What's Eating Sebastian Goodnight...

"Why do you get everything!" screamed Evelone as she lunged toward Sebastian and his sword. "It's not fair!" Stunned by the sudden rush, Sebastian froze. He had seen his sister angry, on many occasions in fact and he knew too well, if Evelone ain't happy, nobody's happy, and today, God help us all, today, that girl was pissed! Inches from the boy's face now and with a dead man's grip on the sword, she spoke deliberately, emphasising each word so not one would be forgotten, "You are nothing and I wish you would disappear." Sebastian felt in his heart the truthfulness of his sister's statement, and on his face, he felt the bits of uneaten cake as she spoke them. Ever since he was small, she had taken - his toys, his food, his security, his brother, but today, as she pulled the sword toward her, this theft would be met with some resistance.

She pulled, he pulled back and would not let go. Poking the bear, he stepped to the right taking the sword and Evelone with him. Enraged, Evelone pulled harder and in kind, Sebastian did the same, but the girl was older, stronger, and with little effort, she pulled up the boy, lifting him off the ground where their eyes met parallel and his feet dangled two feet from the floor. "Give me the sword," she muttered, her eyes burning into Sebastian's. "Give it to me or I swear to God...I swear to God." And with no more words, their staring contest was over. Evelone's left eye, and only her left eye, slowly moved away from Sebastian's gaze and focused on the tiny yellow parakeet still hiding behind Sebastian's left ear. "Give me the sword," she spoke again, eyes separated in a most disturbing way. "Give it to me or I swear to God...I will fry up that little bird of yours and serve him on a platter with carrots and potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner." Sebastian knew she was serious and so did Sampson. Scared as he was, the bird held his ground, and even if by some miracle, Sampson's clipped wings magically healed, he would not have flown to safety, leaving his friend alone, no, they were in this together, but something needed to be done. Sampson sucked up all the courage his tiny lungs could hold, spread his clipped wings and with one ferocious chirp, the tiny yellow parakeet with the heart of a falcon jumped from Sebastian's shoulder and rammed himself straight into Evelone's staring left eye. "My eye!" Evelone screamed, her pain strengthening Sampson's resolve. Like a woodpecker, Sampson's pointed beak continued poking that crazy eye a good three or four times before his adrenaline ran out and he fell to the floor happily joining Sebastian and his sword.

"My eye, my eye, my beautiful eye!" Evelone cried, stumbling around the room, half blinded by Sampson's attack. "When I get my hands on you!" Sebastian knew they had little time. Seeing his sister blocking the door, the boy grabbed his bird and the sword and ran to the only place Evelone could not follow - underneath the bed. Too small a space for a grown teenager but just big enough for a ten year old boy and his tiny little friend. He crawled and crawled, the bed so large, its space underneath was sprawling. All the way to the corner, safe, safe from the long arms of his sister, reaching in, grabbing for something, a bit a hair, the sleeve of his jacket, the frayed edge of the gray blanket tied tightly around his neck, covering now both the boy and the bird. "Come out!" she screamed, but Sebastian could barely hear, his hands to his ears. The bed started shaking, Evelone had climbed on top, jumping, trying to squash the boy out like the last bit of toothpaste in an old toothpaste tube. "Come out!" she screamed again, but he was not moving.

Finally, the jumping stopped, the noise had stopped. Sebastian looked to the edge outside the underneath, hoping to see two feet walking across the room to the door, opening it then leaving, but instead, his sister's face appeared. Evelone spoke in a calm voice...in a calm terrifying voice. "Enjoy your little fort now, brother, because in a few minutes, when the darkness comes, your safe place is gonna get very, very scary." Sebastian knew she was right. "You're underneath the bed, and at night, you will be surrounded by all that's underneath. All those monsters have been waiting for you for so long, waiting. While you've been sleeping tight in your bed, they've been waiting for that one night you poke your little arm or foot or head down underneath, waiting to bite it off, to swallow you whole, just waiting. You made it easy for them, you're in there world now, and soon they will find you a rip you apart...and your little bird too." Evelone's head disappeared and once again the jumping began.

Sebastian wanted to run out, but he didn't know what was worse - the monsters he couldn't see, or the one jumping on his bed. "They're gonna get you!" she screamed over and over again. "They're gonna swallow you whole!" Jumping and banging and screaming, so much noise, Sebastian couldn't think. Snuggling up close to the bird, covered in JoJo's old grey blanket, he tried blocking out his sister's cries, but it was no use, she was too loud. Too much noise, too much noise, the bed spring now pounding the top of his head, no escape, no escape, he wanted to scream but didn't, couldn't, had no memory of how. The monsters were coming, getting closer and closer and closer and in the middle of his wooden floor, underneath his very large bed, he saw a very small hole.

A hole he had not noticed just moments before. His heart stopped. As he stared, the small hole seemed to, appeared to become, started to get...a wee bit bigger. He closed his eyes, hoping it to be just a shadow, a dust bunny, anything, but when his eyes opened, the hole, and it was most definitely a hole, was still there and was still getting bigger. It wasn't a crack in the wood or a missing piece of flooring nor was it round really. The shape, kind of oval, wider in the middle, narrowing at the edges, and the nails that had, up until today, held these boards together, popped out and lined up side by side forming themselves into rows. Sebastian, now pressed hard again the wall, watched as the hole grew to the size of a beach ball and then as quickly as it opened...it shut. Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief, but too soon. Without warning, the hole opened again, then closed, then opened again, like a mouth, like a hungry nails-for-teeth filled mouth, biting, starved and Sebastian realized it wasn't like a mouth - to his horror, it was a mouth, and it was coming for him.

Deciding to deal with his sister's wrath instead, Sebastian reached out to scoop up Sampson, but to the boy's surprise, the bird was not at his side, he was instead, inching toward the open mouth, its edges now curled up in a sly, evil smile. Sebastian flung himself forward, reaching for the bird, grazing Sampson's feathers with his fingertips, but it was too late, the mouth opened a bit wider and swallowed Sampson whole. If Sebastian could scream, his house would have exploded. He crawled to where the mouth was and with his mighty sword, he began pounding on the wooden floor, pounding on it again and again. If he could speak, he would have screamed, "Give him back, give him back!" With his sword, with his fists he hit the floor again and again and again and with a loud wooden creak, the floor opened, the mouth opened, the nail-like-teeth opened and before Sebastian could jump away, the mouth sucked him in and swallowed him whole.

Falling, falling, falling into the darkness, the totally darkness. Sebastian fell and fell with no landing in sight. Reaching out for something, anything, but nothing. Falling and falling in this forever bottomless pit. He looked up, the mouth still open, the lights of his room still on, getting further and further away. The mouth started to close slowly, slowly and at the last second, before it had completely shut, before he was lost in total darkness, a face appeared far away, looking down. It was Evelone, watching her brother fall and Sebastian's last sight of his world was the smile on his sister's face.

Darkness. Falling. Falling. Darkness. Falling, falling, Under the Neath.

Ding Dong, Evelone Calling...

Bang, Bang, Bang! The door was about to come off its hinges, but Evelone didn't care. She knew the door was unlocked, she could have simply turned the knob and walked in, but the noise, like most things Evelone did, was for effect...the drama of it all. Terrified, Sampson hopped quickly behind Sebastian's left ear, peaking out, hoping she would tire and go away, but Sebastian knew better. He grabbed the old grey blanket that had been keeping him warm, tied the ends around his neck, pulled up the edges like a cape and wrapped himself up inside like Dracula protecting himself from the new morning's sun.

Finally, the door flew open with a kick, and there she stood, the sister from hell. In one hand, Evelone held the mysterious package, and in the other, the now half eaten plate of food. Luckily, Sebastian had no appetite, staring into his sister's face and the evil smile upon it, Sebastian wasn't sure if he would ever eat again. He was, however, curious about the package she held. Could it be a birthday gift from her, he thought...for a split second, then almost laughed out loud at such a ridiculous notion. Evelone did not give gifts. She hid gifts, she returned gifts, she had been know to open the gifts of others, but giving a gift? Oh no. But who was it from? Evelone walked into the room like she owned the place, criticising with her eyes everything in it, shaking her head, tisk, tisk, tisking away, but Sebastian barely noticed, his eyes remained on the package. Noticing this interest, Evelone held the box up and began to shake it violently, "I wonder what's inside," she cackled, then threw it hard across the room where it finally landed safely on his bed beside the opened gift sent by his parents - a bag of coffee beans from the Democratic Republic of Congo. They both stared at the box, then Evelone's left eye moved in Sebastian's direction. Her ability for independent eye movement always unnerved the boy, so he remained still, no sudden movements. Evelone was fast and could strike without warning. He knew to be patient.

She walked toward the desk, illuminated by the reading lamp, her face grotesque in shadows. With her free hand, she grabbed off the plate the remaining bit of Red Velvet cake and licked her dry, cracked lips, but before shoving it into her mouth, she ever so politely asked, "You didn't want this did you? No, I didn't think so." And like a python set free in a pet mouse store, she tossed the cake down her gullet and swallowed it whole. Finished and satisfied, she smiled in Sebastian's direction, her teeth stained red from the red dye of the Red Velvet cake. Dropping the empty plate on the floor, she slowly walked over to the bed, shaking her head, disgusted by the embarrassingly large amount of gifts Sebastian had received this year. "Two presents?" she asked. "Why do you get two? Everybody turns ten, you're not special. I mean for shit's sake, Hitler turned ten, so big deal for you." She slid the box across the bed, "Go ahead, open it." Sebastian did not move. "I said open it!" she screamed. Careful and carefully, Sebastian took one step and since he was still alive, he took one more, then another, still breathing, then another till he was holding the package in his sweaty and shaking hands. He looked at the box with no return address, simply addressed to him. Slowly, he pulled the tape off the edges, one by one. "You gonna keep that paper for your hope chest?" Evelone yelled. "Just rip it open!" But Sebastian paid no attention. After a moment, the gift was unwrapped. Sebastian pulled off the lid, set it down and looked inside. Sitting on top of the Styrofoam peanuts was a note, and like a scent, the familiar handwriting instantly brought him back to a happier time, it read simply - Happy Birthday, Bro. I miss you, JoJo.

