Peel a banana. My friend Brian once asked me: “Have you ever seen a monkey peel a banana“? I had not. Then I did. I’ve never peeled a banana the same way again.

“Live and learn”, my mother used to like to say. She summarized all of life’s lessons with those few words. Live long enough, open our eyes and our minds, and we can truly be wise. Even monkeys have a thing or two to teach us.

I haven’t seen my mom for over 10 years now. She set off from Kennebunk Maine on an around-the-world journey in the spring of 2012. She always had a yearning to travel the world, and she always loved solitude. Now she has both. That said, she finds comfort in the company of strangers, and has a fondness for telling stories over a glass of white Zinfandel. Don’t be surprised to find this good natured pirate one day seated across from you in some sea coast town, as you venture about on your own journeys.

With that I’ll say “Happy Mother’s Day” to my mom. I promise that I’m still ”living and learning”. And, Happy Mother’s Day to all of the other mothers out there.

The first disoriented, distorted, and deformed moments following my reluctant emergence from the ignorant refuge of mindlessness brought the disjointed consciousness of ears steadily filling with warm, viscous fluid; while the stench of death and decay burning at my nostrils competed with the nauseatingly gritty, metallic sensation of earth mixed with blood upon my palette, and the bite of winter on my exposed, naked body. Gone was my soft, warm bed, and any desperate hope of returning to the refuge of dreams, as I forced a rasping breath into the remains of my twisted body and emerged fully into the taste and fragrance of my own decay, and the eternal discomfort of a shallow grave.

Parkinson is a freeloader, a liar, and a cheater. He is the worst roommate that you could ever imagine. Well, maybe he’s not the worst. But, he’s pretty bad.

Parkinson is a bully, and he is a horrible practical joker. Like an evil puppeteer he causes my hand and arm to shake, jerk, and make gestures that others may perceive as strange, or even lewd.

He plays his practical jokes at the worst of times. I avoid public restrooms whenever possible. I’d rather piss my pants than be seen standing at a urinal with arms jerking and twitching like a pervert.

He shakes me awake in the middle of the night. He waits until I drift nearly back to sleep, then he shakes me again.

When I do sleep, he whispers in my ear, transforming my dreams into nightmares. In my dreams I’ve died many times.

It’s 2022.

Parkinson and I are now beginning our second decade together.

I am fifty-three.

There will be no party!

Or, maybe there should be?

Despite all of his faults, Parkinson has taught me some valuable lessons in the moments between his pranks.

He has stolen my sleep, leaving me drained, exhausted, and questioning the value of my own existence.

But, that emptiness is soon filled by empathy for those who have lost more.

He has spoken some true words of wisdom amidst the cruelty of his laughter.

I‘ve learned to welcome his nightmares, and the valuable insight they provide into the workings of my own mind.

Through the humiliation of his jokes, I am learning to be humble. His cruelty will teach me (or remind me) to be kind.

Despite how it sounds, I am not brave or courageous. Many times my reactions to this unwanted roommate have been less than healthy.

My family deserves all of the medals, if there are any to be given.

I’ve often made Parkinson the scapegoat for bad behavior of my own.

Perhaps I’ve judged him too harshly.

I‘ve accused him of stealing my life from me. But, maybe he is just showing me the way to a better one?

Am I a better person than I would have been without him?

What will he show me next?

#parkinsons #earlyonsetparkinsons #empathy #humility #parkinsonsdisease

I have to be honest with you. May I be completely honest with you?

Thank you. But……wait…..where are my manners? You must be absolutely exhausted. Why don’t you just put your feet up here and I’ll get you a drink. What’s your pleasure?

Nice choice! Very nice choice! We’ll get along just fine!

I know that you‘re here to interview me, but I’m just too curious for my own good.

Here we are! A nice fresh bottle. On the rocks? Oh, sorry. You’ve probably seen enough rocks for one day, haven’t you? It’s a nice view from up here, but it’s a long way up, and even farther down! I’m including the depth of the ocean of course. Yes. Of course.

Do make yourself comfortable.

