This poem was inspired by a suggestion from Andy Sewina, aka SweetTalking Guy. This is a very brief flash fiction written in three American Sentences, a poetic form conceived by Allen Ginsberg.
~
jack and Neal on the road
were rape’n their angst
in carnal combustion
allen was howl’n
pal’n with corso
but still white-hot for peter
hunter was fearful
loathing it all
as bohemia went tie-dye
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2009
In the spirit of the 1st prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I retrieved this message from my imaginary bottle, unrolled, then read it — this is what it said:
Seamen brave and strong as we
There’s a truth that we all learn
When brave and strong men go to sea
Tis not certain they’ll return
___________________________
October 23rd, 1997
This may be the last few hours of my life. I feel compelled to take this paper and pen and chronicle my end – to feel I did not die in vain… in faith that someone may find this.
I penned the brief sea chant you see at the top, because it continues to turn over and over in my head.
I have no radio or communications devices. They were all destroyed. I have no way of getting a message out — save this crude method.
How I hope that someone will find this. The address of my family and their phone number is on the back. Please, whoever may discover this – see that it gets to my family. Thank you so very much!
I’m the only one left. Carey was killed in the crash, and Gill succumbed to his mortal wounds last night. I rolled his body into the ocean to satisfy the sharks, and keep them at bay for a bit longer.
They’ve circled through the night — it’s the third night they returned. They get bolder each time – the largest has lost all fear. He’s bumped me several times in the last couple of hours. He’s taunting, he knows I’m nearing my end.
When the attack comes, and come it will very soon — it will be vicious and final. I’m certain I will not survive it, but I’m reasonably confident it will be over quickly. At least three of the most aggressive circling are great whites – large enough to finish a man in a few quick rips.
I’m so very weary; I almost wish it would just happen. The uncertainty of waiting is getting to be too much… I’m exhausted… I’m ready.
This was to be our last run up from Cuba. So many uneventful trips… I think we grew careless. We’d broken out a couple bottles of the contraband Varadero and lit up a couple of the Cohibas to celebrate this last trip. I never ceased to be amazed how much money we were making smuggling in illegal Cuban Rum and Cigars… just unbelievable.
We were literally flying over the wave tops in our custom 32′ Donzi race-hull speeder. We weren’t full open, but we were doing 70 knots on the calm seas — the 1,000 horses purrin’ like a kitten.
We were too caught up in the booze and stogies to notice the sleeper cross-wave until it caught us sideways at mid-hull and snapped this cigarette boat like a twig – it just exploded out from under us.
One minute I am in a speeding boat with my two best friends skimmin’ the waves – the next minute we’re in the water, with just a piece of the aft hull in tact. The rest was splintered flotsam and jetsam. Our cargo, what wasn’t destroyed, or on the bottom of the deep blue — floated and bobbed in their wooden cases like square corks.
Carey was dead, Gill critically wounded, and I – just dazed. I dragged Gill and I up onto the small fragment of the Donzi that was still afloat, where Gill eventually died. Carey had floated away. The sharks found him in less than an hour. They finished him in a turbulent frenzy.
Before the end comes I want to say my farewells to my family. Ironically, I’m going to seal this message in one of the Varadero Rum bottles. It was smuggling this shit that got Carey and Gill killed – and soon I as well.
Kathy, my sweet wife, you’ve been the love of my life – patient, understanding… you make me so happy, though I don’t show it all the time. I get caught up in the fog of life’s distractions — buried in my pride and insecurity.
But alone out here, under the warm Atlantic sun, a calm has settled over me. I’m filled with peace, and a joy that is my love for you! I see with great clarity how much you mean to me as my wife. My emotions are overwhelming me. I see how remarkable our relationship is.
So, my love, when I’m gone, please see these words as a place you can visit and be nurtured. A private, wonderful place you can go, to know these treasures that have always been in my heart. I will be there – close your eyes and you will feel me there, and my love.
And my darling daughter Jennifer — after all these years, you have never lost your magic. Like a brilliant sorceress, with one word, you can cast your spell, and put me in a wonderful dream. Your magic word is, “Daddy!†You say this as you smile deeply into my eyes — “Daddy!†I melt.
