Crooked Finger.

I know you’ve made the effort,

to fish me out and throw me aloft,

you’ve been on belay for a decade,

awaiting the tension on my end to let off,

you typically would never bother with,

hand-holding of the incompetent,

you have no patience or tolerance,

with things that lean to your detriment,

yet somehow your open palmed hand,

remains out to me, wherever I am,

even if I don’t know where I stand,

the bear blazes trails to the lamb,

I probably disappoint your mind,

and let your spirit down all the time,

I probably don’t very well epitomize,

the things you stand for in my own eyes,

I guess I feel heavy against your soaring flight,

like a weight on your ankle without any right,

I want you to achieve the dreams in your life,

with both of your hands free to win the fight,

            you’ll need both hands to accept the trophies,

            to stab at the person breaking and entering,

            to sign checks, breaks necks with your badassery,

            keep your hands free from the mess known as me.

 

 

 

The (Un)Secret Childhood Dialogue Chronicles -Tap Shoes.

I remember once when we were only about 5 years old, and minutes away from our debut on stage in our first (and last) dance recital; I was so nervous I couldn’t see straight, but S could’ve cared less about the people or the lights or the crowds of strange little girls to compare ourselves with.I recall so vividly too, as we sat backstage finishing the touches on our stupid little outfits (which were, by the way, exceptionally glitzy and covered in sequins and glitter, complete with a huge feather we each had to pin in our hair), S was fidgety as usual and muttering to herself.

“What? I can’t hear you…” I shouted to her ear as I pulled the hairbrush through her dark, wild hair before attempting for the final time to get the obnoxiously huge feather pinned in.

“I just still don’t know how good of an idea this whole “dance recital” thing is, you know?”

S had both hands up to make the bunny ears around the words dance and recital. The feather floated from my hands once again and glided in rocking motion to the dusty floor. We both sighed; I looked her over and saw that she was messing with her tap shoes, struggling to get them and tie the puffy ribbon laces.

“I know you hate this…but we’re almost up, S…get your shoes on!” I leaned down to help her with shoes as I hollered, “We’ve been over this – I know I owe you big time for coming to dance class with me…”

“-…and especially for making me dress like this!…my feet are killing me and we haven’t even been on stage yet!”

S’ helium voice rose to a staccato above the music and clapping of the audience. She pulled and heaved at her little feet in vain to finish getting her shoes on as I searched desperately for my left shoe. It only took me a second to see that S had it and was trying like Hell to make it fit on her right foot.

“Well, no wonder your feet hurt, that’s my shoe…”

Needless to include, our debut was hideous and we dropped out of dance class immediately following the police inquiry.

The Unsecret (Childhood) Dialogue of S and J (3).

“I had no idea the child was epileptic…”

Ms. Melody’s hands trembled in her lap as she answered the string of questions put forth by Mr. Brown, the principal. As J sat across the small space in the waiting niche from the two adults, she couldn’t help but to sense a bit of irony circling overhead, even at age 5. She casually let her eyes wander over to the nurse’s station, where her best friend in the world lay “unconscious” after all of the commotion.

“Pssssst. Psssst.”

S skillfully turned her head slightly to the right and peeled open one eye with careful attention, winked the eye quickly at her friend to reassure her that she was, after all, just fine, and then rolled and began to groan loudly.

“She’s waking up!”

cried J as she popped up from her chair and rushed over to S’ side, kneeling down closely to make sure that they would have the few seconds of private dialogue they needed to get out of the day’s cluster-fuck, unscathed.

“Here, here S – quick! Take this, hurry, give me your hand!”

Without a second’s hesitation, S shot her right hand out secretly, keeping it hidden between their tiny forms as she did. J slapped a key into her S’ palm, being careful to curl S’ small fingers up around the rough edges until S’ hand was closed tightly around it. The two savored a short moment of “the know” (the childhood title they used for their’ extraordinary ability to communicate almost telepathically), in which they shared a mental image of the overall escape plan.

“Hit the lights on your way out, would ya?”

S gave J’s request a quick nod of agreement as she began to sit herself up and ready for her mark.