So sorry. Standing here holding this bottle like……Wow! I’m at a loss for words. With a wedge of lime? Really? Straight out of the bottle? Okay, if that’s how you like it. No glass? Cheers! Or, more like a dusty cowboy in the spaghetti westerns. Ha, ha straight out of the bottle! Hair of the dog that bit ya! So, sorry. I couldn’t resist. Let’s enjoy our drinks and the view. I do wish you’d let me put some iodine on those wounds. Teddy is the gentlest pup once you get to know him.

Ahhh….No, no that’s okay. I told you to make yourself comfortable.

We all have our own definition of “comfortable“ don’t we?

And “uncomfortable“ too, I suppose.

Would you like some sunscreen?

SPF 50 of course.

Ummm, of course. Of course. You can’t be expected to reach back there.

But, I have to ask.

Join you? No, but thank you. Whiskey bothers my stomach these days. Oh you mean…..I’m not sure….That’s a bit unusual.

My question? Oh right! However did you get up here? No offense but, you don’t seem to be a rock climber. I didn’t say I was. Well, you’re the one who asked me to “join you”. No, it’s fine. I’ll soon be baring my soul to you, so…..

Parachute? Brilliant!

But, however are we going to get you back up into the airplane?

I have to be honest with you. May I be completely honest with you?

Thank you. But……wait…..where are my manners? You must be absolutely exhausted. Why don’t you just put your feet up here and I’ll get you a drink. What’s your pleasure?

Nice choice! Very nice choice! We’ll get along just fine!

I know that you‘re here to interview me, but I’m just too curious for my own good.

Here we are! A nice fresh bottle. On the rocks? Oh, sorry. You’ve probably seen enough rocks for one day, haven’t you? It’s a nice view from up here, but it’s a long way up, and even farther down! I’m including the depth of the ocean of course. Yes. Of course.

Do make yourself comfortable.

So sorry. Standing here holding this bottle like……Wow! I’m at a loss for words. With a wedge of lime? Really? Straight out of the bottle? Okay, if that’s how you like it. No glass? Cheers! Or, more like a dusty cowboy in the spaghetti westerns. Ha, ha straight out of the bottle! Hair of the dog that bit ya! So, sorry. I couldn’t resist. Let’s enjoy our drinks and the view. I do wish you’d let me put some iodine on those wounds. Teddy is the gentlest pup once you get to know him.

Ahhh….No, no that’s okay. I told you to make yourself comfortable.

We all have our own definition of “comfortable“ don’t we?

And “uncomfortable“ too, I suppose.

Would you like some sunscreen?

SPF 50 of course.

Ummm, of course. Of course. You can’t be expected to reach back there.

But, I have to ask.

Join you? No, but thank you. Whiskey bothers my stomach these days. Oh you mean…..I’m not sure….That’s a bit unusual.

My question? Oh right! However did you get up here? No offense but, you don’t seem to be a rock climber. I didn’t say I was. Well, you’re the one who asked me to “join you”. No, it’s fine. I’ll soon be baring my soul to you, so…..

Parachute? Brilliant!

But, however are we going to get you back up into the airplane?

Slowly and gracefully the flower untangled its wind-blown leaves and petals.

She dropped her hands from her ears confidently……..

Foolishly………

At the next stop I calmly stepped from the train. Such a beautiful day.

“Bob White!” “Bob White!”

Do you play cribbage by any chance?

Fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six….

Yes. That’s the one.

A sudden case of the nerves or flu or maybe she was just too damn hot in that heavy sweater. It was stifling in that train.

It’s suddenly like a storm has passed. The pavement is wet as if a rain had fallen while i rode the train.

Once one proves his worth by wearing a crisp suit and a power tie the frantic knitters quickly transform from his harshest critics, to fiercest allies, to helpless puppets.

“April showers bring May flowers“. True, and totally irrelevant.

The train, must forget the train. I gag at the thought.

In school the janitor always rushed quickly to the scene when some poor kid puked.

Chain reaction.

wasn‘t that a game show?

Remember how Richard Dawson used to kiss every woman on family feud?

How the hell did he get away with that?

Thinking about adopting that practice.

