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A Special Place in Hell

She had a shoebox that I had hid. I had no leg to stand on. I had nothing left. The laptop was resting on her lap. The next thing she said changed my whole life.

written by The Dimestore Csanova - images by Muge karamanci

There is a special place in hell for the preacher who is on the train with me talking his mumbo mouth. The sun blasted me this AM with the impending doom that was my morning. The rocks in my ice coffee are melting in and I am grasping for straws, gasping for air like a mackerel that has been beached for far longer than he should.

©muge karamanci

©muge karamanci

Three hours ago it was laid at my doorstep like abandoned puppy. Any other time would have sufficed, but they always put it on you when you feel the most vulnerable, when you believe the day is part of something more beautiful than you could ever imagine. Then it happens… ”I’m Pregnant”. I was young god dammit, I was in my fucking prime. I was beautiful, I was glory’s gate. Then the sun got hot, the train started to smell like a sea food market, the neighborhood crack fiend cleaned himself up; nothing was right. I looked up to a godless sky and asked this question “Am I fit to be a human being, let alone a father?”

©muge karamanci

©muge karamanci

I knew there was only one thing to do, I called in sick to work right in front of the building. I told them it was probably something terminal, something I couldn’t fight off, I don’t know what I told ‘em, but It was the blather of someone I’m sure they don’t want in their place of business today. The walk down memory lane was imminent. I took the G train to Queens, there are to many beautiful fish in the sea these days. I got to the fountain in Court Square where I spent the majority of my formative years with a bunch of goons who I miss dearly. I visit a few of them at the cemetery a few times a year. The red star’s haze beats off of my plastic forty of Olde English (I was against this change, but the fucking thing tastes better). I swashed my way drunkenly down to Scandals, the bouncer didn’t want me in the strip joint, he saw my intention was true though. I walked in and sidled up to someone who understood the value of a dollar and good conversation:

©muge karamanci

©muge karamanci

“Why don’t you think you’ll be a good father?”
“I am not ready, don’t you see? Can’t you find it in your heart to agree with me?” Then I threw about fifty dollars in her general direction and she continued the therapy, the dance, the feeling of immutable truth.

©muge karamanci

©muge karamanci

I wasn’t quite ready to go home, I walked past the abortion clinic from a previous life. I picked up my phone and just stared a hole the size of Madagascar through it. The driver veered into oncoming traffic, you know? This is a man’s fault. This a man’s problem. I got on the Q54 and headed out to Jamaica, that’s where Colin is. I got off right in front of the gate. The palace was closed, I climbed the gate. I was in, I went past the visitor’s office, I walked through the Jewish section and the Coy pond, the coy knew I was there. I waved at them. I got to Colin Mason, Sec 519 Row 8… Those are the same numbers of my season tickets to the Mets. I sat in front of his stone monument and I cried:

©muge karamanci

©muge karamanci

“What do I do, Col? How am I going to remedy this situation? Fuck that, how are you? Are you enjoying it? I hope you are. I hope you are walking around and loving the day, homey. I miss you. We find what we are looking for or we do not. The general store is on fire, this borders on calamity. Are you thirsty, friend?”

©muge karamanci

©muge karamanci

I took flask from holster and I poured it all around his grave. Watching the blades of grass wither with the smell of stale whiskey. Then I lit a cigarette and I stared at his name, ran my hand over it and put a small pebble on top of his new home.
The bus ride back was quiet. Reflective times. I knew she was waiting for me. I knew as I was walking up the stairs that it was going to be fight or flight time. I walked in and she was sitting there, red eyed. She had a shoebox that I had hid. I had no leg to stand on. I had nothing left. The laptop was resting on her lap. The next thing she said changed my whole life.

“Summer messaged you, the guy left her, she wants you to move to Orlando. She has come to her senses.”

I walked into the bedroom, I sat on the edge of the bed, I booked a flight for the next morning.

I packed.

I left.

©muge karamanci

©muge karamanci

 

One Response to “A Special Place in Hell”

  1. Myron says:

    Fantastic story. Enjoyed.