And with that, the room became an explosion of activity all at once: papers flying everywhere, voices hollering, doors opening and slamming closed behind small, blurry blobs of pure motion. The fire alarm began to sound then, just as S made her way safely through the side exit and brushed her hand downward across the light switch. The building went dark; the fire-bell klaxon blaring with a Doppler affect overhead, the girls met up outside the office and slipped easily out through the rotten and retired drainage pipe that had eroded away enough to leave a child-sized passage. J being well-aware of S’ tendency to escalate situations without necessarily meaning to, she forced S to carry on ahead while she waited at the mouth of the passage exit to be certain that nobody had followed them through somehow.

It was another half hour before J made it to her house, where S had already made apple and peanut butter snacks for them.

“Your Dad says I can keep your house-key and he will just make you a new one…”

S said matter-of-factly as she crunched a piece of green apple.

              “He’s home?”

J suddenly sat up and wiped her face with her filthy hand, shocked and beginning to worry.

              “Does he know? You told him!?”

              S rolled her eyes, an expression that J endeared deeply in her best friend.

              “Um…I had to tell him, he drove past me at the crosswalk and pulled over to pick me up…I didn’t want him to take me back to school because he didn’t know better!!!…sorry, he’s not mad…”

J burned S with a look of sheer dubiousness.

              “He said we shoulda called him as soon as Ms. Melody gave me a seizure again, so that we coulda avoided all that time in the principal’s office…he thinks we spend too much time in there, anyway…”

The two girls crunched loudly on the snacks and caught their breath, collectively.

 

 

The Unsecret Dialogue Chronicles – The Hospital Files.

“Remind me to never let you follow through with any of those ‘Motivational Speaking’ plans that you may have when this is all over…”
S’ voice trailed off slightly with a faked giggle under her breath – she was nervous and edgy as Hell – but also knew that her best friend meant well.
“I meant that out of nothing but love, S…you know that I don’t think of you as a Tumor…”
J was shaking her head and lightly wrapping an arm around her trench mate as they slowly made their way into the hospital entrance.
“I know, I know…but your wording is like a sideshow freak sometimes…I knew what you meant.”
The two walked along in silence for a few moments before they turned to one another in synchronized time, and began to laugh loudly in the sullen corridor – so hard that they each doubled over in side-busting glory. The laughter became snorting and short gasps for breath that fell in between words muttered in vain, and soon enough, several orderly nurses popped heads around doorways with stern faces.
“Sorry, sorry…”
J managed to snort out as she peeled S off of the tiled floor and back into a standing position to continue the walk to the surgery department;
“We were just…oh, get fucked, we aren’t bothering anyone.”
The two figures strolled into the blazing sodium lights ahead, still trying to compose themselves from a minute ago.
“Did you actually just tell me to ‘Be The Tumor’, J?”
S hardly managed to get the sentence finished before her lips peeled upwards once more and she bore her big, white teeth as a means of a laughter warning.
“Aye…I did, Kid…and I meant it, too.”

The “Unsecret” Dialogue Chronicles _ Series II _ Part 1

Part 1:

YANK

The tune to Another One Bites the Dust by Queen begins playing loudly as J’s personal ringtone on S’ phone.

 

S:       J, it’s 3:22am…you’d better be in need a blood transfusion or something…

The line is silent on the other end, eerily silent. Then muffled groans and agonizing noises gradually start to become louder in S’ ear.

S:       J….? Oi! J….? Hello? Hello, hello?….

J:        Esthhh…Esthh…ugghhhh….

S:       What the fuck is wrong with you? You off the wagon eh?

J:        Esthhh, I need you to come offfver, rught mow, pleathhz…

S:       J?! Are you alright? What’s happened why can’t you speak?

S is suddenly very alarmed by the fact that her friend is unable to speak without sounding like the Godfather (Brando) and a mouth full of cotton balls; she sits up and starts looking for her shoes and bag…

S:       I’m on the way, J…

J:        Uggghhhhhhh!!!!

S swipes off the phone and is out the door in a flash.

 

KNOCK. KNOCK-KNOCK. KNOCK.

 

S:       J, you have thirty seconds to open the door before it gets fire-axed…

J’s front door flies open with stale, smoky breeze.

J:        Ugggghhhhh!!!

J grabs S by the shirt and pulls her into the doorway, slamming it behind them as they both stumbled into the darkness of J’s hot-boxed apartment; J is still clinging fiercely to S’ shirt and basically hanging on her right side, limply.