"What does it say?" asked Evelone. Knowing no answer would come, she grabbed the note from Sebastian's hand and read it to herself, and for a moment, Sebastian thought he saw something human in her face, some true emotion like "hurt" because the note hadn't mentioned her...and then as quickly as it came, it was gone. Evelone crumpled up the note and looked inside the box, "He sent you nothing," she laughed. "Just a box of Styrofoam crap. Happy Birthday, Sebastian, have fun with you're crap." Picking up the box, Evelone started tossing the peanuts around the room, "You can pretend it's snowing," she cried. "Watch out, here comes an avalanche," and dumped the remaining bits over Sebastian's sad little head. The boy tried not to cry, but couldn't understand why his JoJo would play such a terrible joke. He lowered his head and watched the Styrofoam accumulate around his legs. Looking up into the box, he watched the white storm fall, wanting more, wishing there was enough to bury him alive, when Crack, something hard fell from the box and smacked him across the face. Sebastian looked down at his feet and saw, covered in the snow, the object the Styrofoam was truly protecting - his gift, his birthday gift from JoJo. Quickly, the boy reached down, brushed of the white bits and smiled in amazement by what he saw - a silver painted, sheathed plastic sword, bright and full of light, engraved with one word - GOODNIGHT.

When Things Could Get No Worse - Evelone...

The clock hits three and the last bell rings, another school day has ended. The empty halls quickly flood with happy, screaming children pouring from the opened classroom doors - higher and higher the tide, its current, strong, carrying all past the gym, the lunch room and library, bursting through the front doors and spilling out onto the open yard. The children run to their parents, showing construction paper projects and page after page of practiced cursive letter "P". After a while, the steady stream of students get thinner until the last and final drip slowly drips out - his name, Sebastian Goodnight.

At the corner across from school, the nanny leans against her car and waves the boy forward, smiling. Sebastian runs to her and seeing his wrinkled and red face, she opens her arms, wishing he would speak, just a word or two, to explain, to let it out, "You would feel so much better," she whispers into his ear, now snuggled safely deep in her hug. But Sebastian says nothing. He climbs into the front seat and shuts the door, but through the car window, he catches a glimpse of someone, a little girl, standing by the flagpole with her mother, holding an ice pack to a black and rapidly swelling eye. "What happened, Penny?" cries the mother. "Tell me what happened?" Sebastian turns and sits forward, staring straight at the open road ahead.

Earlier today, Sebastian was excited about the evening's possibles, but now, he just wanted to be alone. Good boys deserved good things, Sebastian deserved nothing. Should such cowards be rewarded with loving parents and a homemade birthday dinner, the biggest piece of Red Velvet cake, ten candles, and presents? No! And as the car rounded the curve and his house approached fast, all he wanted for his birthday this year was an empty driveway...and that's exactly what he got. The nanny parked her car, no problem, plenty of room - hers would be the only car parked tonight. The nanny turned to Sebastian and gave him a slight smile, "More cake for us, huh?" Out of the car, they walked through the front door, and in the hallway, sitting alone on the small table, a gift, wrapped in brown paper and covered in stamps from some far away country, waited for Sebastian. Comforted by the overwhelming pain of it all, he grabbed the gift and ran straight to his room.

Hours had past and Sebastian had not come out. The nanny, on her third trip to his door, noticed the plate of food she left on her first trip - lasagna with meatballs and hard boiled eggs and a piece of Red Velvet cake, had still not been touched. "He likes cold lasagna," she thought, and decided to leave the plate be. She did not knock, he would come out when ready and when that time came, he would open the door and see, sitting beside the plate of lasagna, a new package, one that had just arrived a few minutes earlier, but from who, she did not know. A mysterious box, wrapped in the same brown paper his parents had used, but this box was different - no stamps from some far away country, no return address, no lame excuses. To: Sebastian, it read, and nothing more. She set down the box beside the lasagna and Red Velvet cake, turned and walked back downstairs.

Inside Sebastian's room, the boy, wrapped up in his brother JoJo's old grey blanket, sat quietly in front of his open window, staring out into the night, still ashamed by his behavior at lunch. Sampson, his tiny yellow parakeet, perched still on Sebastian's shoulders, silently lending his support and comfort the only way he knew. Quiet, still, then startled at the loud bang, bang, banging coming from Sebastian's bedroom door. Such a disturbance, and not from the nanny the boy was sure. This racket could be only one thing - Evelone, and she wanted in!

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Cowardly Lion...

Sebastian opened his lunch bag and looked inside - peanut butter on whole wheat bread, salt-less Saltine Crackers and a perfectly sliced, cored and peeled crisp Fuji apple...yum! At the bottom of the bag, a note in the nanny's handwriting read, "All your favorites. I hope you have the best Birthday ever! Love, Nanny." Sebastian appreciated the sentiment and in all honesty, he'd had worse, though if anyone saw him, squatting painfully, smashed up between the row of prickly bushes and the cold, dirty brick wall of the maintenance shed, eating alone his birthday lunch, hiding from the entire school, no one would believe it, but he'd had worse birthdays. Sure, if one more kid ran up to Sebastian, patting hard his shoulders, screaming, "Happy Birthday!" into his ears, slapping his back side for one to grow on, just one more time, he would have screamed, well, figuratively screamed, Sebastian hasn't screamed for years, but he'd had worse. And how he hated being touched with those hands attached to little kids attached to germs and sticky things and things that stick to fingers when those fingers go sticking up their noses. But yes, sadly yes, he'd had worse birthdays.

Carefully, Sebastian smoothed out his paper lunch bag and set it on the bare ground with the intention to sit. He understood dirt in of itself is not dirty, it's what's in the dirt - the gum, the cigarette butts, the pee, but dirt is OK...as long as it didn't get on him. He would begin to sit then rethink his decision, then try it again, but in the end, he knew his end would remain forever off the ground. Knees shaking from squatting so long, Sebastian tried thinking the pain away, imagining himself at home, his parents driving up the driveway, running through the front door with open arms. Knees steady, Sebastian smiled and licked his lips, ready to bite into his peanut butter sandwich when to his surprise, a dark shadow wiped across the bushes in which he hid. His knees began shaking again and he wished to himself he would have sat, but it was too late, someone was out there, getting closer. Sebastian could hear footsteps slowly crushing the leaves, getting closer and closer and it was just a matter of time before they found him.

Sebastian did not breathe, he did not move, frozen he was as the footsteps stopped just a few feet from the bushes. Over his shoulder, he felt someone watching. Caught, he slowly turned his head and saw standing above him, Penny Nickels holding a bright red ball. Somewhat relieved, he smiled and their eyes met and for a moment, Sebastian thought she was about to speak, but she didn't, she didn't have to. His short lived relief quickly dissipated as Penny Nickels' face said all without saying a single word, "We are not alone!" Penny turned and Sebastian could see coming around the corner, grunting and squealing, the three little pigs - Teddy Green, Mark Lee Tappen, and Mark Lee Lloyd, brothers - same mother, same interchangeable personalities, same pink pimpled skin, same greasy slicked back, dirty blond tuffs of hair, all different dads, making their way towards Penny. Had they followed Penny? Why? Nobody follows Penny. For as long as she had been in school, everyone had made fun of her, but always from a distance, never up close.

Through the bushes, Sebastian saw the boys getting closer, their faces red and angry. "What's you doing, Penny Nickels?" shouted Mark Lee Lloyd, or maybe it was Teddy Green, which ever one it was, he looked pissed. Mark Lee Tappen or maybe it was Mark Lee Lloyd then shouted, "Give me back the ball, retard!" Penny turned and looked at Sebastian again and he recognized that bright red ball. Dodge Ball. It was the dodge ball from the most evil game ever invented, and it was now in Penny Nickels' hands, and the boys wanted it back.

Sebastian stared at Penny, pleading with his eyes for her to go away, but she just stood there as the pigs got closer. Teddy Green or maybe it was Mark Lee Lloyd laughed, "Maybe she wants to play Dodge Ball." They stood, just three feet from her, Mark Lee Tappen or maybe it was Teddy Green whispered, "What's you looking at in those bushes, Penny Nickels?" Sebastian's eyes grew. Penny looked once more at Sebastian, maybe she was hoping for help, maybe she was hoping to be saved, maybe she was hoping Sebastian would jump out of the bushes and scare off the pigs, making them run wee wee wee, all the way home, but Sebastian didn't know because he was not looking at Penny, the ground, the dirty, gum, cigarette butt and pee filled ground suddenly demanded his undivided attention. Penny turned slowly and faced the boys. She took the ball, raised it high and threw it far over their heads, far away from the bushes and far away from Sebastian Goodnight. Teddy Green or maybe it was Mark Lee Tappen screamed as they watched the ball roll out of sight, "Stupid retard!" They trotted after it and Penny slowly walked away, leaving Sebastian to enjoy his peanut butter sandwich.

From the safety of his hiding place, Sebastian watched the boys find the ball. From the safety of his hiding place, Sebastian watched as they found Penny. From the safety of his hiding place, Sebastian witnessed the one action that would change Penny's life at school forever. One of the boys, maybe it was Mark Lee Tappen, picked up the bright red ball and threw it directly at Penny Nickels' head. She did not dodge. And then one of the boys, maybe it was Teddy Green picked up the ball again and threw it again at her, and again she did not dodge.

