Winning with Galantamine

WINNING with Galantamine

Barbara pulled into the 24 hour store for her morning coffee just as she had done every morning for almost 20 years. And as she parked her car, her cell phone rang. She recognized the 800 number; medical bill collection. Jesus, I’m going nuts she exclaimed. They hound me incessantly, those bastards, she murmured as she walked into the sore.

 Angelo, the owner smiled. “ Good morning, Barbara.”

Barbara waved hello and walked to the coffee area. “ Jesus, Angelo “ she said, “ all these coffee pots and cups and god knows what else looks more complicated than the space shuttle .” ordered when the collection call would come again.

“ Mocha Brazilian coffee beans dried harming no animals with organic light cream . That’s on the far right.” They both laughed. “ See you tomorrow,” Angelo smiled.

On that morning Barbara drove to her workplace and also drove with wheels turning into a world she could not have dreamed of. Off the highway, around the curbed parking lot and into her usual parking spot. Just another day, Barbara mused. But forces were swirling about her, menacing and fraught with life altering effects.

Barbara walked to the security door , tapped her card hanging from her lanyard and made her way to her station. Barbara works for the county health services in this residential building dedicated to senior citizens. And works the 7AM to 3:30 PM shift. This morning as she does very morning she locked her valuables in her secure small square frame and headed for the staffing desk and the previous night’s activity logbook.

The 7 AM shift is responsible to serve breakfast, insure that all clients are up, dressed and brought to the dining area. Her favorite client is Mrs. Nader. That morning she inspected the log book, noted a few mentions and then was drawn to a citation of Mrs. Nader’s nighttime behavior.

It read: Ms. Nader, awoke night- 2:17 AM- calling out a name??- I not understand- smiling, wiping her forehead- mumbling words or numbers? Placed blankets to shoulders and nodded til sleep, maybe 10 minutes.

Ishie

Barbara walked into Ms. Nader’s room and smiled. Ms Nader was up, dressed and smiled upon seeing Barbara. “ Good morning dear, “ Barbara exclaimed. “ My don’t you look lovely.”

Ms Nader is a short, stout woman with big, heavy white teeth. Her voice had a rhythmical sound, as though soothing an emotion. “ I had a wonderful dream last night,” she whispered. “ It was so real and I was in the dream, I mean really in there, moving things around. I saw something. And I think it was meant for you.” She exclaimed that the dream was very vivid and that she actually could manipulate dream actions.

“ You were asleep, but your mind was awake,” Barbara stated.

“Why yes, “ the woman smiled. “ Exactly! How did you know?”

“ I think what you had what is known as a lucid dream. They are not uncommon, but there’s not a lot science that you know supports such happenings. But it occurs when you are asleep ,you’re dreaming and your mind is active and you believe that you can control things.” Barbara patted her folded hands.

“ But it happened to me! And I have something for you that I found in the dream.”

The woman explained that she was in the kitchen of her parents home , sitting at the small kitchen table and staring at a white lined writing tablet. “ I found a pencil and jotted these numbers down.” She held a small piece of white paper. “ Here this for you.”

Barbara reached out and looked at the paper. There was a four digit number written. “ Huh? What’s this honey?”

“ In my dream my mother came into the kitchen and told me to write down this number and to give it to someone who is kind and good.”

“ Well what am I going to do with this?”

“ Play that number in the lottery. I think it is sacred ground,” the woman directed. Barbara assisted the woman to the dining room and went about her daily duties.

The next morning as Barbara drove to the 24 store her 2003 Nissan Sentra’s engine light came on. “ I’ve got to get a new car, she thought. I need good transportation to get to work for God’s sakes. The lottery winnings will pay for the repairs- what ever they are- but...” She stopped at the 24 store, got her coffee and as she headed for the counter said: “ Angelo, do you know how to place a number in the lottery?”

Angelo popped a surprised smile. “ Huh? Why sure, yunz never play the numbers, what’s up?”