Blindsided! The old hag wakes from her nap, likes up a fresh cig and suggests: “You should start with your new friend from the train“ she cackles with cruel delight as I recall the smell and nearly vomit.

Did they so misjudge me? Her?

There was another possibility……but why?

Why would she hate me so much?I am used to it: the sounds of organisms. The flutter of bird wings often wakes me at dawn.

Now, I walk with purpose. But, I don’t know where. I had almost forgotten that I carried her shoes in one hand, her purse in the other.

A thief? No. I consider throwing the shoes in the trash, but sadness overcomes me. I pity the foolish girl.

“kiss her then!” The hag rejoices, sending herself in a coughing fit And me to the closest trash can.

I will return her shoes. I will. The bottoms, the soles are scuffed where she hesitated at the gate. She hesitated…..

I feel your judgement upon me.

Did you not see her eyes? Long and lean, like a cat. Beautifully dangerous.

But the eyes!

I did not touch her. No.

Her shoes fell freely from her feet.

I simply retrieved them from the floor. To slow her pursuit. Of course.

The purse? We all have our flaws don’t we?

Look at the time! Must hurry along.

DONT MAKE ME YOUR SCAPEGOAT!

But time has healed.

She is wired back in her place. Her electronic companions humm and blow warm air at her throat. So unlike hungry hateful dogs.

He puffs contentedly on his pipe.

Cinnamon is the scent of the day.

The blue line goes lots of places, of course. But, unless you live out there somewhere along the beaches north of the city, you might live in Boston for many years, and never have reason to ride the blue line.

I have no reason.

But, we may all do whatever we wish to do, whenever we wish to do it. We don’t have to provide an explanation, or an excuse.

Travel, just to travel. Travel randomly. It’s very liberating to travel without a destination.

I’m enjoying the clickety clack of the blue wheels beneath me.

“Clickety clack”

”Imperfect track”

”Broken back”

The words come to me in the Distinctly feminine, yet handsomely dark voice of Hollister Blue

Is this a musical? I hear her exquisite piano in the distance…..

Transported by my sister’s fingers kindly, softly caressing the keys.

“Off track…..on track……..it’s your choice”

”…….found your voice.”

I wonder: could we write our musical in the key of Km ?

”K minor?”

“There’s no such thing as the key of freakin’ K minor.” She corrects me in her nonjudgmental, sisterly way.

Keyboard cover slamming shut. BAM!

I am sweating profusely now. Do I have a fever?”

Something is suddenly very different. The winds have shifted. A hint of a flowery perfume perhaps?

The scent is familiar. I’m here for the opposite.” Life is unfair.

I fear that I am not alone. When I admired the shine on my shoes, There were others. Smaller.

Familiarity is a threat. I feel threatened.

A light scuff of the soft soles were her only betrayal as she too paused before crossing

“Do not cross this line!”

I had / we all had assumed that we all knew the answer to his unspoken riddle.

Soft, leather-soled shoes moved nearly silently across the pavement. The fairer / kinder gender? Nonsense! Soft leather soles tap softly on the floor of the train car, nervously tapping to some unheard song. Her feet betray her, again.

“Do not cross this line!" He said. We assumed, incorrectly perhaps, that the consequence would be immediate, and irreversibly final. “Fatal?”

Did I say that aloud?”

I could hear the viscous sound of many eyeballs slowly turning in sockets in unison.

I am considering the other passengers. The firing squad of conformity.

All sat knitting. All were knitting the same sweater. Knitting furiously. That was the old hag’s story, her cover.

“Sweater” I considered: A garment so named because it makes the wearer sweat?

To the innocent bystanders she appeared as the kind old granny.

Her voice jabs at me like a knitting needle in my ear.

Knitting, knitting furiously the sweater of the American dream.

The collar was too tight for me.

The click and clack of busy, busy needles is deafening!”

The sound is both a blessing and a curse. It does drown (for the most part) her 40 year veteran smoker‘s cough and her continuous stream of insults.

When deeds become too heavy for the hands of simple men……….

The knitting needles are suddenly knitting in unison.

Louder! Louder!…….………When the pain is too great for the fiercest bear of a father to bear……

All knitting in unison now.

I am suddenly in charge!