Behind the bushes, smashed up between the cold and dirty brick wall of the maintenance shed, Sebastian watched the three pigs tear down Penny Nickels' once indestructible wall one brick at a time...and Sebastian did nothing, he sat quietly and ate his peanut butter sandwich, hating each and every bite.

It was his worst Birthday ever.

Bent Penny...

They should have been friends, Sebastian and Penny Nickels, and most thought they were or at least joked about them being - being friends, she's your girlfriend, he's your boyfriend - sitting them in trees together, k.i.s.s.i.n.ging together - yes, they should have been friends. Both outcasts, teased and tormented, both freaks, unknown and unwanted, they should have been friends, but they weren't...not really. Why? Don't we, in school, seek out and attach ourselves to those with similar qualities, clothing styles, tastes and muscle sizes. And with that said, might not a school's entire jock and cheerleading population be wiped clean with just one tiny bomb, strategically placed under that certain cafeteria table under the trophy case, or instead, the table by the exit door, tick, tick, tick, KABOOM...no more drama kids. We go with what we know, and while Sebastian knew Penny, she didn't know him. Their similarities meant nothing to her and what ever connection they should have had was lost on the girl, for Penny Nickels lived in a world all her own.

They were in the same grade, though Penny spent most of her time in the "special" class, the same special class which Sebastian's parents fought vehemently to have him removed - such a thing would not look good in the yearly Family Christmas Newsletter. The few days Sebastian spent as a classmate of Penny's, he came away from the experience grateful for his parent's prejudices. That class, filled with kids in helmets and padded chairs, plastic and unusable scissors seemed more of a holding pen than anything else. The noise from hands and heads banging on chairs, feet on floors and windows, pounding and smacking and screaming and in the middle of all the chaos sat Penny, quiet and still, unaffected and disconnected. Sebastian noticed as the kids ran and rocked themselves around and around the room, no one, not a single child came within three feet of the girl. Her chair, dead center of class remained an unspoken restricted area, and for Billy's constant pacing, well, he knew to detour. Penny Nickels lived within the confines of that three feet zone and it followed her from class to the hallways, to lunch and the playground at recess - her wall, her invisible stone and mortar wall where no one may enter.

Penny's silence, unlike Sebastian's, was dark. It frightened people, kept them away. She exuded absolute passivity, her non-reactions to the most hateful words thrown at her smashed against her wall, its strength made her invulnerable, crippling her assailants, rendering them and their words useless. Sebastian studied her and at times tried to copy what she did, showing no weakness, but...Sebastian was weak - the fatal crack in the wall, needing just one push and down it comes. Sebastian admired Penny Nickels and believed they should have been friends...maybe someday.

Reading, Writing and Running for Your Life...

The moment Sebastian watched the nanny's car disappear around the corner, he suddenly began to question his choice of outfits for the day. As he turned, facing the school, he found breathing became a bit more difficult, his bow-tie, tighter than he had remembered, scratched like steel wool around his neck. Burning up in the chilly, early morning Autumn air, Sebastian uncharacteristically felt the need to unbutton his tailored jacket which now fit the boy like a latex surgical glove. As he turned toward the school, his vision began to blur. The trees blended into the building and the ground into the sky, and from the smudged mass of kids gathered around the flagpole, three figures bled off and quickly approached Sebastian. Fuzzy, but with laughs and taunts crystally clear, these three faces attached to six fists, like finger-paints doused in water, smeared, creating a dark colorful mass of soon to come inevitable pain. But the boy did not need to see their faces, he knew exactly who they were. Blind to him now, their pug noses, glazed over and swine-like eyes, Skoal stained teeth and greasy tuffs of hair have become permanent cast members in Sebastian's nightmares. Like three pigs, and not the cute kind - instead, the huge, dirty mean kind with sharp teeth that grunt and squeal and eat their own shit stood inches from Sebastian's face, their breath like sour milk. Yes, Sebastian knew these pigs and they knew Sebastian. The boy closed his eyes, his teeth gritted, readying himself for the first blow. Waiting to see stars and small birdies flying and tweeting around his head, he instead heard a voice. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see Miss Leeds, the school Principal, standing firmly between Sebastian and his three assailants. Though on her face appeared what could only be described as a smile, the tone behind her bared teeth made her words, "Good morning, boys," send shivers down all their backs. "Good morning, Miss Leeds," grunted the pigs, now hooves in pockets. Sebastian politely smiled, buttoning up tight his jacket from the sudden chill. Through the same "smile", Miss Leeds continued, "What's say we get to class, shall we? Let's make today a great one. High-five!" And one by one, the three pigs slapped Miss Leeds outstretched hand and walked into the school. Sebastian, left alone, tentatively raised his hand but was left hanging as Miss Leeds turned and started walking toward the open school door. Denied, Sebastian followed her as she called back to him, "A bow-tie, huh? It fits you." The compliment made Sebastian smile, until she went on to say, "Maybe you should eat lunch with the teachers today."

Sitting in homeroom, Sebastian busied his mind with thoughts of home - his parakeet, the nanny's birthday cake and hopefully, the return of his parents. He looked at the clock on the wall - three hours till recess, the scariest 45 minutes of the day, but today, he had a plan. Sebastian figured out where to stand, where to hide, where the least numbers of kids could be found...safety - a small patch of land behind the school garage, a row of hedges, tall enough for Sebastian, but too short for the smokers. It was perfect, and then smooth sailing for the rest of the day - home for cake and presents and mother and father. Sebastian just needed to keep to the plan, but as they say - Man plans...God laughs!

Over the intercom, Miss Leeds started her morning announcements and at the end, she gave a special shout-out to the birthday boy, Sebastian Goodnight. Sebastian froze. All at once, every kid in class turned in Sebastian's direction, and with hunger in their eyes, one girl asked, "Did you bring cupcakes?" Sebastian stared blankly. The girl asked again, "Did...you...bring... cupcakes?" Sebastian finally shook his head no. Pissed, the girl turned away and under her breath, she whispered, "You should have brought cupcakes."

Miss Leeds continued and offered up a challenge to the entire school. With a satanic glee in her voice, she said, "I want every single student to wish Sebastian a happy birthday today. Seek him out, hunt him down, let him know how much this school cares. Let's make this birthday one he will never forget. Have a great day, everybody!" And with a click, the intercom went quiet, but Sebastian's mind raced. Shocked by the attention, he slowly came back to earth when his teacher started her lesson for the day. A bit weary, Sebastian began to breath a bit easier, she didn't bring him to the front of the class, she didn't make him write down what he wanted for his birthday, she didn't even ask how old he was. Maybe everything would be OK. Who listens to those stupid announcements anyway, most people in school didn't even know who Sebastian was. Almost calm, Sebastian's heart steadied...until the intercom blared Miss Leeds voice once again, "And just one more thing. In case you don't know Sebastian, he's the one in the blue jacket and little bow-tie. Happy Birthday Sebastian...Sebastian Goodnight."

Go Sebastian, It's Your Birthday...

"Good morning, sweet boy," said the nanny as she knocked outside Sebastian's bedroom door. She had done this, more or less, everyday, she would guess, way back since Sebastian was four. She was hired to cook to clean, to do the laundry and several things at this moment she could not recollect, so many chores, but still always a wink at sad Sebastian on the brink from his parent's never ending neglect. In a day so brief and slim, how she managed from floor to brim, clean rugs, scoured pots, forks and pans, if Sebastian had known not better, his one true friend and babysitter had more than just one and two hands. So, "Good morning, sweet boy," but to Sebastian's dismay, the nanny added something a bit extra. "Good morning, sweet boy, and might I just say, good morning and a big Happy Birthday!" But Sebastian was not happy, staring out the window for mom and pappy, hoping against hope they'd come home. In what country were they exploring, over which ocean in planes a'soaring, was it Guam, Nice, Paris, France or maybe Rome? Promises were made, but just in case, the nanny prayed for his parent's quick and timely return, it's been months and not one note, they managed a text from a fun filled boat, but in truth, it seemed the children were of no great concern. Still, the nanny wanted things better, so she smiled through the door she entered, though the parents were no where in sight, this day will be a good one and will be full of adventure, "This I promise, Sebastian Goodnight."

The nanny turned on the light to Sebastian's room, only to find the bed empty. Over by the open window sat the boy, staring down the long drive, listening for the almost forgotten particular sound his father's car made as it would creep slowly, tentatively, sadly toward the house - but this morning was still quiet. Watching him, the nanny's smile fell, but she quickly picked it up again before Sebastian turned. He was dressed, not in his normal clothes but the brand new outfit his parents sent...money for the nanny to go out and buy. Big boy pants with pleats, crisp white shirt, tailored jacket and blue bow tie. "Adorable," she thought. "Are you wearing your birthday outfit to school?" Sebastian nodded. "Well, you look fine, just don't get it dirty." They both smiled, knowing that was not a possibility. Sebastian didn't get dirty or wrinkled or disheveled in any way. He did not play - in the dirt or anywhere else, he could sit still for hours. The birthday outfit would remain as crisp and clean, pressed and kept as the moment of its purchase...and this thought made the nanny's smile fall again.

"You look fine, but Sampson looks cold," said the nanny, pointing with her finger to the tiny yellow parakeet sitting on Sebastian's finger. The bird's eyes stared out the window as intently as the boy's and every bit as sad. Sampson, however, was not staring down at the road, but up - up and out to the open sky, watching the other birds free flight. Sampson was, perhaps, the one creature in this house sadder than Sebastian. The bird's clipped wings, Sebastian's fear of all things made these two a perfect pair.

