flailed my arms simultaneously tripping backwards. The corner of the door frame caught me square on my spine and I bumped my head. Lucy barely missed me and hit the floor running. For a second or two I was still scared and then I was pissed. I wanted to kill her. Then I thought about what just happened and I laughed my ass off. When the ex came home shortly after I told her what Lucy did and warned about walking around the corner without peeking first to make sure she wasn't positioned for attack on a step.
A few more days went by and new personality traits started appearing along with the ambush technique.
Our living room was japanese style with a low, low table and pillows surrounding. When we would sit at the table our legs would stretch out underneath and were usually covered with a blanket in the traditional style. And like most people you move your feet here and there or adjust your position regularly. Lucy could not resist the temptation to creep into the room and underneath the table. Then with the energy usually reserved for capturing prey she would latch onto our feet with claws extended and begin the biting and hissing. The pain would be fierce and seemingly coming from all directions. The claws...the fangs...the knees banging the table.
Soon we had to start taking swings at her to keep her from coming close to our feet and legs when we sat at the table.
After ten days of living with the new hell beast we decided that our home was not the right place for Lucy Fur (our new moniker for her).
We returned to the animal shelter to tell the lady what Lucy had done and why we couldnt keep her only to be rebutted by the shelter manager. The lady said that we had Lucy over the time limit and that we couldnt return her now. There was a nine day trial period for owners and their pets! Yeah, I didn't know there was even a trial period. Come on...this is an animal not a VCR.
Oh well. We retreated to our abode to begin life anew with the evil one.

God Suffer the Little Children

it has been so nice and sunny these last few days here in michigan. so, feeling free to walk the earth with unprotected feet and skin i venture out the door with little zander in the front carrier. we start walking the sidewalks of my neighborhood. he is kicking at my balls as i meander through the blue skies and clicking sprayers on lawns. we round a corner and hear a little dog barking in protest at our imminent arrival. when down the street a little girl chugs on her bicycle towards us. she stops short of our progress up the sidewalk to pet the yelping dog behind the fence. we near her and she picks her bike up from the sidewalk so we could pass, i presumed. with her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail she smiles at the two of us and mounts her bike.
she looks at me in the face and says "we just came from the park.." and i dart my eyes up the street to see if there were in fact anyone else coming...and sure enough two more girls were messing around in the distance, she continued, "...but we left.".
she was calm and easy going, like she knew me presonally. it was almost like she road her bike down her to tell good ol' Uncle Shane about their day in the park.
and i said "oh good, nice out here huh?" and she nodded and finished mounting her bike and was ready to ride off again.
almost as an afterthough she looked back and said "we left because they were burning statues." hmmm. "oh?" i said. "what kind of statues?"
"they're burning god."
"ah. well..."
and off she went.
and i started walking towards the park.
this was something i must see.

Gotta know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em...

Know when to walk away and know when to run.