I am the conductor!

Of this musical, of this train.

“Mess with me will you?!” I shout out suddenly!

We are strong of muscle, weak of mind…….Foolish beasts!….those are the tasks placed firmly, ingloriously, and rightfully, on the shoulders of a woman.

But they have misjudged me!

The eyes that so recently looked upon me in cruel judgmental scrutiny have since made note of my crisply ironed shirt and new tie. Certainly I am one of THEM!

Again, for the second time today…

the piano is angry now!

my sister’s fingers pounce and pound on the poor defenseless keys.

Rach……Rachma…….

Rachmaciej !

Rachmaciej

Rachmaciej !!!!!

The singer’s name, and voice wash over me simultaneously! So pleased that my memory has not fully failed me….yet

”Calgon, Take me away!“ I scream out as I recline into a giant bath of bubbles and beautiful music.

The riders smile. I’m “preaching to the choir”.

"If you can’t stand the heat…….”

The old saying comes to mind: do not feel too much pity for the piano. It’s a piano. That’s its job.

Holly closes the cover firmly but kindly over the keys. The job is done.

a closing door. The music is gone, but its essence remains perpetually in the air. Comforting.

I feel the same piano respect for any tool, even she of the tapping toe.

I turn to her now. I turn to her now with respect, not pity. She, like the piano, is but a tool.

They are both beautiful tools, to say the least.

I am momentarily disarmed, and disappointed. She is younger, much younger than I expected; and far more beautiful!

Have they so misjudged me?

Have they sent a girl to do a woman’s job? Flowers instead of thorns?

She sits across from me with her feet on the seat. Her legs are pulled tight to her chest, in a near fetal position. Her hands cover her ears in defense from the thunderous knitting needles. In her haste to protect herself from the assault of conformity, judgement, and shame, one of her shoes remains on the floor of the train. Her toes are naked and vulnerable for all to see.

“This little piggy went to market ….”

A most unlikely assassin.

A single, quick, movement and the needles fall silent. The train continues onward. I am the conductor, not the engineer.

A most unlikely assassin?

Do recall the most important lessons of nature: The soft flesh of the mushroom is most delicate. The brilliantly colored tree frog is like a jewel, just begging to be taken. The most beautiful fish in the sea, are the most deadly.

She meets my stare with eyes of fire. The truth of nature is soon revealed.

#Rachmaciej #hollanderblue #psychology #psychological #fiction #abstract

“Of course the gate was unlocked!”

“The gate was always unlocked!”

“The gate will always be unlocked!”

“Anything else would be unacceptable, inappropriate (to say the very least), and unsafe!”

”What?!”

”WHAT?!!”

“WHAT?!!!!!!!”

”I must say that I h…. Very strongly dislike your tendency to sit there in silent judgment!”

”Your eyes grow wider with each word that I speak!”

”You look like a cartoon character!”

”Delightful!” “Which one?”

”I don’t have time for your sloth-like, chess match, new age conversations!”

”Perhaps I should close my eyes, like this. Is this better?”

Many moments pass. I am the only speaker. I speak a simple universal language. All who choose to hear me understand what I have to say. Don’t be silly. I’m not god. I am ever-present though.

“The gate is always unlocked.”

”Yes. Agreed.”

”There is a BIG difference between unlocked and OPEN though.”

”Agreed.”

It is not my place to judge. But, truly it is plain to see the difference.

Do you hear me?

My message grows more pressing the longer you linger here.

Do you hear me?

”But, the other….”

”HA!” “Now your true motive is revealed!” ”Did your pet run away sweetie?” “Oh boo hoo hoo!”

”Surely you encouraged this!” “It is cruel and unusual……to say the least.”

”The gate was open.” “I have no control….”

She sits shaking her head in silent judgment, her eyes closed tight in mockery and defiance. He continues wrapping the scented candles in bubble wrap. Today’s scent: pig shit! it’s a silly little game they’ve invented to pass the time.

TICK,TOCK, TICK, TOCK

Finally you hear! A nervous glance confirms my assumption. I don’t mean to cause you worry;

It’s your fault, not mine, you have to hurry. Do you blame your preacher when you sin? It’s the doctor’s fault when you burn your skin?

