Authors: Christopher C. Payne
Hannah woke up that Saturday morning to the familiar tune of the TV in the living room. Her two girls were already awake and had fed themselves on whatever they might have been able to scrounge up in the kitchen. It was difficult for her to get out of bed sometimes on a Saturday or Sunday morning. She at times lay in bed for a couple of hours, quietly crying to herself, as she lay lost, wondering what the next turn of events might bring.
Occasionally, her daughter Laura would find her in this state, and she would brush it aside and tell her it was nothing. She had simply had a bad evening. She knew that she could not effectively lie to Laura. She was too smart. She excelled in school and was well liked. She had a good, core group of friends and had managed to stay away from drugs and alcohol. Hannah was sure this would be a problem at some point. All kids in high school seemed to fall to temptation at one point or another.
Laura took after her mom in a lot of ways. She was a rebel at heart and might have been labeled a part of the hippie generation had she been born a few years earlier. Unfortunately, she could also be swayed by the masses, and it scared Hannah to think of her beautiful darling daughter succumbing to the advances of some pathetic high school wannabe. Her youngest daughter Stephanie was gorgeous, as well. They got along most of the time and relied on each other more than either would admit. She could also tell there was a level of normal sisterly tension that had built up recently as the two both reached their hormonal stage.
Hannah had also noticed that they had all managed to navigate to the same monthly cycle, so those three to five days every month, she tried to keep the household as calm as possible. They all held the same feisty attitude, and each of them could defend their positions quite skillfully when needed. She had not gotten into too many heated debates with Stephanie, but at times Laura would challenge her on some issues that were not worth challenging, yet, somehow always managed to be debated.
Dating was becoming more and more of a discussion; although as a freshman, she still probably had about one more year to go before it became a bigger problem. At times like these, she wished she had a man around if only to scare would-be aggressors. Try as she might, she was just not that intimidating to boys of any age, and she held no challenge for cocky 16 year olds with an attitude.
The good news about Burlingame High School was its core group of teachers, its curriculum, and its after-school activities. The bad news was that the core group of students were used to getting their way. As in all schools, there was the right side of the tracks and the wrong side of the tracks. Hannah was permanently cemented on the wrong side since childhood, and she no longer held out any hope that she would be moving over. This meant her kids would never truly be accepted in the cliquish school, but the education would be beneficial at a minimum.
Today seemed like it would be a typical weekend. She had some work to catch up on—she was continually given things to do during her “time off.” She did not get paid for the additional work, and she was an hourly employee rather than a salaried one. She was constantly reminded that she was lucky to have a job with her lack of experience and inadequate professional knowledge. She was not college-educated, and she was frequently reminded that there were other college-educated people out there looking for employment.
She would hang out with her daughters after doing her work, she thought to herself. She planned on going to church (they were Methodists), which they frequented about once a month. After church, Sarah had invited them over to her house for a swim in her pool. Sarah and her husband had a beautiful house in Pleasanton; and although Sarah hated the commute, she continued to work so she was not strapped with staying home with the kids all day, every day.
Sarah loved her kids, and she loved her husband Hank; but as with all suburban households, they had problems and issues that were never really discussed. Hannah had never told Sarah that Hank had hit on her one evening at one of the drinking bashes they had a few times each year. They had all been at Sarah’s house and had way too much to drink. Sarah had gone to bed and passed out. Hannah had planned on spending the night as she so often did.
After all the guests left, Hank sat next to her on the lawn chair by the pool. He was always a little overly flirtatious, but he was that way with every lady, not just Hannah. She thought it was innocent enough, but that night he tried to kiss her in an aggressively drunken way. He grabbed her head with his left hand and pulled her toward him.
He actually did kiss her. Hannah had let herself fall into dreamland— thinking this was all hers, and she did not have to make the trek back to her small apartment. She simply needed to go upstairs and lie down with her husband—she relished this suburban dream. She had kissed him backed for that brief second before sanity took control, and she pushed him away.
He had gotten a little belligerent at the rejection, but they had never spoken of the incident, and she had never mentioned a word of it to Sarah. Hannah was 100 percent sure that Hank was not a devout husband, and he most likely had hit on several other women, as well. After that evening she had simply been careful around him, and he with her. They were civil and polite, even friendly on most occasions, but there was always that tension. They both knew what kind of man he was.