Unfortunately, when you're in the teens you just plain don't know, or give a shit. and that's how I came to hold the same job seven times.
I started working at McDonald's when I was 16. This wasn't my first job, nor was it my first entry in to the food industry. Anyway, it was one of the busiest McD's in America at the time due to being built right on a huge naval training station. The job was back breaking, and as you can imagine, turnaround was high.
Then here I come, a fast learner and willing to do any task no matter how nasty or hard. Ready to bend elbow to push any boulder, but I also liked to get drunk with my trailer park friends and call in to work once or twice...a night. Sometimes I would call in sick when I was scheduled and other nights because I thought I was supposed to work and called in to lie anyway. This caused quite a bit of stress for the management.
The first time I got fired was for a no-call no-show on a Thursday and Friday. The shift manager was pissed and didn't want to hear about my food poisoning (lie) so I was let go. That sunday I showed back up at work to order some food and act all sad because I wanted my job back. So, a few Mcnuggets and lies later I was back on the schedule. Things were pretty smooth for about a month and then I quit because of a desire to free up some time to get some more relaxation (see, drinking). I stayed in "quit" status for about a week before calling back up to see if they needed anybody, and of course they did. One problem though, the manager that hired me back didn't tell the other manager that she had reinstated me and the next day the clueless manager came in to see me in the back hanging out waiting to clock in. Ready for a fight he asked me into the office to berate me like the miserable middle-aged bastard that he was and fire me again. As he said over and over "I wasn't McD's material".
The third termination lasted about two weeks during which time I decided to grow out this mexi-cali style mustache and get all "edgy". It was with this new look that I got my job back for no good reason and quit a month later in a display of pride as I hung out with my buds in the lobby of the McD's while on the clock. The manager had come around the counter like he was going to break up a fight and stood right behind me and asked "Are you going to get back to work Shane, or should I clock you out?". I turned to face him smiling as wicked as a pumpkin and replied "No, I can do it. I have to get my stuff anyway." which made my friends start laughing and hooting like the bunch of teenage morons they were. I went in back grabbed my stuff and once again put my timecard on the manager's desk and walked out.
Only a month later my job was reinstated allowing me to work with the new hot girl, who I promptly started to date. About two months later I got dumped which set me off on a drinking spree that summarily got me fired. Companies have a problem with employees coming in drunk...noticably, as I learned.
Let me ask you though, how much conversin' is expected of the guy on the big mac station?
Tight-wads.
Anyway, this brought my hire/fire number to seven. Both managers were sick of my lack of work ethic, and not-all-the-time-funny outbursts, so I was finally really let go. Not even my skills making the new personal pizzas they offered which required me to go through a three day training course with a graduate from "Burger U" could save me.
Ultimately, I ended my almost two year long employment with the golden arches.

May they be damned!

Avenue Independencia

four stories above avenue independencia in aguascalientes i sit next to walls of windows big enough to drive one of those dirty, white vw beetles through and not make a spark.
looking north at the grey and maroon clouds sweeping ever closer as the sun sets behind us in the west. the clouds are bringing the first drops of rain this town has seen in weeks and everyone but me seems to be thankful.
two trees tucked in between brick buildings house two different families of birds. the tree closest to me is filled with little black birds that fill the air with a sound similar to TV static when you get close enough. every four minutes the tree belches a hundred of these little black birds right at these windows. they fly spread out latitudinal but flat like they were spread with a butter knife.
the next tree over is separated by a dark and mystical bar named el gatita elegante. the wrought iron fence guarding the entrance hides a neatly made table with bottles of unopened liquors available inside to the patrons with a fistful of pesos.
that second tree i left unexplained is home to just as many birds as the first i described. however, it is vastly different in it's flora and fauna. where the first tree is gaunt and tall the second is full and voluptuous. like Christmas ornaments the top is completely filled with little black birds with bright orange breasts and bills that make them seem like shinning baubles in the setting sun.
these birds don't fly out every few minutes.
they don't even seem to hop from branch to branch.
and when you walk near them the sound they make is like walking a street in Italy as a sexy woman in front of a cafe with seated men. a quick "fweeehit, fweeehit!", like they want you to turn around and respond to being accosted.
how different everything is here.
i'm sure you can only imagine, as i am, what is waiting on the next block of street vendors, taquerias, adorned with antiquated vw bugs.

A Northern Field By Moonlight

I went driving late one summer night to clear my mind and let the wind ease the burning in my heart.
Out I went into the night, past the city lights. Far out.
I knew I was getting closer to my unknown destination with every turn made.
The traffic was getting thinner. Then it was a few cars passing every few minutes. A highway giving way to two-lane roads. Two-lanes giving way to streets with no names. Finally, I found the place I was looking for when I turned down a small dirt road. Just me, the sound of insects and the whirring sound of my VW engine. The moon was almost full and yellowing with age.
I slowed to idling speed and turned off the headlights. Immediately the moon shadows snapped into view. Scores of dark than night shadows, the souls of old trees stretching far out into the road, burst in to view. Opals made of moonlight danced in between the irregular shapes and the stones as I drove over and passed the dark, shadowy fingers.
Houses from another century sat quietly in their yards. Their windows empty and dark, save for a kitchen light here or a table lamp there. Saying, we're still here!
I crept along that dirt road; silent...running.