J:        Thuuuude….thoo you haff any of thothe pilths leff from your thurgery, Esthh…?

S noticed a whining in J’s voice that she had never heard before; she lit a cigarette in the dark, allowing herself a look at her friend’s face at last.

S:       Awwwww, J….you look like you’ve been hit by a truck!!!

J:        Do you haff pilths?…in a fuckton of fuccckkking pain ober here Esthh…

S:       Let me see it…c’mon now, open your mouth…

After a momentary, but comically pathetic (on J’s part) struggle, S finally convinced J to open her mouth and show off the culprit.

S:       Nasty fucker. Sucks for you, I have no pills…I ate them all after my last tooth saga – remember how fucked up I was? Sigh

J:        Aye…I rumumba…hey…?

S:       Ye?

J:        How bout your pwiers? Got ‘em on you?

S:       My pliers?…Yes, always…but….seriously?…you’re in THAT much pain, J?

J:        Uh-huh…uggghhhhh!….fuck yeth…fuck yeth…get it the fucckk outh! Pleath, Esthh, pleath!!!

READ THE NEXT EPISODE HERE!

The “Unsecret” Dialogue Chronicles – Part 7: Road Trip.

MMMM MMMMM MMMMM.

The car, with its trunk now packed to capacity by sloshing, black trash bags, was hosed down and shammed dry, engine running and brake lights blazing red through the darkness. J gunned the gas pedal a few times to affect her growing impatience with her best friend (who she loved fiercely, obviously).
J: Let’s roll, Short stack! It’s getting metallic in here!
S: Coming!
J: Mmmmm hmmmm
As the two roll on, deaf farmer’s farm-bound, S leans over and turns up the music to blast Nina loudly.
S: I LOVE this song!
J: Me too!
J: You know, Bear?…You didn’t have to murder four people just to get me over for coffee and a play date…?
S: I honestly didn’t intend to murder four people, J, I promise…
J: I know, I know…we really gotta work on your inner-vigilante some more, babe…this is what Henry was talking about when he was telling us about collateral damages…you won’t be able to call me prison cell to prison cell…
S: Don’t start with me…you’ve got some blood in your eyebrow…it’s about to get in your eye…
J: I know what you’re doing, S…it’s not gonna work…
J wipes her brow with a quick swipe, and turns down the volume of the radio.
J: I’m no murderer…
S: No… but your best friend can be one…
S: And, you are a really good housekeeper…just saying…
J lightly chops S in her throat as a gesture of love and acceptance before saying:
“You sawed-off, scary lil’ Fucker….you know I’ll come clean your house any day of the week…”

The “Unsecret” Dialogue Chronicles – Part 5

The two women have been working for handfuls of hours before the shorter, dark-haired fey steps out the back door; only moments pass before the barely-taller, sinewy blonde comes out behind her, letting the screen door slam with an obnoxious THWACK!

J:        Speaking of your “finest calculations”, Bear…what the hell are we gonna do now? Load up this fuckloads of trash into my car and drive to…..?

S:       Yeah, well I said it wasn’t well-thought out already, didn’t I?

J:        Don’t get snippy with me, Miss Thang! I mean, sure my tits are hanging out but they’re covered in blood for Chrissake…and it’s not even mine, S…I’m not very sure how I’m feeling right now…do we make out or just wrap this up?

S:       Are you still talking?…

S shakes her head and jumps down from the perch she had been smoking atop of in the cool air; she brushes off her ass and walks back inside without another word.

J:        I’ll assume that means you’re trying to wrap this shit up, eh?

S yells from inside the house – in her Bear Trainer’s voice;

S:       Get your ass in here already and c’mon! Such a dawdler!

S mumbles under her breath:

‘It’s no wonder I stared at my phone screen for twenty minutes before pressing the send button under your name, you molasses-motioned pothead…’

J:        What? (from the backyard, still finding her way slowly inside)

S:       Huh? Nothing, I wasn’t talking to you…

J:        cock-blocking me?

S:       No! I said I wasn’t talking to you! Are you coming?

J:        Dude, who’s coming?

S:       Huh?

CLICK HERE for Part 6!