“ I don’t know, a hunch, I guess. But I can’t figure out all those ovals and dates and stuff I have to fill out. Can I give you the number to play?”

Angelo walked over to the lottery machine. “ OK give me the number.”

“ Seven, seven, five, eight.”

He began to punch keys . “ OK how?”

“ How?” Angelo explained the process, straight, boxed, mid day, evening. One day, two, three…

“ Oh my God, “ Barbara laughed. “ So complicated. Well, tonight, 50 cents straight and 50 cents boxed.”

“ Ok, “ Angelo punched more keys and handed Barbara a ticket. “ Good luck for you.”

When Barbara arrived at work, Ms. Nader was already seated in the dining room. “ Good morning Barbs, “ she waved. Barbara walked over to her. The woman motioned her close to her face. “ Did you play the number?”

“ Yes, for tonight.”

“ How?”

“Huh?” It seemed the whole world knew how to play a daily number but herself. She told the woman : 50/50.

“ Good, I’m happy. This state pays $5,000 to one on a dollar bet for a 4 digit number. When that number hits you’ll win more than $2,500 dollars. ” Ms Nader had a wide smile. “ I ‘m having good dreams, Barbara.”

The next morning Barbara pulled into the 24 store and Angelo came running out to greet her. He was jumping, arms flailing. “ You won! You won!” he cried. He ran to the car door, and yanked it open. “ You won!” he screamed.

Barbara sat stunned. “ I won that number? They picked that number!” she said, stunned. Angelo held out his hand and escorted her into the shop. “ Yes “ he called, “ $2,900 dollars. Your number hit straight and you had it boxed!!”

“ Boxed?” But she didn’t have time to question further. Angelo was dancing around the store. “ No one I know wins. No one I know, “ he laughed. “ But now there is you! And I get a commission, too! Where did you get the number?”

Barbara thought for a moment: “ In a dream. I saw the number in a dream, ”. She thought: well it isn’t all that far fetched, right?

Barbara completed required paperwork, and Angelo handed her a check for $2,900. “ This is it.” He said. Her excitement was dampened knowing she’d have to send 50% of her winnings to the medical collection agency. But so what!! She was free of those demonic calls. YEA!!

By the time she got to her workplace, she was still spinning with excitement and could not wait to tell Ms Nader of her good fortune. Naturally she would split the winnings with her, she thought. But I can’t tell anyone about this, she warned herself. But can Ms Nader keep this a secret? What if she can’t? Will I be fired? Is this theft? Oh my! Barbara’s mind was racing pell mell .

Barbara signed in, checked the log book. There were no observations from the previous night warranting further discussions from the outgoing staff. This will be a pleasant day, she thought though anxious of greeting Ms. Nader. What will I say? Jesus! She thought. As she rounded the bright corridor, she headed for Ms. Nader’s room. And as is the usual course, Ms Nader was sitting in her favorite chair, dressed and smiling. Her eyes blossomed upon seeing Barbara.

“ Good morning Ms Nader, my girlfriend, how are you?”

Ms Nader was all smiles. “ Oh my darling, you are a candle in the darkness.” Barbara waited for the obvious question. It never came. Not a scintilla of hint towards the dream , the number and the lottery. But here was Barbara sitting next to Ms Nader with a check for almost $3,000 in her purse.

“ How was your sleep last night?” Barbara asked almost worryingly. It was like forcing a shaken bottle of carbonated soda open, she knew what the response would be.

“ Oh I slept so well, “ she smiled. “ But honey I am hungry!”

Four days passed, then two weeks and then a month. One morning as Barbara drove to the 24 store her 2003 Nissan Sentra’s engine light came on. “ I’ve got to get a new car, she thought. I need good transportation to get to work for God’s sakes. “

Ms Nader had no further remember-able dreams. Barbara thought: no dreams, no numbers, no winning. Oh well she thought, I got lucky just that once and I should be happy at that. And she was- for a while.

