PART 43

Some days I like to indulge myself by embracing the idea of living and/or dying in infamy. Surely, everyone has a small section of their soul they set aside and allow to feel corrupt and sinister and wrong. A place where Darth Vader and John Wayne Gacy run smiling hand in hand. Where terrorists and David Koresh and horrible wizards wield flaming swords and AK47s.

I think I hide my evil urges directly below the heart.. between the 2nd and 3rd rib. At night, a thin line of smoke escapes from the tiny lair in my chest. It swims through my skin and bones and sheets and blankets. It hangs in the air revealing my darkest thoughts. It makes the room damp and uncomfortable. On family reunions and work meetings, I hold my heart hoping to conceal the dark revelation from escaping. Because no one wants to have a close personal relationship with a man who can’t control his own monsters. No one wants to do business with someone who reminds them of their own desires for an infamous path.

Maybe with age that little land I hide, full of villains, will diminish. Maybe it’s wild boarders will shrink until there simply isn’t enough room for them all. I’ll grow old and sweet and sad. I’ll say my goodbyes as the thin line of smoke drifts away from my body into the night sky. Adios, you cowboys in black. Adios, Hitler. Adios, you snake with an apple. The trail of smoke will wrap around the moon. It will be silent on the steps of my old house where I’ll sit. Perhaps I’m whole and good at last.

Or perhaps there is a sliver of smoke still lingering near my heart. Perhaps there is a knocking coming from below my wooden steps. Perhaps a weak voice is asking for help… asking to be let go. Perhaps I am smiling.