The following is an excerpt from part two:
Helen’s two sons have been groomed to the same way of thinking. They are no longer “only kids,” except in their immature behavior. The police officer son is furious when he hears that he needs to tend to his own pet while Mom is at work. Doors slam, objects fly, the screaming match begins. In a work of fiction it would be difficult to invent so preposterous a situation. We do not know whom to call when the domestic abuse complaint is provoked by the police.
The younger son, recently of legal age, moved out then returned with a girlfriend. They live rent-free for upwards of a year. Well, not entirely free. The girlfriend gives her $30 share of food stamps from the family who claim her as a dependent. She contributes that to buy snacks for herself and her sponge of a companion. When income tax time comes around, the sponge insists that his mother will not be claiming him as a dependent—he wants the $1,000 refund on his own return. Doors slam, objects fly, the screaming match begins. In the end, the blood-sucking couple has their tidy little nest egg. It serves as the deposit on an abuse-haven they can call their own.
Helen parks in handicapped-designated areas. She does not possess a disability placard. The first time she does it, when I am in the car, I mention that the fines have been increased. “Oh, I’m not worried. My son, the police officer, will take care of it.” She goes out drinking for the night and calls her son, the police officer, for an escort home. She swerves and sways down the road with the cruiser on her tail. It matters not whose rights are infringed upon. Endangering lives is a trivial affair. I want my way.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
South Beached-Whale
The following is an excerpt from part two:
As I have always done, I send cookies down. She snarls, “I’m on a diet.” (Not, “No thank you, I’m on a diet.”) A couple of days later I knock and ask if she needs anything at the market. She has two whopping zits on her face, dripping with puss—it looks like she has an extra set of noses. I ask, “Whoa, what happened?” “I ate too many French fries.” She must be on that new South Beached-Whale Diet.
A few days later Helen informs Sid, “I’m hurt.” Sid asks her what happened, assuming that she was injured at work again. “I’m hurt that you refuse to take care of Puppy, after everything I’ve done for you.” Everything like what—rent us the shit box that has been vacant for over a year? We have always had a one-way relationship: we give, she takes. Sid explains that he is simply not willing to put himself at risk. “Ray is going for a hip restoration. Who’s gonna take care of him if that dog chews me up?”
“Well, I want you to know that you hurt my feelings. I was counting on you.” She walks off and slams the door. The following Monday, one week since Sid imparted the dreadful news about the dog, we get a notice in the mail from Helen. “Due to increased maintenance costs, the rent will be increased by 20% beginning July 1.” Not taken into account is that we have been the ones who have been providing free maintenance.
As I have always done, I send cookies down. She snarls, “I’m on a diet.” (Not, “No thank you, I’m on a diet.”) A couple of days later I knock and ask if she needs anything at the market. She has two whopping zits on her face, dripping with puss—it looks like she has an extra set of noses. I ask, “Whoa, what happened?” “I ate too many French fries.” She must be on that new South Beached-Whale Diet.
A few days later Helen informs Sid, “I’m hurt.” Sid asks her what happened, assuming that she was injured at work again. “I’m hurt that you refuse to take care of Puppy, after everything I’ve done for you.” Everything like what—rent us the shit box that has been vacant for over a year? We have always had a one-way relationship: we give, she takes. Sid explains that he is simply not willing to put himself at risk. “Ray is going for a hip restoration. Who’s gonna take care of him if that dog chews me up?”
“Well, I want you to know that you hurt my feelings. I was counting on you.” She walks off and slams the door. The following Monday, one week since Sid imparted the dreadful news about the dog, we get a notice in the mail from Helen. “Due to increased maintenance costs, the rent will be increased by 20% beginning July 1.” Not taken into account is that we have been the ones who have been providing free maintenance.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
“my son, the police officer”
The following is an excerpt from part two:
Helen goes on a trip. The poor dog is locked in the apartment for four days. As usual, Sid lets him out and takes him for walks. He feeds him and changes the water. The dog is angry to have been abandoned in the sweltering apartment. He messes all over and tears through the trash; Sid cleans it up. By the third day, the dog is irate. He growls ferociously when Sid goes down to get him. The dog pounces and Sid leaps behind the door, barely escaping attack.