I had passed it before I even realized. It was darker yet than the road I was traveling.
Another road. Disappearing into the darkness on my right. I stopped and backed up to taste it's exciting offer, and found it quite pleasing.
Of course I turned down that road. Immediately covered by a canopy so dense no amount of moon could break through. I smiled into the breast of midnight.
As I languidly rolled down the road there, in the distance, I saw little white objects like fingernails stuck in the ground. I knew in an instant what I had found. I drove up to the entrance of the graveyard spread almost into a cornfield.
With just a second of hesitation I pulled in. Leaning over the edge of my door and with the convertible top down I looked at the headstones driving slower than molasses.
I read names and dates "Olgen", "1886", "Margery", "1901", and on and on. The moon was bright enough to read handwritten directions on a piece of paper I found on the ground by "Edith Viola".

I had to get out of the car now. That paper called to me like cold beer on a hot day.

Standing there in the farm lands enjoying the new company I was keeping. Meanwhile the crickets kept talking about the dying of summer. The fireflies trying to mate one last time and dogs somewhere far off in the distance asking for friends, food, or to be let in before the night sets in.

I walked among these memories. Stepped over love. Brushed my hands over stoned hearts. Sat next to boxes and bones, wondering what they looked like naked and in bed with their lovers so many decades ago.
After I had my fill of fantasy, memory, loss, resurrection, and acceptance I walked back to my bug and laid in the damp grass next to her.
Looking up at the stars I wondered if we both looked good in the moonlight, or just out of place.
After my body became chilled from the dew that had started to form I got back in the beetle.
I turned the key and crept down the road at a trotting horses pace.

"No cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound
Nothing to eat, no books to read..." -the hollies

Just being.

And if that wasn't already enough I found what I was really looking for; a small road dead-ending in a cornfield.
I drove up into the crop and parked. I got out and walked right into the jungle of dark green stalks reaching for the sky. Leaves as long as my arm, reached out to scratch me as I passed. Sweetly. Mother nature running her fingernails over my skin.
It was dense. The stalks growing mere inches from each other. I had to keep my hands out in front to move their green fingers from my view with each step.
For some time I walked, maybe in circles. Deeper into the maze of myself.

Finally, I paused in what i thought was my center. Or was it the center of this cornfield.
Dwarfed by the cornstalks. Their very tops glowing white. Thin grains waving about like water from a Grecian fountain.
silence.
calm. no sound.

I thought; the kind of thinking that leaves Earth's atmosphere for the nearest stellar nursery "this is where I find my love". Again to myself, "this is what I do to look within and without. I have to drive. Walk. Explore. Travel to get to me." and yet, sweet little sassy can sit right where she wants and open the page of her imagination. She finds her passion and her loves in her own mind. Shaped discharges of ink on pounded paper can take her away on journeys. Sweep her up in arms of adventure.
I wanted to be like her, and in ways I already am.

I realize that I could not appreciate her, or anyone without being me.
I wanted to know you more. So I stood there. finding us. Who I am. Who you are to me. What this may be all about.

What is magic? what is mystery?.

A truck, some concrete, and destruction.