Sebastian's parents had a habit of being absent, so in their stead, a gift would be sent. A package would arrive and be found on the hallway table - how polite they were. Wrapped in brown paper, covered in stamps from some far away land, and inside, always with a note, "Sorry we couldn't make it." or "Couldn't get away." or "We're having too much fun!" and always signed, "Sincerely, your mother and father". Gifts for birthdays, gifts for Christmas, missed Parent Teacher meetings, missed school plays, a gift for every occasion. Sebastian often thought, if they actually ever showed up, he probably wouldn't even notice, their faces unrecognizable and in his memory, almost forgotten. But of all the gifts, and there have been many - life size Terracotta Soldiers from China, telescopes from Madrid, handmade cigars from Cuba - Sampson, the tiny yellow parakeet from Australia was Sebastian's favorite. Weary of each other at first, the two slowly began to trust. Sebastian had no fear of Sampson, and every night, when the bird was returned to its cage, the boy's heart would break. Seeing his friend locked away was unbearable but in Sebastian's dreams, Sampson would soar.

"It's time for school, put Sampson away," the nanny said, "you can play when you get home, and maybe your parents will be here when you get back." Anything's possible. Sebastian gently placed Sampson in his cage, took one more look out the window...no one, and sadly left the room. Watching him leave, the nanny folded her arms from the chill in the room. Walking to the open window and just before closing it, she also took a look outside...no one. "It's still early," she thought, and off she went to join Sebastian.

And Sampson in his cage began to chirp so big and bright, waiting for the quick return of his friend, Sebastian...Sebastian Goodnight.

In the Land Under the Neath...

...there was a little boy who was scared. Scared of the night, scared of the day. Scared of dogs, of cats, of mice and men, of cars of bikes of turning 10. So scared in fact, he would not laugh or pray, his mouth remained closed, afraid of what he might say. Anything and everything gave this boy such a fright, his name was Sebastian...Sebastian Goodnight.

He was only turning 10, but already his hair was turning grey. His skin, drawn and in the right light, translucent. Thin, and jumpy he was, and so slow from lack of slumber, by the time he nodded yes to the question "are you hungry?", his food was cold and had been eaten by his older sister. Everyday, his huge emerald eyes sank deeper and deeper inside but still from left to right they darted. And his hands, his small childish hands, how they would shake as he held them firm on his lap, holding tight, they still trembled and produced a loud and rhythmous tap. Against his legs, his hands would move, creating a large and terrible bruise, constant movement like a crazed athlete, keeping time and pace with his erratic heartbeat. No rest, no comfort, no peace dark or light, no happy moments for Sebastian...Sebastian Goodnight.

"What is wrong with you, Sebastian?" Everyone would ask, but no one knew the answer. His doctor thought a pill might help, but which one? So many. Let's try them all. The pink one made Sebastian sick, the blue one made Sebastian more sleepy and the green one made Sebastian very very angry. After extinguishing a rainbow of choices, they settled on the yellow pill. It made Sebastian do nothing, nothing at all, he just sat quietly in his chair, he didn't move or cry or do anything unpleasant, so as far as everyone was concerned, they had found a winner, that is until the yellow pill was found to be extremely dangerous for children under the age of 13. The words psychotic and suicide were casually thrown about, "Let's just see what happens," the doctor said, and Sebastian stayed on the yellow pill up till the day the government mandated they be taken off the market. So back to the questions, "What is wrong with you, Sebastian?"

Sebastian's sister thought he was crazy, just "no good," she would say, but that wasn't true. He was a good boy and if his parents were ever around, they would see that. The nanny tried her best to make him feel better, but in the end, Sebastian spent all his time alone. He would sit in his room in front of the window and stare outside at the other little boys throwing the football in the street. They stopped, years ago, asking Sebastian to come out and play, knowing the answer and tired of asking the question. In the winter, Sebastian would open the window, letting the cold air in. Too chilly for the neighborhood kids to play, Sebastian would stare down the road. Waiting. Hoping. He would go to his secret draw and quietly pull out an old grey blanket no one knew he had. If his parents found out, it would be in the trash, along with everything else that used to belong to his older brother JoJo. Good at everything, scared of nothing, JoJo was 16, but looked 25. Big as a bear but gentle as bunny...until someone messed with him or with someone he loved. He always protected Sebastian, from the bullys at school, from the lighting and thunder at night, and even from their sister. When he ran away from home 2 years ago, Sebastian was crushed, but he understood and was happy JoJo got out. He knew someday they would be together again, but until then, Sebastian held tight to that grey blanket. JoJo's name was hardly ever mentioned by anyone else in the house, so it appeared he was not missed...not true. Sebastian's parents said they didn't care JoJo was gone, and sometimes, Sebastian believed them.

Of all the things Sebastian feared, one stood out above the rest. Her name was Evelone, and she was Sebastian's older sister. The first born and as far as she was concerned, the only one that mattered. As most brothers and sisters, Sebastian and Evelone looked alike, a fact Evelone hated. To rectify this horrible situation, Evelone took every opportunity to change Sebastian's appearance. So proud of her long, black, straight hair, and wanting hers alone to be the longest and straightest in the house, one night, perm kit in hand, she snuck into Sebastian's room and gave him what should have been the curls of Shirley Temple. Maybe she didn't read the directions correctly, maybe she didn't know how long to keep in the chemicals, or maybe she wanted all of Sebastian's hair to fall out, regaurdless, Sebastian and Evelone looked different now. She swore it was an accident, but her laughs when retelling this story is in itself, quite telling. She tortured Sebastian in all sorts of ways, mentally, physically, emotionally, with her fanged teeth, sitting quietly on the edge of his bed during a thunderstorm, saying not a word, or throwing on him a pot of fresh and very hot coffee, still saying not a word. Evelone was evil and the scariest thing about it was, she knew it...and she liked it.

In Sebastian's house, the parents were always gone, JoJo was gone, the nanny was gone at night, so it was just him, all his fears plus Evelone.

No wonder he was always so scared.

Wrapped in his grey blanket, he sits in front of the window, waiting, hoping to be saved, but no one ever comes. Sebastian thinks to himself, "I wish I could save myself." Covered and warm in his blanket, he closes his eyes, but sleep never comes.

Bedtime Stories...

I used to enjoy my walks home after work. The beauty of this city at night, the quiet and empty sidewalks, the nightsky's stars so out shined by the millions of lit windows dotting the sleeping skyscrapers like a metropolis star map, leading me home, all helped my full head clear. But lately, I crave chaos and the 8 hours of mind numbing stupidity I endure everyday at work. Lost for now a cleared mind, unwanted and impossible to maintain, too easily filled with the regrets and sorrows of recent events. I need noise. I take the largest sections with the biggest tables inhabited by the most ridiculous people all to keep my mind off one...one particular person, and for that 8 hours everyday, she is gone...until the long walk home.

Tonight was no different. I welcomed the woman and her allergies to gluten and dairy, to soy and nuts. Her life threatening dietary issues proved invaluable for keeping my mind occupied for a good 30 minutes. Nobody dies today, not on my watch. I was happy to receive the new winter menu, hot off the presses with its complex flavors and numerous never before heard of ingredients and looked forward to the food test. How about throwing in a wine quiz? Just give me some time and I bet I could name that Cabernet in three sips. Give me more, more! Fill my head with inane gossip of who's fucking who - give me more! Give me more! But time passes so quickly when you're having "fun" and before I knew it, the old neon clock above the bar struck twelve and the tables were transferred and I had on my coat and was out the door and I forgot everything about the night. I forgot how the new chicken's potato terrine is covered in duck fat and what was the difference between old and new world wines and who's fucking who now? All gone, and with each step down West Broadway, an old memory of Kristyna strolled on in, and by the time I got home, my mind was full and ready to explode.

No sleep tonight, I thought. Another 10 hours of eyes open, staring at my smoke stained walls. No sleep tonight. I stood on my street in front of my building for a moment, slowly scanning the windows of apartments on my block for any sign of life and so jealous when none were found. Each window, dark, lightless and I imagined within all the happily sleeping bodies. Window after window, dark tonight...all but one. One in my building on my floor in my apartment. The window of my roommate and very best friend, Heather Mary.

I walked inside and put down my keys. Heather Mary's door, I noticed, was slightly open. Quietly, I knocked. "Come in," she said. "I can't sleep," she said. "Tell me a story," she said.

I walked in and sat down beside her bed. "I don't know any stories, at least none that are appropriate for bedtime." She smiled and said, "You know I like inappropriate stories." "Alright," I said, "have you heard the one about the crazy girl with a dead dog who tried to kill the dumbass and his friends?" Heather Mary nodded, "Yeah, that sounds familiar. Is that the one about the nice guy who always picks the wrong girl and when she goes nuts, all he wants to do is help her and make it all better?" Lowering my head in embarrassment, I said, "You've heard that one, huh?" Heather Mary replied, " Yeah, like a million times. Why do you think he does that? Why do you think he feels such responsibility for people. Why does he take on everybody's problems?" I looked at Heather Mary, "He's the protector." And she shook her head, "Who's gonna protect him cause one day, that shit's gonna get him killed." "Heather Mary," I said, "fear can't get in the way of doing what is right. Sometimes, we have to be brave."

I remembered when I was young, "I hated going to sleep at night, my room was the darkest room in the house. Just one window. My dad wouldn't let me sleep with the light on cause I was a boy and only girls slept with the lights on or with a night-light or with stuffed animals, so I would lay in bed, covers up to my chin and pray to God to keep me safe. When I was 8, my mom tried to make it better by telling me a bedtime story about a little boy who was afraid of everything, just like me. Each night, she would sit by my bed and tell me about his adventures and how he became a hero and the bravest boy around." Heather Mary pulled the covers up to her chin, "Was the little boy's name Paul-David?" "No," I said, "It was Sebastian. Sebastian Goodnight." And with a squeal, Heather Mary curled up in her very large bed and said, "Tell me that story. Tell me the story about Sebastian Goodnight."