The ten-year-old dog has a history of maiming people and pets. No action is taken because Helen proclaims, “He’s registered to my son, the police officer.” The insurance examiner tells her they cannot continue the homeowner policy because of the nature of the creature that is housed here.
“Oh, but he’s registered to my son, the police officer. The dog doesn’t stay here. The dog run in the back yard is for my parents when they come. They set up their chairs out there so they can be in the shade.” I want my way. When she returns from her Memorial Day long weekend, Sid informs her that he can no longer take care of the dog. She says, “I know how he is. He does that with me sometimes, too, but you’re a big man. You should be able to handle him.” Now she is furious. Now we must be punished.
When she goes to the store, she no longer checks to see if we need something. No more bringing in our mail if she gets there first. We get the ice-block shoulder when passing in the hall. This is a fifty-one-year-old “adult!”
Helen goes on a trip. The poor dog is locked in the apartment for four days. As usual, Sid lets him out and takes him for walks. He feeds him and changes the water. The dog is angry to have been abandoned in the sweltering apartment. He messes all over and tears through the trash; Sid cleans it up. By the third day, the dog is irate. He growls ferociously when Sid goes down to get him. The dog pounces and Sid leaps behind the door, barely escaping attack.
The ten-year-old dog has a history of maiming people and pets. No action is taken because Helen proclaims, “He’s registered to my son, the police officer.” The insurance examiner tells her they cannot continue the homeowner policy because of the nature of the creature that is housed here.
“Oh, but he’s registered to my son, the police officer. The dog doesn’t stay here. The dog run in the back yard is for my parents when they come. They set up their chairs out there so they can be in the shade.” I want my way. When she returns from her Memorial Day long weekend, Sid informs her that he can no longer take care of the dog. She says, “I know how he is. He does that with me sometimes, too, but you’re a big man. You should be able to handle him.” Now she is furious. Now we must be punished.
When she goes to the store, she no longer checks to see if we need something. No more bringing in our mail if she gets there first. We get the ice-block shoulder when passing in the hall. This is a fifty-one-year-old “adult!”
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
I want my way
The following is an excerpt from part two:
We blend well as occupants of the same three-family building. We go down to play cards. She comes up to watch a movie. We both are forever cooking and sending samples up and down. For months, she broadcasts how pleased she is to have us as tenants. She has never had it so good. Sid clears the snow off her car after a storm. He brings out the trash and plows the driveway. He seals the windows and hangs her blinds. We repaint our four rooms and then proceed to do the stairway hall. We replace floor tiles and refinish cabinets. This is all at our own expense, and we are pleased to contribute.
When Helen is away, Sid attends to her dog. It is a monstrous Shar-pei-Pit Bull mix. Helen calls him “Puppy.” Helen has a strict no-pet policy. We are unable to have our Ring-necked Dove. When we went to prison, my sister took him in for us. Now we visit the bird on weekends. We have discussed having our bird but Helen will not budge. “If the other tenants find out, they’ll all want pets.” (We do not even associate with the guy who finally rented the first floor, other than to say hi in passing.) We have been warned, “Don’t even think about having a fish.” No pets means no pets. It has nothing to do with the rationale of it. It has to do with I want my way.
We blend well as occupants of the same three-family building. We go down to play cards. She comes up to watch a movie. We both are forever cooking and sending samples up and down. For months, she broadcasts how pleased she is to have us as tenants. She has never had it so good. Sid clears the snow off her car after a storm. He brings out the trash and plows the driveway. He seals the windows and hangs her blinds. We repaint our four rooms and then proceed to do the stairway hall. We replace floor tiles and refinish cabinets. This is all at our own expense, and we are pleased to contribute.