During most of the 90's I was living in Japan with an occasional guest appearance in America to see this person or that for a few short days, but spent most of my time eating and drinking all the things I missed from the good ol' US of A. Once every two years I would be sent back to the states for a month or two at a time and one November it happened to be Texas for military training.
I decided to drive up to northwest Arkansas to visit my mountain family. On the way up I grabbed Lori so we could catch up on everything. After a few hours driving through rural country sides we hit the family farm to hang out with the matriarch, aunts, uncles, cousins and a random bearded drifter.
As the hours passed and homemade biscuits and gravy were served we found ourselves in the late afternoon. Dusk was coming over the mountaintop as my uncle mentioned that a snow storm was possibly on its way and we should either settle in for the night or get a move on over the mountain passes before it hit.
With only small windows of time for me to be visiting, no less stuck in the mountains we decided to head out. I couldn't take the chance of being stuck for two days waiting for the plows to come through. After all,  the military doesn't give a shit about your circumstance, they just want you at work/school.
As we loaded Lori's wimpy little Nissan up with our bags and snacks my uncle said we should put some weight in the back to help with traction in case we hit some drifts or whatnot. We hunted around the yard and couldn't find anything of substantial weight, just old wood planks, stones, and garbage filling a dilapidated shed. Then from behind the shed near the road we found a concrete block surrounding a manhole. With a crowbar and serious "manpower" we preyed it off the ground and left the manhole cover sitting there looking rather naked. Backing the truck up to the almost 400 pound block we lifted it into the truck like carnies coax an elephant in to a cage.
After we waved our goodbyes I started the truck off down the hill and straight into the mountains with the purples and reds painting the horizon.
It wasn't fifteen miles into the drive and before we even got to the first mountain pass that we hit the storm.
It became apparent the snow had already been falling up there for some time as the roads were covered and the trees looked like negatives imposed on the hulking, black backdrop of cliffs and spires. Minutes driving into the snow and the back end began sliding here and there making the curving roads even more dangerous ...and delightful.
About two miles later we saw a Jeep 4X4 off the road with the occupants still encased. The temptation to stop was high but with the slipping tires and the incline we were forced to hold a quick vote. It was unanimous to keep going for our own safety. I knew that if we stopped it would be an all-niter.
I felt bad for only a minute and then the snow really began to fall and I realized that this was going to be all or nothing.
Every time I decelerated to make a sharp turn the truck tires would spin wildly and fishtailing would last for minutes at a time. With my side of the truck leaning towards the mountain and Lori's towards the white and black abyss it became an old fashion horror movie. We finally came to the first mountain pass. It was marked by steep curves and dramatic drop-offs. Each vision added palpable fear to our internal counters. Lori would continually say "Shane, slow down!" or "Watch out, we are getting too close to the edge." to which I would comfort her with a masked voice of calm and say this is the only way we are gonna make it. I knew we could do it, after all I drove bombs tied to 40 foot trailers over maddeningly bumpy desert floors with movie style deadlines for delivery.
As we rounded another bend on the mountain pass we saw headlights pointing down the mountainside. It wasn't very clear with all the trees in the valley between us and the vehicle but I knew in two turns we would come to an accident. What I didn't know at that moment was that the accident was still happening.
As we came around the edge of the cliff's edge the scene of pure terror unfolded; an 18-wheeler was trying to keep from sliding down the embankment with heavy load and all. The back wheels spinning wildly with that sound only hot tires make when in contact with asphalt while the front end of the truck was already over the edge. The trailer had jack-knifed and was taking up both lanes as it slowly was pulled down the mountainside by its own gravity. Like watching a star being sucked in to a black hole.
Lori was weeping and shaking by this point, and inside, so was I. There was nothing we could do about this. I couldn't help this driver any more than I could help the two of us if we slid off the edge. As we approached the back end of the rig I realized that the road was virtually blocked off by the trailer. The only thing open was the breakdown lane for on-coming traffic. There was a little bit of the ditch next to the mountain side as well. If I drove in to the ditch this would be our resting point until daybreak. A razor's edge...illuminated by red tail lights and the soundtrack of screaming tires.
With much protest from Lori I kept the pace towards the trailer and right before we would have collided with the back of the truck I edged towards the ditch and let the tires grab and hit the gas.The truck bolted passed the trailer and didn't get a scratch...but I couldn't muscle the truck out of the groove in the ditch...and around a blind curve we went.

I don't know if the ditch was filled in or the road was worn down but we popped out of the ditch and back on the road swerving back and forth like a fish in hot pursuit of a fly hovering over the surface of a pond.
I gained control of the truck and my mind stopped screaming at me. Lori hadn't yet...actually it was more like a long and loud whimper.

So on we went.

Down the mountain pass and across a valley, but we knew we had one more mountain pass to go. As we drove along the quiet two lane road covered in thick white masking the sound of tires we almost felt calm again. A long cattle fence off to my right and the edge of large pastures played like a scene from the Flintstones where the same images keep passing over and over. We came upon two more trucks laying in the ditch on either side of the road but it was what came next that froze me with fear. I almost panicked but I knew Lori was barely holding on to herself and would sink into a nervous breakdown if I showed even one crack on my cool surface.