"Alright. Let me see. How does it go again? It's been a long time. Oh yes, I remember now."

"Once upon a time..."

Midnight in the Garden of Good and E.VIL-lage

"The night's heavy rain softened the ground nicely," I whispered, and Edgar DuHaven agreed. Such an ugly evening, its cold wind, lighting and thunder, however, ensured our much needed privacy. As I dug the small hole, Edgar nonetheless kept a stern watch. His eyes, peering through the wall of ivy weaving its way in and out of the locked gate and the 1o foot high metal fence surrounding this small and often overlooked Community Garden located somewhere between Ave. B and C, somewhere hidden away in the East Village...not the greatest of locations, the years of neglect, beer bottles, trash bags and worn soiled mattress had turned this small patch of land into a place for the forgotten, the discarded, a sort of graveyard for the broken...fitting. There's no place like home.

The hole was finished. I placed my coat over the open grave, shielding this soon to be and way over due resting place from anymore water pouring inside. I sat down beside it, my knees pulled up to my chest, teeth chattering staring up to the black rainy sky, spotted with moonlit clouds of fastly moving white and waited. I had no idea if Kristyna would show, and if she did, what would she do? I hadn't spoken to her since that night.

Her secret out now. The young 8 year old girl, frightened, crying softly on the floor was gone now, and before my eyes, she aged - back to the adult woman I thought I knew - she aged, and the woman who walked out the door to my apartment was much older than the one who let herself in the few long hours before. Frail, spent, saddened so she was, I hung up the phone in my hand, knowing all too well the decision to let her go may come back to haunt me. If that day comes, I will deal with the consequences, happy to see her again. Heather Mary thought I was crazy, but when Edgar DuHaven finally came to, he laughed. "Big Surprise," he said, then to Heather Mary, "Was there ever any doubt he would let her go?" Heather Mary shook her head, "No," she replied. It's nice to have friends that know you so well.

I sent Kristyna an email, telling her my plan, telling her how this all needs to stop, to put everything behind us. To bury the past. She didn't write back, but something told me she would come. So I sat, in the rain, drenched, knees to chest, teeth chattering and waited, and as the rain poured, a little after 3 am, Edgar whispered, "Someone is coming." We both stopped breathing and stared through the ivy covered gates. Under the street light, a figure stood, then illuminated by a bolt of lighting, we saw who it was. Hair soaked, drenched from head to toe, standing silently outside the garden was Kristyna, and in her arms, in a small black bag, she held her past.

No one spoke as we stood over the grave, still empty. No one knew what to say or what to do, but it didn't matter, I thought, we were all together...Me, Kristyna, Edgar DuHaven and via Edgar's cellphone, Heather Mary...my little family, bruised, beaten and a little worse for the wear, but still a family and I was so proud. How cool were we, to put aside our petty feelings and opinions and safety concerns, to come together in this moment...a moment of grace.

We stood for an hour, we four. No rush, the sun would wait. To pass the time, Heather Mary propped her phone by the stereo in her room, piping music into the garden and we quietly hummed along. No rush, when ever you're ready. Then finally, after a huge exhale, Kristyna carefully climbed into the hole and gently put down her burden. I reached into my pocket and handed Kristyna the one missing piece and on top of the small black bag the tail was placed. She said a few worlds so quietly, only a dog could hear and climbed out of the hole. I grabbed the shovel and started replacing all the wet dirt and after a few minutes of patting it flat, the burial was done, the burial of this girl's dogs was finally done.

The rain stopped. We all looked up and saw the beginnings of a blue sky. It was going to be a pretty day. Kristyna turned and without a word climbed over the fence and walked away into the morning light. Over the phone, Heather Mary finally spoke, "Is it over?" she said. "Yes," I replied. "Good, could you pick me up a bagel on your way back? I'm starving." We stopped by Kossar's and I bought us all one, Pumpernickel for me, Cinnamon Raisin for Edgar and an Everything for Heather Mary. I love Kossar's bagels.

And She Whispered into My Ear with the Voice of a Child...

Girl Cracked...

"Elle a obtenu un pistolet!" screamed Mr. Jingle Maryweather as he dashed from the chaotic room. Desperately trying to reach the safety of a bound and gagged Heather Mary, Jingle vaulted the still out-cold Edgar DuHaven and with a loud "merde" and a soft splash, he found himself paw deep in a warm puddle of pee now forming on the floor between Edgar's out-stretched legs. Step, shake...step, shake, Jingle muttered angrily, "Vous estes un garcon stupide!" And he couldn't have been more correct. I am a very stupid boy.

Turning my attention away from the tiny wet paw prints and back to Kristina, I found myself once again staring down the barrel of a very loaded gun. As if under ten feet of water and still plunging downward, all sounds went murky - the traffic outside the window, the TV next door, all noise sodden but one. One tiny, quiet voice way back in the back of my head and as clear as day, "She's hot!" it said. I glanced away from the gun and found Kristina's eyes, "Yeah, she's hot," I agreed, "too hot." The voice, louder now replied, "It's OK, you're fireproof, baby." I shook my head, "No. Not anymore." The voice laughed, "You just need to cool her down a little, that's all." Kristina's eyes shifted, "Who are you talking to?" she said, looking around the room. But I didn't hear her, all I could hear was the voice. "Let me throw some cold water on her, that'll do the trick," it said. "I can't, I can't." Kristina touched the gun to my head and said angrily, "Who are you talking to?" I took a deep breath and swallowed hard and unlocked the the old wooden door to a name I hadn't said in months - "Tommy," I said. Confused, looking again around the room, Kristina cautiously asked, "Who's Tommy?" "He's the voice that lives inside my head. He tells me to do things," I answered calmly. She asked, "What kind of things?" I answered, "All sorts of things." She asked, "Bad things?" I said, "Sometimes." "Oh God," she said. I laughed, "It's OK. See, you're not the only crazy person in the room, you're among friends."

"Stop it!"

Both our head jerked toward the sound. It was Heather Mary, freed from her gag. "Stop it! Stop talking like that!" she begged. Pissed at the interruption, Kristina rushed into Heather Mary's room, "I should have known, if I put anything close to that mouth of yours, you're gonna eat it." Heather Mary shouted as Kristina tried gagging her again, "You don't know who you're messing with, girl. For your own sake, you need to get the fuck out of here!" "Shut up, Heather Mary, what is your fat ass gonna do, huh?" Kristina yelled back. "It's not my fat ass you got to worry about. It's his. You're scaring me, Paul David, please stop!" Kristina had had enough, "Why do you talk so damn much?" and back goes the gag. I looked at Heather Mary trying to break free, "It's OK, I got this under control." Then back to Kristina, "Now where were we? Oh yes - gun to head." Kristina slowly and nervously raised the gun back up. "Gun to head," I said again, "do it Kristina, you got me right where you want me." Kristina instead takes a step back - the first moment of weakness...Tommy likes.

Flustered now, Kristina said softly, "Look, I just want to know one thing. Are you breaking up with me?" I laughed. Gun to my head, friends tied up and knock out cold...and I laughed. "You threw your dead dog at me." As if to make sense of it, she replied, "I didn't know it was you. You broke into my house." And tit for tat, I said, "You got a gun stuck in my face." "Well," she said, "I guess we're even then." "No where near," said Tommy. "No where fucking near."

"You're good, Kristina, very good. You fooled a lot of people, but trust this - Tommy would have seen you coming a mile away...and he would have stopped, and he would have waited for you, slowed down his stride for you, all so you could catch up. Tommy would have enjoyed that. But sadly, that's not what happened, Paul David instead talked to you and listened to your stories and thought he was getting to know you, but that was all a lie, wasn't it? You see, Tommy doesn't listen to stories, he's not interested. People don't interest him, their stories are a bore. Like listening to someone talk about the dream they had last night or the hilarious thing little Billy did yesterday at the park - no one cares about your dreams, no one cares about your kid. Tommy doesn't care about your stories. It's a good thing for Paul-David, cause while he's been listening, Tommy's been watching. He knows you. Tommy knows all about you, Kristina."

And with her last bit of bravery, defiantly, she said, "You don't know me and stop calling me Kristina! That's not my name!" A bit shocked, Tommy replied, "Really? What should Tommy call you?" Brushing the hair away from her face, she said, "Kristyna. My name is Kristyna." Pardon me? She continued, "With a Y, no I." "Is it pronounced the same?" Tommy asked. "Basically," she said, "but that's not the point." "Very well, Kristyna," said Tommy, watching the gun drop lower and lower, "ah ah ah, watch the gun, it goes up here, right at the temple for the most damage. More bang for the buck." Kristyna shook her head, "You're losing it." To which Tommy replied, "Not yet."