Nag, nag, nag!

He finds himself more than a little annoyed by her display of closed eyelids. He lights his pipe in a futile attempt to drown out the scent of coconut, or pig shit. Whatever. It all smells the same here, or now. Of course, all can be , all will be blamed on the passage of time.

She slurps noisily at her third cup of tea. He tapes another cardboard carton closed. She’s nothing more than a filthy animal herself, he decides. One with a tantalizing proportion of eye to face width. Just the right distance from her slender nose. He thinks of himself as an artist and considers the proportions of people’s faces, and those of animal, at great length. He considers the tender closed eyelids, her foolish trust, and unspeakable cruelty with the aggressively sticky packing tape.

Slurp, slurp, slurp.

She has an impressively large bladder. She slurps tea all day long, rarely using the restroom (not that he tracks her restroom usage). It is quite a process to disconnect all of the wires that connect her, that connect him. So……..That’s her super power, he decides. I know different, as does he.

Where does the blue line go, he wonders silently.

“ Obviously, the aquarium,” she responds aloud from behind closed eyelids, sending a chill the length of his spine.

“Pissmeister” he mutters almost beneath his breath, with a smirk as he fetches a new case of candles. What will the new scent be?

“Turtle Vomit” she answers.

Almond. She is correct. He mutters her superhero name again, this time slightly louder, testing her hearing. No response.

He giggles. He is twelve.

A long ago trip to the “Wonderland” dog Track, and learning, With Luke under the guidance of John about trifectas, placing, and showing up. He had only known of winning and losing prior to that trip. The dog track……..such a desolate place. A cruel sport, to be sure. “Here comes lefty!” The announcer called out to the small, familiar crowd of old men, one time gangsters and wannabe gangsters rubbing shoulders. It’s a cute name for a torture device.

“Here comes lefty!” he repeats excitedly. I Look around to see the children. There are no children here. At least in Vegas they Hide the desperation with showgirls and bright lights!

A large square of bubble wrap drifts slowly to the floor as he wrestles the next batch of candles to the table.

her slow breaths indicate that she has fallen asleep.

He raises his foot high, then slams it down hard on for the bubble wrap. With the desired effect: She shrieks, demonstrating his idiocy and her vulnerability simultaneously. He decides that she may not be such a superhero after all, as she leaps from the chair, dragging a small fleet of priceless electronic equipment with her toward the restroom.

His moronic victory (and exaggeration to be sure) is short-lived. His brief chuckles are quickly rewarded by the sound of canine paws and claws on the polished tile floor.

“Play dead!” She mercifully reminds him as she enters the restroom at the far end of the corridor.

He dives to the floor, as there is not enough time to close the door.

“ where does the blue line go after Wonderland,” he ponders aloud.

“Here comes a lefty!“ The announcer repeats.

his face rests in a pile of discarded gambler’s dreams And stolen groceries, as the heat and stench of dog’s breath hovers inches from his throat.

Have you ever noticed the clocks are mysteriously absent in Las Vegas?

Despite their apparent disagreement, he shares our concern about the other.

A bit too quick to take advantage of an unlocked gate.

Someone left the gate open. It's not my fault.

Okay, maybe it wasn't quite open. But, it wasn't latched. I only had to push just a little bit, and

magically.......it opened!

I expected bells, alarms, urgent voices, or the sound of boots running on pavement. I absolutely dread that sound: Hard soled boots colliding with even harder pavement. It's almost always the precursor to sounds of anger, hatred, and pain. But, I did not hear that sound. I did not hear any objectionable sound.

Dogs! The fierce, snarling dogs that I was promised. Where were they?

I will not soil this beautiful memory by mixing it with others. I heard no running boots. I heard no snarling dogs.

"Silence."

A command to myself. A command in that ongoing internal debate and discussion about everything. to silence the fierce and ugly memories of the past. "Keep this memory pure." I say to myself.

But the voice, her voice intrudes. "Shut up you damn fool", was her standard response to all I said. Her voice was jagged like a rusty saw. Hatred mixed with 40 years of cigarette smoke will do that for you.