There, in the ditch on the side of the on-coming lane, a cop car.

As we passed it I looked at the undercarriage. Still steaming and black with glints of silver. It had slid off a really steep embankment and somewhere inside a cop was sitting in the passenger seat waiting for help.
Not ten minutes later came the apex of all my terror. It was at this point I realized that we were traveling on the wrong night, in the wrong place. Only my amazing luck, some driving skills, and a bit of concrete had kept us from laying in the ditch somewhere along this mountain, or worse, at the bottom of a mountain valley.

The wreck was still fresh. The lights still on and the back driver's side wheel still spinning slowly.
A snow plow, in all its orange glory, lay at an odd angle at the side of the road. The very snow plow sent to save us all from these dreadful road conditions.
I couldn't help but laugh manically. The same laugh I'm sure Custer gave out in his final moments. Lori thought I was having a ball. She didn't realize that I had the same look in my eyes as the guy standing on the edge of the building trying to talk himself into jumping.
A few more miles and several cars and trucks in the ditch we came to the final mountain pass.

No cars in the ditch!

Finally, some good signs. We had come to the longest and most gradual downhill curve you could ever hope for when you are on a bicycle but fear when the roads are wet or icy. The slope of all slopes that could be a skateboards dream or a runaway trucker's nightmare.
I put the truck in second gear and let her cruise down the mountain.
Hundreds of feet in front of us we watched cars and trucks gently slamming in to each other. A ballroom dance for drunkards. Bumper cars for the insured. Some of the vehicles would slip off into the ditch after making contact. Others would go on spinning in circles as they drifted down the six slippery lanes.
Lights all over like the snow, still visible road, and snow covered mountainside like a winter disco.
As I drove up to the small gaggle of cars and trucks currently kissing metal to metal I made slow and small turns into the on-coming traffic lanes and fluttered past them. I knew no one could make it up the mountain to arrest me for driving on whatever side of the road I deemed necessary so to hell with the laws and hurray for survival.

And then, we were down!

Twenty minutes later I saw the lights of a small town through the snow and then a gas station. I pulled in and without a word got out of the truck.
My legs were shaking so bad it felt like a disease. My hands felt like they were experiencing the onset of arthritis from gripping the steering wheel so tight.
I walked slowly into the gas station and bought a peanut butter Twix and said simply to the guy behind the counter "The roads are bad heading to Harrison. Very bad."
The guy nodded in agreement and said goodnight.
Lori walked in as I was walking out and said something that I can't remember but was probably like "I can't believe we made it." or "You are a crazy asshole and I am never letting you drive again."...or maybe both.
I just remember that I slept deeply and dreamt of lights pointing down in to the blackness of hell and the screams of tires.

alone

I was seventeen and living in Fort Smith, AR for a few months in the Spring of the year. It was a time of transition in more ways than one. Bereft of home and purpose the only thing holding me together was a job as a dishwasher in a drive-in "Mom and Pop" and laborer in a discount home improvement warehouse. I would consider myself at this time something of a vessel lacking content but ripe with potential. I still hadn't read a book on my own for pleasure. Ozzy, Nirvana, and Steve Miller were about the limits of my musical library and I only had an Iron Maiden poster but not a single tape of theirs. I was struggling to pass high school having lost all interest in rute memorization and the desire to play social games. Life hadn't started for me yet, at least not that I was conscious of at the time.