But the Sentra’s “check engine light” kept on glowing.

But Barbara was aware of lucid dreams. She knew that there was many over-the-counter supplements that may aide the fluidity and accuracy of lucid dreams. She was aware of the supplements’ advertisements with their distinctive bold square box on the literature stating that the material had not been approved by the FDA. She knew all that.

But what if she could induce a lucid dream in Ms Nader with a harmless OTC supplement? It wouldn’t harm her. After all the FDA wouldn’t allow the sales of these things if they caused harm, right? So over the next few weeks she read all she could uncover about lucid dreams , what supplements may assist; their side effects, if any and especially any possible reaction to Ms Nader’s medications.

Her conclusion: a dose of Galantamine ( an extract from the red and golden spider lily,) just may bring on the lucid dream and hopefully another lottery number. If that didn’t work there was a supplement called Oneirogen . A trip to the local GNC, a review of the merchandise, the purchase a bottle of gel capsules and she headed home . She was fraught with nervousness, but as she read the enclosed supplement’s brochure, she reassured herself Ms Nader would not be in harm’s way.

“ Unless she has a nightmare, “ Barbara worried. That night Barbara plotted how to give the capsule clandestinely. She certainly had ample opportunity. There was always minimal staffing and the cameras only worked intermittently, if at all. Breakfast would be the best opportunity.

She spread a piece of white photocopy paper on the table and practiced opening and emptying the contents using only her right hand. Capsule out of the pocket, thumb and forefinger gripping the capsule and inching the components open. Yes, that’s it, she thought. She opened, spilled the contents ( a creamy colored powder) of 6 capsules and felt very confident of the operation’s success the following morning.

Barbara walked into the 24 store the next morning . “ Angelo, let me buy you a coffee!”

He smiled. “ OK, but only if you give me the number for tonight.” She smiled, but her lips curled. She is a plotter now and little time for delicacies.

“ No number for today, maybe tomorrow.” She mumbled: Little does Angelo know of my scheme. He better pray that I’m successful, it could cost him money. She reached into her pocket and gave Angelo one $100 bill. “ This is for you.”

As she entered the building she stopped in front of a hallway mirror and gazed at herself. Is this the face of a criminal? Why am I doing this? Do I need money so bad as to what… subvert my professional standards? But then the face in the mirror grew dark, the creases around her eyes pronounced. Yes, she told herself you must do this! This is the fate you’ve been searching for. Go and take your rightful station.

Barbara opened her locker and before placing her pocketbook inside, pulled out a small white envelope which contained a capsule of 8 mg ER Galantamine and slipped it into her pocket.

“ Good morning Ms. Nader, how is my girl?” Ms Nader smiled . “ Are we happy today, you look wonderful. Lets get you to breakfast.” And Barbara gripped the handles and turned the wheel chair towards the dining room. She angled the chair into a slot at a round table and began to read the menu to Ms. Nader.

“ Oh the fresh fruit with apple sauce and a muffin sounds wonderful. What do you think?” Barbara asked. Ms Nader nodded with a smile.

The staff brought Ms Nader’s breakfast to the table. And as the staff person brought the plate to the table, Barbara reached out and placed the plate before her. “ Gee I thought we ordered a muffin.” she said and stood up from the table and began to walk towards the kitchen.

“ Barbara, “ Ms Nader called, “ The muffin is on the plate!”

But Barbara kept on walking towards the kitchen and with her right hand pulled out the capsule and as she had practiced , poured the contents onto the applesauce. She stopped, turned and headed back towards the table. “ I must be losing my eye sight!” she smiled, positioning the plate in front of Ms Nader. Barbara stirred the applesauce. “ Here you go darling.”