This weekend had quickly passed, as all weekends do, and had gone basically as planned. The sun was just now starting to set, and she was amazed that it was only 5 p.m., as she watched TV with her two girls. She really did hate daylight savings time. The knock on the door came unexpectedly. She and the girls looked at each other and wondered who could be knocking on a Sunday evening.
Hannah got up and walked over to the door with her two girls in tow. They could not hold their curiosity and had to partake in the discovery. As she peered through the peephole, she did not recognize this man standing on the other side of her door. It was at times like these that Hannah felt most vulnerable. She was well aware how flimsy the door with the rattling handle was and how the brittle chain barely held itself in place. There was no way that it would keep out any intruder with a minimum amount of strength.
She asked who it was and then stood there with her mouth open for a few minutes as she heard the answer.
“This is Duncan, the dad of a friend of Laura’s. May we talk?”
Hannah looked through the hole again and paused. Wearing biking shorts, holding a helmet and the plastic looking stick (Bike Pump), probably looked intimidating through that little hole. The sweaty clothes must have seemed a little unappealing, as well, but bike riding is big in the Bay Area.
Laura finally spoke up and said, “Mom, are you going to open the door?” Hannah brushed back her hair, closed her mouth, unlocked the chain, and opened the door.
I am not an extraordinarily handsome man, but I am not bad looking either. I work out but could probably still stand to lose a pound here and there.
Hannah invited me in, and I hesitantly asked if it would it be possible for me to talk to her outside. I could sense that she was leery, probably worried that Laura had done something wrong and that I was now here to collect what I was owed for her transgressions. She stepped outside, and I cutely and somewhat shyly (I thought anyway) said I wanted to ask her to dinner or for drinks if she would be interested.
I explained that I had wanted to do so for a while, but my daughter had forbidden me from speaking to Hannah. She was petrified of the possibilities of her dad dating the mother of somebody who was her friend. I went on to ask if Hannah would also ask Laura not to mention anything to my daughter. If she found out I was here, she would be beside herself; and I really didn’t want to go through the drama that this would elicit.
This was all assuming that she was interested in going, of course. Any night that was convenient for her would be fine. I was flexible, but did have to work around my kids’ scheduled nights. They visited me two nights a week, and then every other weekend for three nights.
I, then, asked her if she were okay and if she were able to speak. It was at that moment that Hannah realized she had not said a single word during the entire interaction. Rather, she had simply stood staring at me, perplexed. She did not appear blown away by me, as I stood there gawking at her, waiting for a response.
Hannah was feeling like a schoolgirl being asked to the prom and wanted to run inside and call her friends. She had finally been asked to the big dance, and her only thoughts were about what to wear. She found her ability to speak and responded back saying she would be delighted to go to dinner someplace close one night this week. We settled on next Thursday evening together and decided to go to Straights, a local eatery/bar down on Burlingame Avenue.
Hannah explained the situation to Laura and received Laura’s solemn vow that she would keep her mouth closed. Nobody at school would know anything of the impending date, and nobody would get an inkling of any news as long as Laura was filled in with all the details of how it went.
Hannah was a little worried about Laura. It had been a long time since she had seen the flash of hope and sparkle emanating from her eyes. Laura, more than Stephanie, missed her dad who they had not seen now for several years. Hannah had little contact with anyone from her hometown and was not even sure that he was still alive.
Laura wanted a dad. She wanted pancakes in the morning and stockings above a fireplace at Christmas. She, more than Hannah or Stephanie or maybe even both of them combined, wanted that house with a white picket fence and the security of knowing a dad would protect her and ensure she was always safe. Laura loved her mother with her entire being, and Hannah knew this. But Hannah also knew Laura wanted a father.
I enjoyed the time with my daughters, and as usual the moment came all too soon when they needed to leave and would now spend the next two nights with their mother. I felt mixed emotions of relief and calmness, as well as anxiety over their being gone. God, I missed them the second they walked out the door. My oldest had decided to stay with me. She was not talking to her mother, and it was with trepidation that I allowed her to remain.
She seemed to be slipping into bad behavior and was losing the ability to respect people. Back in my day it would have been a swift smack to the head and all would have been healed, but in reality that did not adjust an attitude that needed help and nurturing. She was crying out for assistance, but both her mother and I were moving forward in a fog, lost as to what to do or how to guide my beautiful daughter back to safety.
A ship is only as good as its captain, and the growing pit in my stomach was continually telling me that neither my ex-wife nor I were any good at the treacherous waters filled with rocks jutting up at every angle. I could only hope and pray that my daughter was going to come out on the other side whole and at peace. It seemed the odds were against her and all other kids. I wonder how any of them make it through to adulthood.