I will always be your daddy and you will forever be my little girl, my firstborn, my beautiful daughter! Thinking of you here, now, tears fill my eyes.
You make certain you don’t settle in life for anyone who doesn’t love, respect, and appreciate you as much as I do, as your family does.
You make sure you introduce any guy you may fall for to mom, and to your brother. If they don’t approve, you listen closely to their reasons why. Do not compromise your integrity — ever!
Your father loves you Jen… I love you dearly.
And Justin, my son — my baby… ours is a tough relationship, tough love, no room for timid. It is so easy for me to see your faults, and poke at them — for there in you go I. We are so very much alike it scares me.
Your imperfections glare at me because I possess them all, every one of them within me — and more. Photos of me from my past, uncanny, they might as well be you.
But it’s where we are not alike that your miracle begins.
You are smarter than I ever was. You care for people, honestly. You face life with strength and courage. I just marvel at you – I really do! You have accomplished so much already in your life – and you’ve just begun.
We argue at times, but my love for you is deep son… my pride is lasting. It’s impossible with these words, to tell you what you mean to me. But every word for love and pride – I feel in my heart for you!
I know you will miss me, and probably feel lost and angry at first – but you will recover quickly, I know you will. I know how intelligent and strong willed you are.
Please take care of your mother, and Jenny. They will need your strength, just as you will need their nurturing.
I love you Jus, and I know you love me — I always have known. We are father and son. inseparable forever — remember that!
And Aaron, I find myself thinking so much about you. I’m looking at your picture in my wallet. It’s my favorite picture of you, son — the one I cherish most since your passing.
It is the simple snapshot, taken at the airport, upon your return from having run the New York City Marathon.
You have a gentle, triumphant smile. Your eyes are beaming behind the “cool†shades you have on. Your jacket sleeves rolled in casual hip-ness, bag thrown carefree over your shoulder, and your medal hangs proudly around your strong neck.
You are fiercely handsome!
How profound this captured moment proved to be, taken just before the finish line of your 18 years — it said it all. Your race was run, your bag was packed, and your reward was in your hand. You now fly my sweet angel – fly!
Dad will be there soon. I can’t wait to throw my arms around you. I have missed you so very much, my gentle giant – but I’m coming.
Kathy, Jenny, Justin – I don’t want you to cry for this old man too long. I am not afraid out here right now. I feel Aaron with me, so very close – and soon he and I will see each other again.
We will both wait for each of you guys to finish your business down here on earth – then we will all be together. But take your time and enjoy all there is in life.
Don’t be too upset with wayward old me. I might have been a smuggler, but I never hurt anyone – and I loved you all from the bottom of my heart.
I only have two pieces of paper, so this message must come quickly to an end. I really am not frightened. With my last breaths and energy I will be hugging you all, squeezing you tightly – and kissing you all good-bye.
I love you; please know that – I love you all so much!
Kathy, go see Warren. He has a key for you. Then go see Grace, she has an address for you. Finally see Barry, he has a box number for you. They don’t know about each other.
Use these things together and you will be comfortable for the rest of your life.
When you trim the Christmas tree each year, think of me as you hang the Father Christmas ornament. You know it is my favorite.
Good-bye… until we are all together again!
The Pearl Bracelet
•
“What do you mean,†Gwen implored, the strain obvious in her weary voice. “Who exactly is pursuing Derek … and why?â€
Her voice trailed off to an exasperated whisper. The why was not so much a question, as a deep sigh of frustration. She seemed to know the answer was much too complicated to address at this hour, and she was too spent, physically and emotionally, to want to hear it.
Gwen turned away from Zack, head lowered. Her arms fell limp at her side, fingers splayed. She was trying her best to process what Zack was saying, to understand him –to understand the recent events that had brought her to this place in time … to make sense of anything. Her head was spinning, and she could feel the fatigue deep in her bones.
She dropped back onto the sofa, half sitting, half lying down – an exhausted slouch. She felt paralyzed, thoughts racing through her mind – fragmented, disconnected thoughts.