"You're different, Tommy will give you that. You have a shell around you, egg thin but a shell none the less. Most people don't even have that. But I can crack it. Oh come on, let me crack it...just a little? Just a lil bit? Where should I begin, Kristyna? Tommy did say that correctly, with a Y, no I, yes? Putting up signs for your little lost pup, hoping for any, any human contact at all. Boy, did you get more than you bargained for. So lonely, no friends, always eating alone, party of one. One slice of pizza, one piece of cake, just one straw in your vanilla milkshake. I see the way you walk down the street, always looking over your shoulder, but who are you looking for, have you been a bad girl? Is that gun getting heavy, I bet it is. Or maybe not, maybe you're used to it, the weight, the feel of it. Pulling the trigger. Did daddy teach you how to shoot? Did you get real good at it? A little too good? Did mommy and daddy regret the day they ever put a gun into those stubby little pickles you call fingers. I watch you, but I could be wrong...but probably not. Alone, all day in that big empty house of yours, listening to your own private voices screaming in your head, telling you how bad you are, how worthless you are, how disappointing you are and will always be. "You're nothing, Kristyna." "You're ugly, Kristyna." You got a stupid name, Kristyna." Make the voices stop! But you can't, your conscience has no volume control, it's always turned up and up and up. While Paul-David stared into those big dark eyes of yours, it was Tommy who noticed you almost never blinked. Never close your eyes. Afraid of what might be standing in front of you when they open? You should be afraid. You should yell out but you can't, someone outside your head might answer back. So in that big house of yours, in the many rooms, you sit quietly, not saying a word, afraid someone will hear you and find you and do to you what you have done to others. But don't be afraid, nobodies around, you're all alone. No need to be quiet, nobody can hear you. It's just you...just you and that stuffed dead dog of yours hiding in the closet. So scream, Kristyna, scream your fucking head off. Scream, baby. Scream, scream, scream!"

And she did.

In the corner of the room, she fell into a ball and she screamed. And her screams pierced my ears and woke me up, like I had been in a dream, watching all this shit from a distance. I ran to Heather Mary and pulled off her gag. "I went too far," I said. "You went too far," she agreed.

I rushed to Kristyna and knelt beside her broken frame. "I'm sorry," I whispered, "I'm so sorry." She looked up, eyes red, "I want to tell you a secret," she softly said, and whispered it into my ear.

The Things Left Behind...

Full of cupcakes and banana pudding, Edgar DuHaven and I bounced back to the apartment. Thanks to the sugar, our varying medications, some taken, some not and the natural adrenaline flowing through our veins, we both got a quick glimpse of our former selves, those days in Hollywood, like walking through a parking lot surrounded by cars, seeing in the peripheral our transparent reflections in the windows. A flash of recognition, then gone. All that plus Edgar having to "piss like a race horse" had us running through the Lower East Side like a couple of mad men. It was nice, it was exciting and it was dangerous - a moment outside the lines. Steps from home, Edgar turned to me and smiled, "This was a good day." I laughed and shook my head, knowing these "good days" could only be few and far between. I, for my own sake could not afford many more...but it was a good day. A day of color, like as a kid with my crayons and book, making barns yellow and the chickens red, unbound by boarders, encouraging the pink land to touch the orange sky...flying while still firmly on the ground.

Edgar ran to our apartment building door, hopping from one leg to the other yelling, "hurry hurry," while I searched my pocket for the key. Not in the left front or the right - Edgar's worried face began to redden. Not in the right back or the left - nothing but Lil'Bit's tail. "Come on!" Edgar screamed. I searched my pockets again and again, but no keys, just the tail. "They must have fallen out...back at Kristina's?" I said to Edgar who was now buzzing the apartment, "She can mail them to you," he said quickly. I looked around the ground, hoping they might be found on the sidewalk, but nothing, "This is bad," I said to Edagr who was now speaking into the intercom, "I have to pee!" he said loudly into the little silver box, "let me in!" Walking to the door, I shouted, "She can't let you in, her Reaching Pole isn't long enough to hit the buzzer." But no sooner did I finish my sentence, the door buzzed open and Edgar ran inside. How is this possible? I know she didn't get a bigger Reaching Pole, she would have told me. "Wait!" I screamed to Edgar, but is was too late, he was inside and up the stairs.

Thanks to all that sugar, medication and the natural adrenalin of the day, I jumped forward, watching the door to the building quickly shut, I knew I had but a split second to act. Using muscles I had never used (I'm gonna be sore tomorrow) I ran, twisted and jumped toward the door, it closing fast...almost to it...just another inch and by the grace of God and my new found cat-like agility, just as the door was about to slam shut, I jammed Lil'Bit's tail inside. I entered, I yelled for Edgar but no answer. It was quiet. Too quiet. Slowly I walked the three floors to my apartment and saw the door slightly open. "Edgar?" I whispered, "Heather Mary?" But again, no answer. I put my hand on the door and slowly opened it to a dark room and every horror movie I had ever seen came flooding back to me. This would be the time to run away, to not, and I will repeat, to not walk into the dark and eerily quiet apartment, but something inside myself pushed me further...something old, crazy and dark itself, something stronger and scarier than anything lurking behind that door. I checked my feline reflexes, listened to my heart pounding faster than it had in years and I smiled...don't mess with Tommy, this cat's got claws.

I stepped inside, my eyes adjusting to the dark. I took another step and tripped on something laying on the floor. My hand reached for the light switch, but before I could turn it on, I heard the thing I tripped on moan. I looked down and saw that it was Edgar lying among the shadows. Then with a SLAM, the door shut behind me, the lights came on, I turned around and saw Kristina standing in the corner pointing a gun straight at my head. I looked in Heather Mary's room and saw she had been tied up and gaged, I looked down at Edgar, blood running from his head and then back to Kristina, her hands gripping that cold metal, still, stoic, her hair wild, her eyes wilder. God, she's hot. "Welcome home," she said. I smiled.

Too bad this will end badly for her.

Take It Off, Take It All Off...

Safe now on the Lower East Side, out of breath and in dire need of food, Edgar and I stopped off at our favorite spot for a treat. Sugar Sweet Sunshine, the best damn cupcakes this side of Houston. Outside on the bench, we sat, no words but our eyes kept watch for her. I thought we were safe, I didn't think she saw us if at all, our backs, a blur as we flew down the staircase. "Safe," I whispered. "Promise? Edgar asked. "Just eat," I replied. Edgar devoured the Red Velvet while I slowly inhaled the Banana Pudding, and might I just add the tastiest Banana Pudding there is and while I haven't tried all Banana Puddings, let me just say this, if a better Banana Pudding does exit, it surely must be made by the hands of God, for only He Himself could create one finer, I'm sure. And for a time, everything was sugar and sweet and nothing but sunshine.

I wanted to remain focused on the cream and the wafers, the sweet bits of banana, but my mind kept drifting back to the house on Bowery and the mess left behind. I thought of Lil'Bit, scattered about the floor, his tail still in my pocket, scratching my leg. Would Kristina clean up the remains, giving her once beloved pet a much deserved final rest or like some fairy tale gone wrong, try and put Humpty Dumpty together again? And then my mind wandered to the biggest mess of all, Kristina, a girl I've known for weeks but had only truly met tonight.

Heather Mary was right and Edgar DuHaven was right, Kristina is messed up and in need of some professional help, I couldn't agree more and still, I'm ashamed to say, I couldn't be more interested. For weeks, I listened to her stories, all the words, so many words, but that's all they were, just words. I didn't know if they were true, I had nothing to reference them against, but the moment she came crashing through her bedroom door, hearing her screams as she picked up her pup and threw him down six flights of stairs, her words finally began to slip into place. She told me she got angry sometimes, but I never saw it. She said it takes a lot but when it happens, "You better watch out!" I would smile at her sweet face, those gentle hands and I would nod my head in agreement, "I will watch out," I said sarcastically, "I will."

I believe we learn more about people not by their words but in moments of the mundane, when no one is watching, when the camera is only thought to be turned off, when you think you are alone in the house, talking to your pet, wondering how the door to your room got locked, that is when we are ourselves, and there is nothing more beautiful to me. In public, the masks go on, covering our scars and fangs, hoping to find another so we are no longer alone, never alone, no longer unmasked, so ugly but so real. Someone to always be there, watching so never by myself again, never myself again. Running to someone fast running away from myself. As I ran from Kristina, down those stairs, dodging lil bits of shrapnel flying in all directions, I wanted to stop for a moment, for just one second and turn and see Kristina, the real Kristina, but I knew if I had stopped and turned and saw her, I never would have left. A photograph, the truth. But I didn't look back and I'm sure Dr. Goode would think that was progress, and maybe he would be right, running from Kristina was like running from the Paul-David of months ago - violent, unstable mess, but so interesting...so fucking interesting.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do...

"It's been nice knowing you, Paul-David," said Edgar, half joking, half absolutely terrified. "Shut up," I replied, "and close the door, everything's gonna be fine." I wasn't sure I believed my own words but it wouldn't do us any good to freak out. Quickly, I scanned the room for a hiding place or a means of escape, I just needed to remain calm. Edgar, on the other hand, chose to panic, "I just want you to know, if she kills you, I will avenge your death, my friend." I could hear Kristina's footsteps on the staircase getting closer so I knew time was running out. "Nobody's gonna die, Edgar, just relax..." Trying to jimmy a window open, I sensed my comforting skills may have needed a little work, "...but if she was gonna kill anyone, she would start with you." "What? Why?" said Edgar, almost hurt by the suggestion, "Why would she kill me at all?" Realizing all the windows were fitted with the same anti-burglar device, a rusty nail lodged above the frame so as only to allow a six inch open space, it became clear we were trapped. Frustrated, I had no time to make Edgar feel better, "She never liked you." Edgar seemed confused, "That's impossible. Everybody likes me, I'm Edgar DuHaven." "I'm just telling you what she said, she thought you were a little weird." Edgar laughed, "I'm weird? So Miss Norma Bates thinks I'm weird, well, isn't that rich. You hear that Lil'Bit, I'm the weird one in this little group. I just don't believe it." I stood by the door, listening to the footsteps getting louder and louder, "Well, I don't know what to tell you, not everybody likes you," I whisper. "Yes they do," said Edgar, "we can clear up this whole thing right now, she's gonna be here any second." Then it occurred to me, this place has like a hundred rooms in it, "What are the chances she's gonna come directly here?" Edgar rolled his eyes and said, "And as if on cue..." Kristina's voice comes shouting up the stairs, "Lil'Bit, mama's home. You hungry?" As if on cue.