I informed my daughter that she would be on her own for one evening this week. I had a work function/dinner in San Francisco, and I would not be coming home. She was 14 and going to be 15 soon, so being on her own was not unheard of. I had misgivings about the timing of my dinner, but also knew that it was important to keep up the appearance of being a good corporate citizen. I also was completely aware that if I did not soon find a release for my anxiety that I would explode in a thousand pieces. My ex-wife had established a full frontal assault and was pulling out all the stops at deception and manipulation now that my daughter no longer wanted to return home. I still am utterly flabbergasted at her seemingly unending ability to lie to anyone and everyone we had ever known. Oddly enough, the worst part was her extraordinary aptitude for convincing herself that her lies were actually truthful.
My work group outing included the typical gang of five. There was George, the Cognos guru, who navigated all of our corporate reporting. He was a recent addition, having only joined the company a few months ago. He was the level-headed, silent leader of the motley crew. Samantha was our local environmental planning expert, who helped with model building and data navigation. Ingra, who no longer worked at my company but was from Bulgaria, had a knack for showing up at these events. Patel, who also no longer worked at our company but had come from the accounting side, and Dan who was the new guy on the block rounded out the group. Dan was recently from Apple and had the real potential to shine down the road. Linda, our other analyst, was not able to attend the evening’s events, as she was currently occupied with her Navy husband’s something or other event.
We all met at the restaurant House located downtown and were shown special seating. George’s sister and husband owned and ran the local establishment. George was a San Francisco native and was well acquainted with the surroundings. He was a great guide to anything and everything one might want to do in the Bay Area. As was typical for our dining experience, appetizers were waiting and the exquisite tasting, palate-pleasing morsels were almost greater than the average man could handle. I have no idea how a restaurant like this goes unnoticed. It is extraordinary.
The evening went as expected. Ingra is wonderful company, somewhat earthy, although she takes offense to the term. All the women try to avoid Patel as he is the touchy one, grabbing, hugging, and feeling anyone or anything that is near him. It does make some people uncomfortable if they do not know him and, at times, even if you do. He has a good heart and is a devoted, underappreciated friend. George is married and has kids at home. Deep down, though, he still enjoys time out with a little kick now and then. Samantha is an anomaly. She has a sensual side, yet, at the same time, has issues dealing with controversy or stress. Her life has been broken and hard, as she has dealt with a drug-addicted ex-husband, and the child that she gave birth to at the ripe age of 16.
She is the one who has overcome the most adversity in the group and the one who also seems to have the most scars. Scars never really heal. I think they only fade, but resurface the minute old wounds are brought back to life.
As with most groups in my opinion, we are a bunch of misfits. Wanting and needing to feel connected, but not knowing how or what is missing in our lives. I play my designated role as boss to some and friend to all. I appear as a wandering lost soul to everyone I meet. I wear my shortcomings as a comic wears his jokes, supplanting humor to avoid intimacy and leading with sarcasm the minute things get too tough. I, as are most, am lost in the world that seems too big to wrap my hands around most of the time and am left wondering about the vastness of what will happen next.
The night went well, and we had several rounds of drinks and wine. We all seemed to enjoy each other’s company, but at times that did lead to inappropriate feelings that had to be squelched before the night turns to day and people regretted going too far. We said our good-byes and headed back to our broken homes and shelved ambitions. We would see each other tomorrow and with a pat on the back start the process all over again.
Everyone except me, that is. I took this opportunity, as planned, to seek out a small, dark alley with the hopes of leveling the playing field in my tumultuous mind. My volcanic side was building to levels of erupting proportions. I drove down Market Street and found a nice place to park. It was easy to find homeless people; they were everywhere, it seems.
I parked my car on a relatively lit street and got out of my SUV. I was careful where I parked in downtown San Francisco. I used to bring my ex-wife to plays in the theatre district. We enjoyed the live entertainment and a tasty meal at one of the many top-rated restaurants that the city has to offer. We once had the bright idea to save on parking and found a great spot on a local street. I remember marveling at the amount of glass on the street as I secured the car and how odd it was that there was an abundance of excess parking.
After dinner and the play were completed, we returned to our car only to find our rear window smashed and everything that was removable gone from the inside of our vehicle. The particles of smashed glass covering the asphalt beneath us now made perfect sense. I remember commenting at the time that at least the intruder was thoughtful and smashed the back window versus the front. It could have been worse. My wife took her typical negative route and complained nonstop about the event. You would have thought it was her car versus mine.