The seismograph scratching away on the scale of my life recorded not an earthquake but an implosion one partly cloudy day as I walked the town roads headed towards the city for work.
I really enjoyed walking and did it quite often even though I owned a baby blue 1968 VW bug. In Arkansas the burbs are not really what one would consider "burbs" having only a Wal-mart and some "mom and pop" stores strung down twisty roads in between grazing meadows and drainage ditches. The expanses between each point of interest was greater than a small kid could wander and what would now require the average lazy American a car to traverse.
Walking along I left behind the town roads for the three lane highway and began the slow ascent up the small hill and around a long bend on that stretch of asphalt. Up ahead was the old, white building seemingly growing out of the top of the hill at the apex of the bend. A large field lay opposite the warehouse and had not a fence, a sign, or any signal that it was anything other then a field with a small dirt track breaking off the highway and running twenty feet into the field. I only realized there was a dirt track because for the last half a mile I was trying to walk on the concrete curb "tight rope" style and this little track broke my winning streak. So I stepped down onto the road and began to walk to the continuation of curb when something in the field caught my eye; a break in the browns of wild wheat and the greens of grass.
I decided to walk up the track to explore. As I approached the dull, flat grey spot my eyes couldn't quite grasp what they witnessed there in the ground. Trying to understand how that object could be there, like a monolith in the middle of a primate encampment, it wasn't until I turned my head and noticed another, and another that I began to understand somewhat where I stood.
It was the most plain and generic of all tombstones my eyes had ever seen. Nine in all. Two merely read the date of death and "Unknown".
Shocked and confused as to why these things were here I couldn't think of what to do, or even what to think about it all. Should I run and tell someone? Build a sign at the side of the road? Was this a long, lost graveyard?
I was without an idea as to how this could have come to pass. My mouth must have hung open for a good length of time since it had become dry.
Finally, I left the field and crossed the highway to a gas station just a little ways back from whatever it was I has just rediscovered. I bought a Mr.Pibb and a Zero bar in hopes that these two comfort treats would bring me back down to Earth and inside my body. I walked to the counter so the old man at the register could ring me up and mentioned what I had found to see what he thought or knew about it.
He remarked that it was the city's charity graveyard, a place for all those bodies to go when there was no one to pay for burial or an unknown body was found. In fact, a few years ago he watched the truck drive up and three guys got out, dug, and laid to rest the body of an old man found in an abandon truck at the edge of some woods not but a few miles from where we stood now.
I walked out the store and looked back towards the field and thought how strange and sad it was that such a thing existed. I couldn't process all of that information that day and went on to finish my walk munching and drinking, trying not to think about anything at all. Emptying my vessel.

A decade passes...

Just the other day this memory came to me in its entirety and I became deeply troubled and moved by the memory. How each one of these people were buried without fan fare. Without a caring escort. That at the end of their lives they were already forgotten. No families called their names out. No institutions claimed their membership. No buddies missed them at their card tables. They had died as alone as their final years must have been.
No money. No heritage.

nothing.
nothing.

For two of them, not even recognition of who they were on this mortal coil.
I wept for the thought of these souls buried on the side of a highway in a field North of Fort Smith, AR. They will never be remembered by name. Not even by me; I hadn't wrote a single one down.

One day I will go back there and sit with them and talk. It is too late for me to comfort them as humans and give them what we all want...attention and love. But I can do it for the memory of their souls.

Today, I am happy because at this moment in time I am thought of and loved.
I don't have all the things I need and I have even less of what I want, but I am alive on Earth and I can still talk and be with you all.
The next time I think I'm alone, that no one understands me, I will remember those nine rock placards and thank all the powers that be I can at least drive to a Walgreens and talk to a teenager behind the counter.
Still make a difference.
Maybe visit a nursing home.
Take toys to a boys or girls home or an orphanage.

The Devil, Part II

and lo...he lay asleep.

note 1* I need to mention that the devil was incredibly smart. It sucked. I mean this kid could outwit almost anyone I had ever known. Since the day I met him no one ever got the better of him.

So this one day we get in an argument over something or other and I start getting an edge over on him. Before I could lose my lead I declared victory and stormed from the room. I went downtown and hung out with my friend Mary and gloated the whole time about having won an argument with the Devil. I was gone for a good while and returned in the evening to a dark room and a sleeping devil.
Not wanting to wake him and lose my victory for that day I got undressed and into bed without nary a sound. I had a good feeling that when I woke up we would start anew and my chances of winning would be slimmer than they would be normally as he would have stewed all night plotted in his dreams.
In the morning I woke laying on my side with a view of the entire room. Out of the corner of my eye I see that the devil is awake. Well, not just awake but sitting on the edge of his loft/bed with his legs dangling over all nonchalant and smiling.
*note 2  I had built the very loft the Devil was dangling his legs over a few months ago out of two fallen tree trunks. I did it only to provide an early warning system against the Devil as he would more often than not mess with me while I laid on my bed. The loft allowed me to hear him moving around and slow his progress.