"Shit!" I said, looking around the room one last time, knowing there was only one place to hide. "I'm not going in there," said Edgar, backing away from the closet, "I'll take my chances with her." I didn't have time for this, "Get in the closet," I said, pushing him in. Struggling to get away from me like a greased pig, Edgar squeals, "How do we know she doesn't have anything else stuffed...stuffed backed there, a cat, a bird, her last boyfriend before you, a dog, oh wait, you can check that one off the wacko list." "Just get in," I whispered, and reluctantly, he did. We scrunched down behind the dog, relieved it was just us three. I put my finger to my mouth, and looked at Edgar, "SShhh."

Outside the door, Kristina chirped, "Mama's home." She turned the knob, but it was locked. Edgar locked the door - and that would have been fine if we were being chased, but not the smartest idea if we wanted to keep our presence undetected. "Why is this door locked? Lil'Bit, did you lock mama out? Do you have somebody in there with you?" She started pounding on the door, "Let me in...let me in!" "Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin," Edgar whispered. So she huffed and she puffed and she kicked the door and let out a terrible scream because it was a thick door and that move only works in the movies. "Open this door," she screamed, "open this fucking door!" Another kick and another excruciating scream. "Come on out, or I'll kick it again!" "We are sooo fucked," Edgar said as we crouched close together behind our lil protector, the dog stood firm. Holding tight to Lil'Bit as if holding him back, biding our time for the optimum release, our grip might have been a bit too firm...around his tail area, for when Kristina made one last slam against the door, shattering the 100 year old door frame, cracking it into a thousand splinters, Edgar accidentally yanked it clean off - the dog's tail that is. "Oh, God," said Edgar, realizing the object he holds, and like a hot potato, he passed it to me and I passed it back and forth and back and forth until we realized, Kristina, just moments before had crashed through the door and now, lie unconscious on the floor three feet in front of us. Before we can even think, I stuck Lil'Bit's tail in my pocket and we ran out of the closet, jumping over Kristina and into the hall.

Down one flight of stairs, we heard Kristina scream, "Who's down there, show yourselves." She's baaack! "Whatever you do," I said to Edgar, "don't look back." We ran as fast as we could, eyes straight, saying not a word. Hitting the second flight, I heard Kristina yell, "Sick 'em Lil'Bit!" Now skipping two steps at a time, I said to Edgar, "I don't like the sound of that," and I was unbelievably correct. As we made our way to the third flight, we both heard a horrible noise coming down fast behind us, but as bad as that noise was, the sight was even worse - a poor stuffed pooch, nailed to a wooden plank, one eye, one ear, no tail, rolling and bouncing and banging down the stairs toward us, faster and faster, and in my mind, I whistled the tune to Raiders of the Lost Ark. Inches from our heels, Lil'bit was just about to take us with him to hell when at the last second, he bounced off the wall and flew over the railing, crashing hard to the ground floor beneath. Flying down the last flight, finally, stepping off the last step, we eyed the beautiful front door only a few feet away. We made it, but sadly, Lil'Bit did not. Scattered about the dust and debris of Kristian's first floor apartment, shattered into a million little pieces, was the dog - a lil' bit here and a lil' bit there, here a bit, there a bit, every where a lil' bit. I wanted to say a few words but there was no time, Kristina was making her way down and we needed to leave. I softly petted Lil'Bit's tail in my pocket, "You're at peace now, my friend," and we made our way out the front door and onto Bowery, running all the way back to the Lower East Side.

Lil'Bit is Coming Out of the Closet...

"Paul-David, are you crying?" asked Edgar. "Maybe," I said. I thought the situation called for tears...little lost dog, safe and home. Dramatically, I dropped to my knees, my muted whimpers practically begging Lil'Bit's attention. He would leap from his hiding place, attracted by my cries, like dogs are - a moth to a flame. My yip - his yap, my wail - his weep, his little white face pushing at my face, licking my cheeks to soothe my bleating soul. This would all be witnessed by my queen, now so filled with joy on seeing her two boys together, past fights would be forgotten and all would be forgiven and new. But when I opened my eyes, knees firmly on the floor, Lil'Bit had not moved from his safe place, still staring, unmoved by my laments. "You're freaking me out," said Edgar nervously, "this is some seriously fucked up shit." He took a step toward the dog. "Stop!" I hissed, "if he runs out, we may never find him in this place." Edgar shook his head, "Paul-David, that dog ain't going no where." I stared again into Lil'Bit's vacant face, so scared, and I felt a connection had been made. "Don't get too close. Kristina told me he doesn't like strangers. He bites." Edgar laughed, "Look at that little thing, I'm not too worried about it." "Tommy taught me along time ago, it's the little things you should worry about most," I said. "Now step away from the dog!"

"Hey, buddy. Hey Lil'Bit. Nobodies gonna hurt you. It's OK." I slowly crawled a step closer. "Where you been all this time? You had a lot of people worrying about you." Another step. "I bet your mama was so happy to find you, I wish I could have been there." Another step closer. "But you're gonna be seeing a lot more of me now. I promise. You hungry, buddy? Are you?" Just a few feet away now. Edgar pleads, "Jesus, Paul-David. Stop it." I looked back to Edgar, "What?" Edgar stood behind me and pointed to Lil'Bit, "Look at it!" Even in the dark, I can see the fear frozen on that poor doggy's face. "He's so scared," I said. Angry, Edgar replies, "He's not scared. Look at it." I slowly crawled over to the dog and the closer I got the more confused I became. A foot away, I leaned in and stared Lil'Bit in the face, that little white face, so close I could feel his breath, but just one little problem...no breath. Like a scene from a vampire movie, Edgar grabs hold of a curtain and flips it away from the window, dousing the room in sunlight, revealing everything, including Lil'Bit, was covered in a thick blanket of dust. With a jerk, I jumped to my feet, shaking off all the imaginary creepy crawlies and shouted, "What the hell? Oh my God, is he dead?" "Worse," said Edgar, "he's stuffed!" In disbelief, I leaned over the dog again and soon realized Edgar's diagnosis was indeed correct. "That crazy bitch fucking stuffed her damn dog," said Edgar, though the more standard term would be of coarse, "That crazy bitch fucking mounted her damn dog."

As Edgar paced in the background, blasting out profanities about how "sick this shit was" and how "messed up this whole situation was", I simply felt sad. Sad for that poor pup, stuck, frozen forever in that same fearful state. I wheeled him out of the closest, his three remaining legs nailed to a wooden plank, his forth leg, barely hanging on by a literal thread and tape and what appeared to be a piece of peppermint gum. Left ear gone, tail bent to the left, teeth missing, still, slowly decaying, and I stared once again into that face I had just moments before felt a connection to, wondering what the last picture Lil'Bit's one remaining right eye saw and was it as horrific as his expression hints it to be.

I had seen enough. I grabbed the open curtain and pushed it closed and for a moment, the room was once again dark, that was until the whole curtain rod gave way and came crashing down. I rushed to catch it before it feel on Lil'Bit, slicing off his remaining one good ear, but in the process, I tripped on a table, spilling everything on it to the floor, including a large box of even more pictures. "This is a nightmare," I whispered to myself. "Help me pick these up, we got to get out of here. And wheel Lil'Bit back into the closet for me."

With the dog safely back home, Edgar and I started picking up the pictures, each one of Lil'Bit, alive and all sitting beside a little girl, no older than 8, with red hair, freckles and too big glasses, smiling, hugging the dog, playing with the dog, loving that dog. Knowing the answer, but still asking the question, Edgar says, "Who's the little girl in the pictures?" Down the many flights of stairs, we heard a door slam, we heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I looked at Edgar DuHaven, eyes wide, and I whispered, "It's Kristina."

The Mystery of Man's Other Best Friend...

Like ice cold water, Edgar's screams brought me back to a reality...a reality for which I had always hoped, but how could it be? Lil'Bit, in this house? My skeptical body had yet to catch up to my racing mind, a mind seeing the three of us together, a family - a guy and his girl and their little dog too. Unable to move, struggling with all I have seen, yet praying for Edgar's words to be true, I relented, and in that moment, filled with such color. "I'm coming!" I screamed.

Now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness of Kristina's home, I realized her place was huge, and I'm not talking New York City huge; just enough room for a bed and a dresser, I'm talking Architectural Digest huge. I had passed by her building, an old bank built back in 1898, hundreds of times and had always assumed it had been renovated and split into many different apartments. As I searched around, trying in vain to pinpoint Edgar's still calling voice, I soon realized this building had no other apartments, no other residents. This building, this whole building was just one home...Kristina's home...a six story, 72 room, 35,000 sq foot mansion, and I thought either Diary Queen pays their shift managers very well or Kristina had even more secrets than this joint has rooms. Yes, more than 72 secrets.

"Edgar, where are you?" I needed a map. I needed one of those mall maps with that You Are Here label. It didn't help that each room looked the same as the one before, decorated in the same drab lifeless motif. Door after creaky door, half expecting to see Shaggy and Scooby and the rest of the gang running through the hallways, in and out and in and out of the rows of doors, chased by werewolves, angry ghouls and ghost pirates, all to a canned laughter soundtrack.

Third floor then the forth. Fifth and then finally on the sixth, at the end of the hall, a light. "Edgar," I whispered loudly, "are you there?" With a confused look on his face, Edgar appeared at the door and motioned for me to join him. "Is it him? Is it Lil'Bit?" I asked. Edgar sort of smiled and said, "Yeah?" Slowly I walk toward the room, frightened of what may or may not be inside. As I took my place beside Edgar, he said quietly, "What's that sound?" "What sound?" I asked, realizing quickly it was my heart, thumping loudly from the six flights of stairs I just climbed but more from the anticipation of what was in that room.