I looked around and marveled at the eclectic individuals that wander the streets late at night. I, then, removed the necessary essentials and, as again luck would have it, only needed to walk less than five blocks before a perfect opportunity presented itself. Two bums in a dark alley appeared to be rummaging through the trashcans, looking for what must be their next meal.
It was not easy to see them in the dim lighting, but they appeared to be young adults prematurely aged well beyond their years. They didn’t appear to be violent, but were absolutely high on something—that is never a good idea. To corner a cat and watch it brandish its claws is the same as cornering somebody on meth and assuming that you can beat your way out. Meth or heroin addicts are not people you would want to rile when they are in an agitated state—or as the term is nowadays “tweaking.” I have a friend on the police force who tells me stories at times, and they are not stories you want to be a part of.
I observed the two for a while and caught glimpses of their black-orbed sunken eyes and their bony exterior frailly held together by a thin layer of translucent skin. They obviously must have track marks up and down their arms and seemingly have little ability to feel pain. One inadvertently picked up a shard of glass and didn’t even notice as the blood started dripping down his arm, running past his elbow to the ground below. They were bickering nonsensically about something that I couldn’t decipher.
I walked into the dimly lit alley and simply raised my gun, deliberately aiming it at the first victim and pulled the trigger three quick times. He dropped quickly and easily; and I, then, moved my now fully extended arm toward the other gentleman who was still busily rummaging through his stash of tasty morsels. I pulled the trigger twice, and he fell into a crumpled mass three feet from his recently dead friend.
I walked over to inspect each body and looked into the eyes of both, sensing the relief they must feel to be free from their addiction and life of saddened hardship. I stopped for a couple of minutes, taking in the scene and the surroundings, wondering how one wakes up and finds himself or herself a part of this environment. What happens to a person when drugs are the most important thing in his or her life? They give up all ties to family and friends and relinquish any hope for a future all for the next stab of a needle into their scab-ridden arm.
I wondered about how many times the two have been in rehab, only to fail and wander back to their one true love. How many times had they stolen and lied to their families and placed their siblings in danger. How much hard-earned money had been wasted on these two, as they continually made promises they had no intention or ability to ever keep. The diseases that probably coursed through their bodies as they spread STDs with their needles appalled me.
I placed the weapon back in my coat pocket and silently glided back to my car. I removed the gun, placing it in the trunk, and walked to the driver’s side. I started my vehicle and exited the scene, leaving behind only the salvation I had given these two leeches on society.
On the drive back home, I realized the satisfaction I felt is much greater to me than anything else I have ever done. I felt justified in my actions. Unlike taking a life that is worth living, I had now forcibly reaped the just rewards on these two people that should have been sown long ago. I tried to imagine the pain and injustice they must have inflicted on their families. The lies they must have told to anyone who would listen enabling them only to get their next fix.
Their brothers and sisters would now grow up in peace, without fear that their older sibling would return home and steal from their piggy bank just to by another tiny bag of stones. I should have gotten a plaque nailed to city hall for the service I just performed for this city. I expunged a portion of a plague from our society and now felt like a true god that had found his calling. I did not know what my next event would be, nor could I foresee the future. I did know that I would from this day forth incorporate the eradication of any drug addicted homeless person from the face of this planet. I was like the Lone Ranger who now stood up for justice when other people were afraid to face facts.
I made it home in my contained state of euphoria; and, luckily, my daughter was asleep. I jumped into the shower, which was slowly becoming a custom of mine after these events and, afterward, threw myself into my newly acquired queen-size bed. I felt exuberant and was looking forward to sleeping soundly, having performed a civic duty.
The rest of the week was somewhat uneventful, save for my bike ride Sunday afternoon. I had finally decided to ignore my daughter’s warnings and move forward with asking Laura’s mom on a date. “Laura’s Hot Mom” they called her. How could I not try and make a move on somebody with that acronym.
After a great bike ride, I made it home and settled in to get cleaned up. My oldest was doing her homework (or pretending to) and stated she was almost finished. I decided to make some pasta for dinner and promised as soon as I was out of my shower I would commence the preparation of the feast. It had been a good week. I had managed to loosen the valve and free my built up frustrations, all the while making positive strides in my home life and on the romantic front, as well. All in all I couldn’t complain.