Barbara had an erratic sleep. It was only natural she assured herself, having committed a breach of… protocol?… ethics?… The next morning she was out of her apartment, started the car and that damn “service engine light soon” was bright and demanding. A stop for coffee and she entered her building. She completed the usual shift start duties, and especially wanted to read the night log. She flipped to the previous evening’s activity and gasped!

She read the following: Ms. Nader, awake night- 2:17 AM- call out name not understand mumbling sleep in a few minutes.

Ishie

Barbara walked to Ms Nader’s room . She didn’t know what to expect- if anything. Ms Nader was all smiles. “ You look wonderful this morning,” Barbara smiled.

“ I feel wonderful, honey. Just wonderful.”

“ Did you have a good sleep?”

“ I had one of those number dreams. It was so real.” Ms Nader held a small piece of paper. “ Here.”

Barbara’s heart was pounding. What had she done? What fantastic pot of gold had she discovered? But she was stroked with fear, fraught with guilt. She reached out and slipped the paper into her fingers and read a series of numbers: 24,11, 09, 22, 52. With a forced shrug and crippled smile she asked: “ Oh honey what are these?”

Ms Nader nodded and seemed to ramble words before she said: “ Lucky numbers , honey. I think this is your lucky day. ”

With her shift ended Barbara raced to Angelo’s 24 store with the numbers and parked near the front door. And as she turned off the engine , unbuckled her seat belt she hesitated. And wondered. What’s going on? There’s this heavy stream of consciousness carrying me forward. She exited the car and greeted Angelo. He was all smiles.

“ You have another number, a winner Barbara ?” He mused. “ Oh my Barbara has good dreams. You’ll make us all rich!”

“ Yes, I hope “ She handed the paper to him. “ What should I do with these numbers?” Angelo stared at the five numbers . “ You dreamed these numbers? You dreamed a Cash Five play.” He explained the game , the odds and most importantly the payoff. Barbara reached into her pocket book and yanked out a ten dollar bill.

“ Here please buy this number , straight and boxed ”she said. Angelo once again explained the game. He told her the only option was to buy 10 $1 tickets. “ Ok Angelo, you know what to do.” Barbara left the store, tickets in hand and her face was smoky red from the “check engine light” on her dashboard.

The next morning Barbara pulled into the 24 store. Angelo came running out. Jumping, dancing, clapping and almost hysterical! His face was ignited! Angelo came up to her door and began to pound the roof, the window and his head. His voice was muffled, sort of suffocating as Barbara shut off the engine and opened the door. BANG!! Angelo’s lips parted and his voice quivered tinged with ecstatic news.

“ YOU WON!!! YOU WON. Now I know a winner- two times, “ he screamed. His fingers twitched, opened the door and pulled Barbara out of the car. “ Oh my God, “ he called, “ I have a miracle right in my home!” He gave her a huge hug and they made their way into the store. “ My wonderful dreamer!” He called out to the world.

Angelo hand carried Barbara to the lottery machine area. He rubbed his eyes, curled up his forehead. He slapped the lottery machine, and giggled. “ Barbara, your numbers won the drawing – you won $8,000 per ticket. That’s $80,000 !!! I’m screaming.” And he was.

Barbara stood there in silence. Stunned, happy, jolting with emotion knowing that every person who plays the lottery dreams of winning. But was her pot of gold tainted? She creamed: “ YEA!!!!!!”

Her heart raced. There in her hand was the wining number- 10 times over.

A crowd had gathered around the coffee area and the check-out counter. Voices snapped, eyes glanced and Angelo quickly processed their purchases and shuffled the gathered out of the store. Barbara was standing at the lottery station , quiet and pensive.

“ What’s going on?” she asked.

“You are winning! This is your time, dear girl, “ He said in a clear and confident tone. “ Do not question. Do not be afraid; your fate cannot be taken from you; it is a gift.”

“Joel Osteen?” she asked.

“ No Dante.” And then he whispered: “ If you don’t mind, can I play the same dream number if you get one?”