Kristina's room. Not what I had expected but compared to the rest of the house, a pleasant change. Sheer orange curtains fluttered lazily away from the barely opened four windows of the room. The closets and drawers empty, its contents laid about the floor and on the unmade canopy bed. Glasses of water half full or half empty lined the bedside table along with half eaten pizza and peanut butter sandwiches. Dusty antiques, covered paintings, old candle sticks and old clocks all giving different times, and covering the walls, every inch of every wall, more dense than any wall in Heather Mary's room were pictures of a single dog. I stood in amazement. "She wasn't lying," I thought, "she was telling me the truth. It's Lil'Bit." I then turned my head, and in a dark corner of the room, hiding between a cardboard box and an empty gold frame, staring back at me with sad, glassy but still earnest eyes was a small brown dog with a white little face..."Hush," I whispered to Edgar, "don't scare him. It's Lil'Bit."

The Great Bowery Mystery...

"Before you say a word," I hurriedly said into the phone, giving Kristina not a moment to change her mind and hang up, "let me just say I'm sorry and Heather Mary had no right to go on like she did, and I shouldn't have been such a wimp and let her go on. I feel horrible and I miss you. I wish...I wish things could go back to the way they were before. I care about you, Kristina, maybe even love you. Hello? Hello?" The silence was deafening. "Please say something...anything. Tell me if I still have a chance." Then finally, on the other end of the phone, a soft voice breaks the still, "You are so gay," said Edgar DuHaven.

"What?" My voice cracked, confused and embarrassed. "What's going on? Edgar? What the hell?" But all I can hear is Edgar laughing, "I don't know if there's enough room for the three of us in Heather Mary's bed, but we can give it a try, baby." "Shut the fuck up," I screamed. Edgar replies, "Say it again, daddy, I like it when you talk rough." "Edgar!" I shouted into the phone, "what is going on? Is Kristina with you? Put her on!" But no hand-off would happen, Edgar remained on the line, bawling, "You are such a little pussy, Paul-David, I had no idea. "I love you, I want to kiss you," for the love of God man, grow a pair."

I didn't know what to say. Why was he talking on Kristina's phone, were they together, what the hell is going on?

"Alright, alright," says Edgar, a little more serious now, "enough of the funny, we're running out of time. You need to get over here right away, buddy." "Over where?" I asked, almost afraid to know the answer. "I'm in Kristina's house," says Edgar quietly. "In, her house?" I yelled, "Oh God!" Edgar continued, "Now before you get all red in the face at me, this was all Heather Mary's idea. I'm just being Ethel to her Lucy. And don't worry, Kristina's not here."

Don't worry? That's even worse. It was like a nightmare, "Heather Mary made you...what? Do you do everything Heather Mary says?" Edgar thinks, "She can be very persuasive, but no, not everything, she has quite an imagination...and so limber for a big gal. You every notice how she always smells of peaches? Want to know why?" Wanting off this subject, I shouted, "I'll be right there!"

In a few minutes, I found myself at the door on Bowery. I remembered the last time I was standing at the same spot, a moment filled with such promise. How did things change so fast? I knocked, hoping no one would answer, hoping this was a joke and Edgar was really at home, hidden away snugly in the many folds of Heather Mary, but no such luck. With a swoosh, the door opens, reveling a smiling and welcoming Edgar DuHaven. "Come in," he says, "the show's about to begin."

The apartment was dark but I found Edgar's eyes and glared, "I can't believe you broke in." Scoffing, Edgar replied, "Break? Oh, Lordy, I did not break. I slid. I may have squirmed. I may have jiggled and jimmied, but break?...oh no, my friend. I did not break." I looked down and saw Kristina's cell phone in Edgar's hand. Seeing my disgust, Edgar quickly explains, "Her phone was right there and I'm already out of minutes and...she's got like 2000 rollover minutes. Who's got 2000 rollover minutes? I thinks Heather Mary's right, there's something wrong with that girl." "Why? I shouted, "cause she's got a better plan than you? Jesus! So the girl doesn't like to talk on the phone, big deal. So she doesn't have a lot of friends, burn her at the stake. Yes Edgar, you got a million friends, well, I hate to break it to you but, you spend five years at a Jr. College, you're bound to meet a chum or two." Edgar stopped smiling, "Take a look around, Paul-David, and you can be really mean sometimes, you know that?" Apologies would have to wait.

I walked into the room. Lightless, empty, dusty, void of anything resembling a home. Not curtains, but heavy black and brown sheets covering the massive windows of the room. Walls adorned with gaping holes, exposed wires reaching down from empty light sockets like skinny red and yellow fingers, waiting to snatch up anything that passes by. Cold. Dark. Lonely and sad with just a pinch of anger thrown in. I had always pictured such differences - sunny, colorful pillows, plants, wall hangings with words of affirmations, a framed poster of "Foot Prints in the Sand". Shocked by what I saw, but astounded by what I didn't...no pictures of Lil'Bit. She said there was but I saw none...no where. None on the empty smoke stained walls, none on the filthy mantel above the trash filled fireplace, none on the non-existent coffee table beside the non-existent couch. No pictures, no dog bowls, no comfy pooch bed. She said there was but I saw none. No Lil'Bit.

As I stood in the empty room, reeling from her lies, I heard Edgar Duhaven scream from the next room, "It's Lil'Bit," he cried. "I think I found that damn dog!"

God Yes, Pity Me...

I left work early tonight. I wasn't sick, though I hadn't felt this horrible in years. It all happened so fast and before I knew it, I was swept away. Since meeting Kristina, I took every opportunity at the restaurant to slip into any and all conversations her name and our quickly changing status. "This girl I know, Kristina," eventually became "my friend, Kristina," which soon changed to "my girlfriend, Kristina". She wasn't imaginary or made up, she was as real as any one's girlfriend. And I felt for the first time in a long time, people looked at me as normal, and I liked that...to be looked at as normal...but I keep forgetting...I'm not normal.

The day after Kristina stormed out of my house, I went to work and as one might assume, I was sad. I'm usually pretty good at checking my emotions at the door like our Policy Manual dictates, but in this, a time of weakness, I relented. I didn't expect anyone to notice my saddened state much less care enough to ask if I was OK, but to my surprise and eventual dismay, someone did. Someone looked at me, detected something was wrong and cared enough to ask. Amazing! Fuck! That attention, that split second moment of legitimate human connection rushed through my veins, more powerful than any drug, addictive, and before I knew it, I craved. Craved their attention, their sympathy. Craved their hands on my shoulder, their soft words. I craved their pity. I knew it was wrong but it felt so right. The small, still sane portion of my soul lowed its head in shame as I strategically mapped out which of the restaurant's corners and nooks were best suited for me to appear alone for the audience. Far enough away but always just in sight. When to smile, when to frown for optimized viewing. "He's so strong," I imagined them saying. "He's really holding himself together." This went on for days. I got the best stations, the easiest customers, the least closing duties all to make my sad life a bit easier to live. And in their eyes, once filled with contempt and hatred, now flooded pathos...and I never felt worse about myself...well, I have, but not in a while.

Like any addiction, overdosing is inevitable. I took too much too fast and today, it made me feel horrible. I feel I have taken two steps back, back to the days I lied about my disease, back to the days I lied about who I truly am. Rock bottom. I knew this needed to stop so when early cuts were made, my sympathy card was flashed one last time, knowing there would be no objections. I went straight home and called Dr. Goode.

He said it was normal. What I was feeling was normal. But when I told him how much I liked the pity, how I searched for the pity, needed the pity, on the other end of the phone, there was a pause. A long, quiet, brain squeezing pause. He paused! And as many words to fill a book ran through my head in that pause, fearful of his upcoming, after the pause words, knowing all of them saying what a horrible person I am, craving pity, what is wrong with you, you sick fuck. He would use my past words against me. Like how, after my first breakdown, rather than telling everyone I was psychotic, I told them I had Cancer. Talk about compassion. Depending on how I felt that day, the Cancer would be either lung or stomach but never skin. Pity is best served to a pretty package. Skin cancer is a little too deforming...facially. How the lie got so big and so involved, bake sales were planned, car washes were commissioned and every kid in my class came to school with shaved heads to show solidarity with my own hairless head - from Cancer they assumed, a result of chemo and surely not a sick order from Tommy, the voice in my now bald head. All this was done to make my sad life a bit better. And I loved every fucking second of it. The pity, all that beautiful pity, and it was all for me.

And now Dr. Goode was going to use my words to tell me what I have always known, that I am still crazy, that I will never be sane and I better pack up my belongings cause it's back to the hospital for you, young man. As soon as he speaks, this is what he will tell me. As soon as he stops cursing the day he ever took me on as a patient, as soon as this pause stops. Good God, this is a long pause. OK, I get it, the effect is noted. Hello? Hello? Dr. Goode? I looked at my phone and saw the call had been disconnected. A moment later, the phone rings and I see in the caller ID, Dr.Goode's name and number. I answered and like nothing happened, he says, "Hello, sorry, we got disconnected." I smiled but didn't know what to say. He continued, "OK, so where were we, oh yes, so you got sucked into that whole pity thing again, well, I'm proud of you for stopping it before it got too big. You did really good. You stopped the behavior before it got carried away. Good job. You are really making good progress, Paul-David, a year ago, you would have kept that up for months. You're doing really good, buddy. I'll see you at our next appointment. Try not to worry about it. You're gonna be fine." "OK," I said, "Thanks?"

I hung up the phone, exhausted. I'm gonna be fine.

A moment later, the phone rings again. Did he change his mind, did he realize I really am crazy?

No. In the caller ID another familiar name and number is shown. It was Kristina. She was calling me. After a week, she was calling me, and I was so excited to answer the phone.