When Helen is away, Sid attends to her dog. It is a monstrous Shar-pei-Pit Bull mix. Helen calls him “Puppy.” Helen has a strict no-pet policy. We are unable to have our Ring-necked Dove. When we went to prison, my sister took him in for us. Now we visit the bird on weekends. We have discussed having our bird but Helen will not budge. “If the other tenants find out, they’ll all want pets.” (We do not even associate with the guy who finally rented the first floor, other than to say hi in passing.) We have been warned, “Don’t even think about having a fish.” No pets means no pets. It has nothing to do with the rationale of it. It has to do with I want my way.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Judge Judy
The following is an excerpt from part two:
I am not a big fan of television. Occasionally I enjoy Judge Judy. She is such a wonderfully sensible and animated character. Saturday Night Live pales in wit. The highlight of each show is to observe Judy get worked up and then watch the litigants become aggravated. It amazes me how people can be so persistently single-minded when it comes to getting their way. That theme is consistent on all the “judge” shows.
I can appreciate devoted commitment to a cause. Determination to defend a position is admirable. The antics on Judge Judy, however, are nothing short of laughable. Regard for the law or consideration of common sense frequently have no influence on the litigants’ reasoning ability. All that matters is I want my way.
The opponents become like slot players mesmerized and held captive by their machine. The reality for both gambler and litigant is that they do not hold all the cards. Unwavering purpose will not override the law of averages or the laws of the state.
We were fortunate to rent an apartment from a friend. If not for Helen, we may well have been homeless after our discharge from prison. That is the circumstance for many convicted sex offenders who are released and forced into a hostile society. We have known Helen for ten years. She and I worked at the same upscale nursing home, on different shifts. Our relationship developed outside of work mostly as camping friends.
I am not a big fan of television. Occasionally I enjoy Judge Judy. She is such a wonderfully sensible and animated character. Saturday Night Live pales in wit. The highlight of each show is to observe Judy get worked up and then watch the litigants become aggravated. It amazes me how people can be so persistently single-minded when it comes to getting their way. That theme is consistent on all the “judge” shows.
I can appreciate devoted commitment to a cause. Determination to defend a position is admirable. The antics on Judge Judy, however, are nothing short of laughable. Regard for the law or consideration of common sense frequently have no influence on the litigants’ reasoning ability. All that matters is I want my way.
The opponents become like slot players mesmerized and held captive by their machine. The reality for both gambler and litigant is that they do not hold all the cards. Unwavering purpose will not override the law of averages or the laws of the state.
We were fortunate to rent an apartment from a friend. If not for Helen, we may well have been homeless after our discharge from prison. That is the circumstance for many convicted sex offenders who are released and forced into a hostile society. We have known Helen for ten years. She and I worked at the same upscale nursing home, on different shifts. Our relationship developed outside of work mostly as camping friends.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
“I never said any such thing.”
The following is an excerpt from part one:
A couple of weeks before our Superior Court trial in November, we had a Family Court hearing. Sid’s lawyer for that process is a caring man, motivated by integrity. When he learns of Sid’s ongoing neglect in prison, and that we are receiving no treatment whatsoever following the attack in June, he contacts the warden’s office immediately. Two days later, I go to the hospital for hip x-rays and panoramic teeth x-rays.
The staff doctor is a woman, from India. She is the same one who first “examined” me after the attack. She says they will be looking into physical therapy for me. I tell her that four months ago she told me that no form of treatment would be available. “I never said any such thing.” Sid has his panoramic mouth x-ray done as well. The dentist observes, “You did a good job with the extraction.” Two days before our Superior Court trial was to begin there was another Family Court hearing. Sid was not in attendance. I told the lawyer that his seg term was set for fifteen days and that it has already been seventeen.
Sid is finally released from seg the day before of our trial was to materialize on November 6, 2008. We are dredged through the muddle of court-day routine, and are thrown into the caverns to await the long awaited proceedings. It would turn out to be a far greater farce than even the preceding nine months had to offer.