“ Yes, my friend.” she said knowing well that another number was just around the Galantamine corner.

Barbara would pace herself and Ms Nader. There are of course side effects from Galantamine . And besides, winning on a continuous basis would certainly the draw the attention of lottery officials. So Barbara would wait for some days and then apply the drug and await the dream. By this time Barbara had bought a new Ford Taurus, some clothes and put the balance into her savings account. She also set aside some money for taxes A couple more fruitful dreams, Barbara thought and I’ll buy a house.

A couple of months passed and Barbara thought the time had come to create the number dream. But one morning as she read the daily log, she took a breath. Ms Nader was relocating this day to a new home closer to family in another state. Oh well she shrugged, everything is OK. I am not a greedy person.

But that night as she sipped a glass of wine she stopped and said: “ Why don’t I take the drug, maybe it will work on me!” She placed a pad and pen on the bed stand- just in case. The next morning she awoke and glanced at the pad. Her eyes opened wide, her heart began to pound. There on the pad was a series of numbers. She bolted upright and gripped the pen, her hand shaking. “ Oh my God, “ she stuttered. “ What have I done? What is happening to me? Am I out of control?”

The next morning she raced for the lottery machine station. Angelo was speaking with a customer when he noticed her. His eyes fumed, his chest heaved. And he hurried to Barbara and glanced at the piece of paper. In a low, pensive almost whispered tone, he said: “ Another dream, Barbara“ They both looked at each other and said nothing.

“ I’m nervous, Angelo. I’m nervous because I may win and I’m nervous that I may not win. “ She shook her head. “ I should be so lucky to have this problem. But my friend,” she said in a matter of fact manner:” how should we play this.” And handed the paper to Angelo.

“ A four digit number. Jesus! We should play it the same way we did back then. Barbara I’m shaking. ” Angelo stood at the lottery machine ready to punch her tickets ( and his own.) He looked at Barbara. “ What do you think? Cause as I asked ...” his voice trailed away and then in a whisper: “ I’m playing this too.”

“ 10 $1 tickets 50cents box and 50 cents straight. Go.” That night Barbara sat in her kitchen and promised that this number would be the last . She was fraught with uncertainty and contemplated watching the live drawing. But the drawing occurred @ 11:00PM and she was too tired .

The next morning she knew she had won. She just knew it. And sure enough as she pulled into the 24 store lot, Angelo came racing and banging out the door. His wide, wide ecstatic grin said it all. “ I can’t do this anymore, “ she mumbled as Angelo opened the car door and gave her a big hug.

When she entered there was a group of people mulling around the lottery machine and all turned to gaze at the winner. Barbara heard whispers as Angelo escorted her to the counter. ; “ that’s the lady!”; “ she’s won like 10 times!” She demurred and looked away.

“ Can I talk to you Angelo, alone.” He brought her around the counter and into a supply room.

“Angelo, I have to tell you how I am having these dreams. I just have to tell someone. Can I?” She began to shiver and tears popped onto her cheeks. She told him about the Galantamine and pronounced it : gal-anta-meen; and how it may induce lucid dreams ; And that she had taken some capsules that resulted in dreams and the winning numbers.

“ But I am not doing this again. I-we- have had a good run and it is over.” Barbara said confidently. “ I can’t live like this.”

Angelo gave her a hug. “ You are my special dreamer, I love you and that’s it!” They reemerged into the store , conducted lottery business and as Barbara was heading toward the door, Angelo said: “ How do you spell that? That galantameen stuff.” Angelo held out a pen and paper. Barbara wrote “Galantameen.”

“ It’s gal-anta-meen, Angelo. You can get it at any CVS.”

Weeks passed then months, and every morning Barbara stopped by the 24 store, hugged Angelo and they parted knowing that she held a special power that could make people rich.

“Especially me,” thought Angelo.