I was a little taken aback by seeing him already awake and just sitting up there staring down at me but I acted unaffected and continued laying there on my side.
"How'd ya sleep?" he oozed. Grinning sadistically.
"Good, real good." I managed, trying to portray my lingering satisfaction through blinking eyes and a little yawn.
Without skipping a beat or missing a breath between my response he cackled" Because you slept in my cum!"
As what he said to me registered I began to sit up and begin my retort when my cheek tugged and cracked loose from the pillow. I sat up in horror and looked down at my dark pillow case now wreathed in a milky crust.
He had truly came on my pillow while I slept drooling in the very same spuge all night.

I tried to kill him, but he is devious as I have already mentioned.

The Devil, Part I

I met the "Devil" when I first joined the air force. He and I shared a similar interest: VW's.
We both loved and owned one or several of these unique makes of vehicle. My first impression of the Devil was that of a normal, young, white kid. He did not seem strange or evil in any way and when I ran back in to him at my first duty station I invited him to be my roommate.
Only then did his true identity become known to me.
Exhibit A (or, how I justify his evilness)
Dorm living is setup in the communal fashion; two people live to a room, two rooms share a bathroom. The bathrooms lock from the inside so the occupant can keep not only the roommate out but the adjoining room's occupants as well. This means the doors to the bathroom can be locked from the outside as well to prevent your suitemates from entering your room unannounced.
On this particular day the devil was peacefully listening to Danzig and drawing sketches of my body being mutilated by two naked women pulling me apart. I felt the urge to slip into the bathroom and take a poopy break and silently got up and walked the few feet to the communal bathroom. I hadn't been in there but five minutes when I heard the devil get off his bunk and walk around in the room. I leaned over and locked the bathroom door so he wouldn't try to enter and molest me in some way (no, no, not that kind of molest). I assume this must have drawn his attention, and as the months would wear on I would learn to avoid this at all costs in order to redirect his evil glee to some other victim, as he approached the bathroom door from the other side.
A few heartbeats later I hear the lock to the bathroom door click shut...from the outside.
I realized that the Devil was about to enjoy detaining me in the shitter. I heard a few short giggles on the other side of the door but decided to ignore it and not to attract any further mischief by yelling my displeasure. Suddenly, I hear the Devil's disembodied voice announce "I'll see ya later!".
At first I thought this was an empty threat trying to goad me into showing some sign of recognition that he had locked me inside the bathroom so I said nothing in response. With silence filling the air hearing the noise of the front door close to the room was like the hiss of a tomb shutting.
At first I got a little angry and then  reassured myself that the "Devil" was still lurking nearby to hear me bang on the doors and walls. I didn't dare appease his evilness so instead I decided to beat him at his game and take a shower. 5 minutes later I finish and towel off in the tub stepping out I reach for the door I expect to be unlocked whilst I was passing the time, but no, it's still locked.
Now I get pissed. Banging on the door with only silence on the other end to reply.
I realize that the bastard has really locked me in there. Now, you might be wondering when I was going to start banging on the door to the adjoining room...well, the answer would be never. You see, our suite mates were off in Italy. No one home next door. Locked from the other side.
So, I took a bath. A long dripping, annoying ass bath that got me so pruned up and twisted in my head that I was ready to kill the first person that unlocked the door to free the caged beast that had grown in my heart.
Three hours of angry contemplation within those small walls. Finally, I heard the door to our room open. I immeditely jumped at the door and banged furiously. I heard the "Devil" mutter "Damn! ...sorry I forgot". He unlocked the door as he ran out into the hallway. I burst through the door butt ass naked and chased him down the hall. I would have gotten him save for the fact that I yelled "I'm gonna kill you!" at the top of my lungs as I heard the lock turn...
Oh Devil, how come you run so fast?