A couple of weeks before our Superior Court trial in November, we had a Family Court hearing. Sid’s lawyer for that process is a caring man, motivated by integrity. When he learns of Sid’s ongoing neglect in prison, and that we are receiving no treatment whatsoever following the attack in June, he contacts the warden’s office immediately. Two days later, I go to the hospital for hip x-rays and panoramic teeth x-rays.
The staff doctor is a woman, from India. She is the same one who first “examined” me after the attack. She says they will be looking into physical therapy for me. I tell her that four months ago she told me that no form of treatment would be available. “I never said any such thing.” Sid has his panoramic mouth x-ray done as well. The dentist observes, “You did a good job with the extraction.” Two days before our Superior Court trial was to begin there was another Family Court hearing. Sid was not in attendance. I told the lawyer that his seg term was set for fifteen days and that it has already been seventeen.
Sid is finally released from seg the day before of our trial was to materialize on November 6, 2008. We are dredged through the muddle of court-day routine, and are thrown into the caverns to await the long awaited proceedings. It would turn out to be a far greater farce than even the preceding nine months had to offer.
Monday, June 6, 2011
James, not Jim
The following is an excerpt from part one:
This time Sid is coupled with a suspected murderer. James, not Jim, is bi-polar. He is also diagnosed with OCD, obsessive compulsive disorder. James has unpredictable temper fl are-ups and engages in unusual behaviors. He picks the tiny lint-balls from the sheet and blanket, and there are plenty of them. Then he proceeds to the floor to retrieve microscopic specks with his fingertips for hours on end.
James is on medication but he does not know what or why, other than for the sleeping pills. He was removed from the meds he was taking for the bipolar condition. Whatever they put him on had destroyed his liver. As is usually the case, Sid gets along fine. That adds fuel to the C/O’s fi re of retribution. On a couple of occasions, James nearly loses it over absolutely nothing. Sid manages to talk some sense into him. “James, this is exactly what those assholes want: for us to turn on each other. This is how you got yourself in seg to begin with. Stop it.” Sid knows, as a matter of psychic perception, that his “killer” companion is innocent of the murder for which he is to be tried. The poor guy has been in for three years awaiting trial. One day Sid tells him to “dump the pills.”
“What are you talking about?” Sid tells him that suicide is not the answer. James has been saving up some of his medication whenever he can get away with it. Two of his biological brothers and his sister were adopted after a tragic family misfortune. They all killed themselves. Sid reveals that he already knows about it. He also discloses the liver problem. James is shocked but loosens up a lot. They build trust and Sid becomes very close with him.
This time Sid is coupled with a suspected murderer. James, not Jim, is bi-polar. He is also diagnosed with OCD, obsessive compulsive disorder. James has unpredictable temper fl are-ups and engages in unusual behaviors. He picks the tiny lint-balls from the sheet and blanket, and there are plenty of them. Then he proceeds to the floor to retrieve microscopic specks with his fingertips for hours on end.
James is on medication but he does not know what or why, other than for the sleeping pills. He was removed from the meds he was taking for the bipolar condition. Whatever they put him on had destroyed his liver. As is usually the case, Sid gets along fine. That adds fuel to the C/O’s fi re of retribution. On a couple of occasions, James nearly loses it over absolutely nothing. Sid manages to talk some sense into him. “James, this is exactly what those assholes want: for us to turn on each other. This is how you got yourself in seg to begin with. Stop it.” Sid knows, as a matter of psychic perception, that his “killer” companion is innocent of the murder for which he is to be tried. The poor guy has been in for three years awaiting trial. One day Sid tells him to “dump the pills.”
“What are you talking about?” Sid tells him that suicide is not the answer. James has been saving up some of his medication whenever he can get away with it. Two of his biological brothers and his sister were adopted after a tragic family misfortune. They all killed themselves. Sid reveals that he already knows about it. He also discloses the liver problem. James is shocked but loosens up a lot. They build trust and Sid becomes very close with him.
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