Funny how small inconsequential happenings can change one’s determination. Barbara now had new neighbors in her apartment building. One had a barking dog and another smoked cigarettes and played loud music. One night as she sat sipping a wine she thought “ I should dream again, win and buy a house. Get out of this dump. And why not?”

The next morning she smiled at Angelo and motioned him to come closer. “ I’m gonna try and dream tonight. I thought you should know.” She held his hand. “ We have to prepare for this.”

But Angelo was prepared. He knew the day would come that Barbara would want to have the dream. He, too had taken galantamine on numerous occasions, but to no avail. Nothing. And he also knew of the potential side effects. And he knew that it was Barbara who held the secret.

And Angelo was prepared. For as he poured Barbara a cup of coffee he emptied 4 capsules of the powder into her coffee. “ Jesus, give us those number dreams.”

That night Barbara emptied the contents of a single capsule into her wine glass, sipped, placed a pen and pad next to her bed, brushed her teeth and fell fast asleep.

A week passed and no Barbara. Angelo began to ask about her to his customers. And then one morning, he was told that Barbara had died in her sleep. She had suffered a seizure. Angelo’s face turned ashen white. Oh my god, he breathed . But he was hooked. A lucid dream had become Angelo’s rainbow gold.

Suddenly 2 police officers entered the store.

“ Are you Angelo?” one asked. Angelo nodded. “ Do know a Barbara Pinto?”

Angelo nodded. “ Yes she comes in here every day and she has been winning the lottery.”

“ OK, you’re the one. We’ve been trying to find an Angelo . We found this note next to her bed.” The officer handed Angelo a copy of a handwritten note. It read: ANGELO LUCID DREAMS SHOULD BE A GIFT, NOT A CURSE.

“ Do know what this means?” the other officer asked.

Angelo shrugged. “ No, but did she write down anything else. Numbers?”

“What?”

The officers left the store and as Angelo was filling the coffee cup dispensers, a regular customer, small and elderly, walked over to Angelo. “ Angelo, we hear that the lady lottery winner saw numbers in her dreams. I have vivid dreams, you know but I never seen numbers. Always wished I did.”

Angelo asked if she’d like a cup of coffee- on the house.

Ed Koch ( Mr Mayor) taught me how to shave

Ed Koch taught me how to shave

 

My girl friend would pat my face after a long embrace and whisper erotic words and sounds. She was absolutely infatuated by my shaven face. ”Oh God, Jack” she would moan, “ how do you get your face so soft and close shaven? How?”

One afternoon she had 7 girl friends stop by our apartment and caress my cheeks. I sat there and asked that they rub my left cheek ; an old “Firing Line “ was on channel 2 and Don Rickles was the guest. TV Guide noted that Rickles had the cleanest shave in Hollywood and Vegas. In fact much of his act was created as he lathered his face and took the straight edge to that Yiddish jaw.

“Oh hello Frank I’m available to lick stamps tomorrow afternoon. And, why Frank you look like you’re ready for chain gang duty with that sear sucker suit . Oh I forgot, you just got released. Someone get him some clean clothes. “ ( The chin is the hardest part to shave evenly)

“Well what do you know, look who’s sitting right down there!” ( Gotta puff out those cheeks for the razor blade) “Frankie Valley is here and … Frankie duck! You are walking under the chandeliers.” ( Gotta get the upper lip clear of all whiskers.)”

Rickles could shave with the best of them. It was rumored that he taught Richard Nixon how to shave. “ I told make- up that you needed a shave before that first debate. But will a Quaker listen to a Jew?”

But Mayor Koch could have taught Rickles a thing or two about shaving .

You see back in the 1970’s when OPEC had established a boycott of US oil imports, the country was in a serious and desperate state. Mr. Mayor appeared on TV to discuss ways to curtail our energy uses.

“ I don’t let the hot water run continuously as I shave, Instead I fill the sink with hot water and dip and clean my razor as I shave. This will save on the cost to heat water.”