She looked at her hands, palms down in her lap, her eyes glazing over. Her vision drifted to the floor. Slowly it came into focus, there, next to her feet. She realized she was staring at the Baroda’s, with their broken clasp. She had dropped the bracelet when she’d collapsed.
Ever since Derek had purchased these beautiful antique pearls at Christie’s auction, giving them to her on their anniversary, her life had turned upside down – and also turned a corner. Fate had pushed her round that corner, and she would never turn back again. Her life as Mrs. Galesport was over.
She knew this, knew it as surely as she knew she missed her children. Something must be done to get them out of that house – his house. It could no longer be her home, but they would always be her children – and she feared for them. They had to be part of whatever direction fate was leading her.
It was fate that had broken the diamond-encrusted clasp – fate, and her quick reflexes, blocking Derek with her forearm as he struck out at her in anger, following their anniversary dinner.
He had apologized, explaining it away as the result of stress. “It will never happen again,†he’d said in his most gentle and sincere voice – but she was familiar with this empty promise. This was not the first time, and the incidents of abuse were escalating.
She’d only come into his office that evening to thank him again for the gorgeous gift. She’d assumed this was where he’d retired after leaving the dining table. But she could see, in the subdued light, that he was not there. The mahogany paneled room was empty.
She loved the aroma of his Classic Port pipe tobacco that permeated the walls. Her father had also smoked that blend in his Barling Meerschaum, and the heady fragrance was comforting to her – so she lingered. That’s when she noticed it, on his desk, silhouetted by the light from the Tiffany lamp.
Her curiosity drew her to it. She’d just picked it up when Derek entered. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Put that god damned box down,†he’d shouted — then flew into a rage.
Why had her discovery of the leather box sent Derek over the edge? What were those letters that spilled out when she dropped the box upon being struck?
They’d looked terribly official, with their seals and embossing – and written in a language that she did not recognize. Derek certainly scrambled frantically to collect them from the antique Persian rug, and return them to the box. But she managed to conceal one, sliding it under her hips as she lay where she’d fallen after being struck.
Derek’s bizarre reaction to the correspondence scattered on the floor, and the strangeness of the language they contained, had piqued Gwen’s interest. Instinct drove her to hide the envelope until she was able to fold and slip it into her pocket, as her husband hurried from the room, with the leather box in tow.
Gwen felt it was important that she take this letter she’d spirited out of the room, and put it in safekeeping. She’d planned to somehow learn more about its origin and content.
It was again fate that lead her the next morning to Tiffany’s, seeking repair of her damaged bracelet. It was while standing at the counter, waiting to be served, that she’d spied Derek coming out of the restaurant across the street, in the company of a woman — a stranger to Gwen. They had climbed into a waiting limousine.
Gwen had bolted from the counter, and through the door to get a better look. Unfortunately, as she’d reached the sidewalk and acquired a reasonable view of the vehicle, it sped away. She had noticed markings on the door, and a license plate, a type she had not immediately recognized – but she could read neither.
Fate had presented her with this tangled mystery, but what was she to do. How could she begin to unravel it? All this was flooding through her mind when she was startled back to the present by Zack, returning to the room with pillows and a blanket.
“I will take the sofa tonight,†he said, “You’re completely burned out. I’m putting you in my room,†he continued in a kind and caring tone. “My bed is amazingly comfortable, and you need sleep – lots of good, deep sleep.â€
He reached down and took Gwen’s hand, helping her to her feet. Gently wrapping his arm around her waist, he escorted her down the hall and into his room. Stopping just inside the door, he said, “You will be safe in here. We’ll talk about everything in the morning,†and he gave her a warm hug, stepped back into the hall, and closed the door.
Gwen realized there were too many questions to answer, too many mysteries — just too damned much to even think about right now.
“Yes, in the morning,†she mumbled to the door.
Then, hugging her shoulder bag with the mysterious envelope tucked safely inside, Gwen shuffled across the room and collapsed on the bed.
• • •
rob kistner © 2008