"Shut up you damn fool."

"SILENCE!"

It worked this time.

Then, I can't help but bring her back in again. I wonder at those 40 years of smoking. Sucking smoke into one's own lungs....for 40 years straight? That, is a special kind of foolish! "WELL aren't you all high and mighty!" the old hag taunted me through the gaps of her rotted teeth.

But, forgive and forget. Turn the other cheek, It's all good stuff. She's gone. Gone, for the moment anyway.

Silence! Other than the squeal of the seldom-used gate hinge, there was nothing that broke the silence as I gazed out onto the cloudless blue sky of a new world.

"But, isn't it just the same old world Bob?"

Silence is his reply.

I sometimes forget that he can't hear me.

An industrial accident left him completely deaf. We used to talk for hours at a time. We talked about everything while slowly getting drunk over hands of cribbage. It just wasn't the same in sign language. A wave of guilt passes over me.

Silence!

How clear the world looked when viewed through the open gate. No wires crisscrossing my view. "Not a cloud in the sky", I heard my grandmother say.

Can this be true? Is this a dream? Will I wake up in a few moments in a place of misery again? Will I begin yet another day with tears of frustration?

Dreams have often been my refuge. But, they have also been so cruel, and so deceptive.

I stood motionless for many minutes with my toes aligned with that white line painted on the pavement. "DO NOT CROSS THIS LINE!" he said crisply and clearly from the other side of that very line as he sipped a steaming hot cup of coffee. It was almost like he was daring me, daring us to cross that line.

What if we did?

Life's greatest question: "What happens after?"

I've no reason to fear gunshots. With a muzzle velocity of thousands of feet per second, I would never hear it.

I hear something quite different. A match struck on the outside of a book of matches. "Shut up you damn...". But, no. It's not her. She lights her cancer sticks with a lighter. She did anyway.

I used to have a large collection of matchbook covers. No kidding. I had one from he playboy mansion even. Shaped like bunny ears.

After the brief sulfur scent I smell pipe smoke, and I know the identity of the striker of the match. I expect to hear him speak. He will invite me inside. He always does.

Not today. Today, he walks away. I know he's shaking his head in sad frustration. Sorrow for himself? Sorrow for me?

I was only 10 years old. I had never been to the playboy mansion. I wonder who went? I did have a pet rabbit once though.

Just a slight push at the gate was all it took. I never thought that it could be so simple. But, I never tried. Did anyone?

A cloudless blue sky.

A silent, sunny summer day.

But, now there is something. There is a sound breaking the silence.

A single bird calls out "Bob White, Bob White." I turn back toward the yard, the past, and strangely, innocently I turn back to see if there is indeed someone named Bob White behind me. It is apparently his day, not mine.

I'll return to my treehouse overlooking the pasture. I've replaced comic books with a thick black book.

There's no Bob White waiting. There is nothing waiting.

Emptiness. Vast emptiness behind me. Did I not just pass the basketball court? Yes, there was that one sad, partially deflated basketball there.

All of this time I've feared his white line. Finally, today I step up. I stand up tall and proud, I push my formerly timid self to the front of the crowd. I push open the gate.

All for the benefit of an empty room.

Abandoned toys have always brought me sorrow. The one red pail left on the beach. Does it truly deserve such a fate? Hours ago it brought such joy, only to now wash out to sea on the next rising tide.

Am I that toy?

"Bob White" he calls again. I will not turn back again. "Bob White. Bob White".

Still I stand at that white line. But, strangely I now wear different shoes. I've decided that the shoe shine was well-worth the five bucks.

Movement on the pavement. The next blue line train is approaching.

I briefly glance at my watch to confirm what I already know to be true.

I am late.

I am always late.

But, they'll wait.

They always do.

I cross the white line into a new day. A piece of cake. NO PROBLEMO!

The next blue line train screeches and grinds its way into the station. Perhaps its the noise of the train, or the thunderous applause in my own head that left me deaf to the sound of my own impending downfall. Only applause did I hear as I broke the rule and crossed the line.

Mine were not the only feet to cross the line that day.

#streamofconsciousness #fiction. #psychological #psychology #mystery #unknown