I was astounded. I had never thought about filling the sink and cleaning the razor in the pond-ed water. By doing so my razors kept their sharp edge and achieved – on a daily basis- professional and precise removal of unwanted beard stubs.

And thanks to the Mayor I perform the closet shave in history. Or as Rickles would say: “ Ed, you are clean shaven but for heaven’s sake put some talcum power on that noggin.”

Jeff Bezos has sewn me shut

JEFF BEZOS HAS SEWN ME SHUT

So Amazon Prime guarantees my delivery- free of charge- in two days from the placement of the order. Really? Why the rush, I ask. Take your time. Be sure my product is properly packed, the parcel box adequately sized, the bar code clearly affixed and once all this activity has been verified by your finest Parcel Person, put it on the rolling racks and send my correct package into the semi-trailer for delivery.

But please. Don’t rush . My recent order of lined office pads is not a life or death struggle. But if I could find the clerk who packed them well… there could be a struggle .In John 8:51 Jesus said: “ I tell you the truth, if anyone keeps my word, he will never see death.” Well Jesus never met the mack who packed my pads!

You see my pads came and every sheet was glued to the next. I couldn’t open a single sheet! Blue lines and red margins just blurred into a 1/2” of useless particle board. I thought it may have been a fluke so I ordered a set of Motor Trend magazines from 1973 to 1983. And well you guessed it! Each page of each edition was glued shut! Even the Chevy Vega article was unreadable. I was able to see a few words , like, “ junk”, “worst car” horrible design” and “ Chevrolet company demise.”

Now I am a forgiving soul so I thought I’d tempt fate once again. I ordered a 64 piece set of Tupperware containers. I opened the box and you guess it! Every container and its “ burp” cover was glued shut. They were utterly useless. ( Like JW Booth’s last words.)

I was furious and a tad alarmed. Amazon is such a huge company I can’t believe that someone inside their many fulfillment centers has a glue gun/glue paint brush and is determined to ruin my order! Take Amazon’s Memphis TN center. It has 42 miles of conveyors; processes over 160,00 packages per hour and over 265,00 documents per hour. And you mean to tell me that someone in that cavernous metal framed building singles out my packages!? This is unbelievable, so tragic and well alarming.

“ There he is!” the Parcel Person giggles as he spies my package, bobbing along the conveyer belt sandwiched between an Attend diaper and Feta cheese order. “NORMAN LITWINOVICH OF LEICESTER, MASSACHUSETTS, YOU ARE CURSED!”

Needless to say, I was ready to pick up the phone and register my disdain. But the rotatory dial was glued shut. I couldn’t even get to to “A” for God sake. So I was determined to write a letter of dispute and … you guess it. My typewriter’s keyboard was glued shut! Even with a hard fisted bang of the “Q” button I couldn’t type a darn word, let alone letter. The “)” worked, but what about the beginning “(“ ? And what if what I’m writing is germane to the sentence. Why would I use the parentheses?

That was the nail in Bezos’ coffin. I hand wrote a letter and with envelope and stamp sealed, I headed for my front door. I pulled and yanked but could not open the door. Strange I thought. And upon closer examination I discovered that my door was glued shut!!!

I was determined to mail this letter and headed for the window…

END

HEGET The Frog Girl

Heqet

The Frog Girl

Sometimes in life amidst the tangled web of existence an odd turn of events mangles what should have been a simple, routine and pleasant moment of childhood. A young girl enamored with all things amphibian ( toad and frogs, etc.) would soon have her idealistic, small stream collection activities hurled furiously into the uncharted.

It was a wonderful Saturday day in the Sheehan household. Dan the father had just got promoted, Mary the mother had received tenure as a 8^th grade science teacher in the public school system. Bills were being paid, vacations planned and the road to happiness seemed to emanate from their driveway to the world. Dan and Mary have two children Michael, 14 at 14 and Molly, 12. They live in a two story brick house in Sewickley , PA a small Borough just north pf Pittsburgh Pennsylvania on a cul de sac street. Their lot is tree lined and has a lovely narrow brook that crosses along the rear property line. This is where Molly spends most of her time.

And where a fissure in the universe appears.

It is supper time. “ Molly, give those frogs a break. Come on in , wash up its time for supper, “ the mother calls.

Molly is fixated on her frog catching activity. She has a red pail with a fine screened fishing net at the ready. “ I almost have a new one!” she says. “ Just a moment mommy.”

“ Now, honey , Dad will be home in a few minutes and he’s taking Michael to soccer. The frogs will be there tomorrow. I promise.”

“OK” Molly drops her utensils and runs towards the back door. She heads for the sink, washes her hands and sits at the assembled table next to her brother . Dan arrives home and he and Mary serve dinner.

“ Well Molly our resident herpetologist how was your day?” The father asks.

“ It was great! I caught some new frogs and a toad peed-ed on me.” Everyone laughed.

Molly, the mother notes: “ Do you know the derivative of the word herpetologist?” Yes, its’ from the Greek word “ to creep.”

Michael says: “ Now that’s creepy!”

The mother looks over at Molly’s right hand. “ What is that?” Molly : What? “ On your hand , is that a bruise ? “ She takes Molly’s hand and looks more closely. There is a small brown abrasion on Molly’s right index finger knuckle. “ I think it ‘s wart.”

“ A wart?” Dan interjects . “Kids don’t get warts.”

"Maybe its all from the frogs she’s handling.” Michael laughs.

Molly states emphatically that it is an old myth that frogs cause warts. And that the myth probably arose from the fact the certain frogs and toads have skin bumps that look like warts. No, warts are a human virus and can be treated.

“Well maybe we should take Molly to the dermatologist for a check-up,” Dan suggests.

Molly stops eating and stares at her hand. “ A wart uh? A badge of honor for a herpetologist.” Everyone laughs.

The next morning Molly is out the back door and at the edge of the brook where she nets a small deep green frog. She plops the frog into the pail, adds some water and some algae andcaps the pail with the net so the frog can’t jump out. The frog furiously unhinges its rear legs and catapults itself high into the net. Again and again.

“ Molly. Jesus, are you at it again, so soon? Some on in and have breakfast.” Her mother calls.

Michael says: “ Molly, is that another wart on you right hand?” All eyes zoom to Molly’s hand and sure enough another measurable skin contusion has appeared, this time on Molly’s right thumb knuckle.

“ Jesus, “ the mother inspects and exclaims. “ Maybe we should take Molly to a dermatologist.”

“ Are the frogs causing these?” Molly asks.

Mary laughs. “ No just a happenstance event. But we’ll get them OK’d” Later that day Mary Googles warts and sought out home remedies. The list was long and kinda comical; rub wart with garlic; cover with a paste of baking powder and caster oil; crush vitamin C tablets and cover; soak in pineapple juice. Mary wonders: where can you buy Cater Oil? Wegmans?

Latter that day, Molly and her mother are reading together when Mary spots another wart , this time on Molly’s left hand’s index finger knuckle. She began to wonder and worry. Could Molly have an invasive human virus? If so, how, why? A trip to a dermatologist was in order.

Molly and her mother arrived at the doctor’s office later Monday afternoon. Dr Wells, the dermatologist, inspected Molly’s hands. Two more warts had appeared. There were now 5 measurable warts.

No family history? None. No family vacations to third world nations? Please. Hard to account for this level of infections in a young girl. Very strange. “Let’s do some blood work and in the meantime lets’ get this prescription filled: it contains salicylic acid but a much stringer dose that over the counter products. If this doesn’t help we can always freeze them off with liquid nitrogen. But we need to find out what is causing this outbreak. I want to see Molly in two weeks. If those contusions worsen and I mean increase in numbers ,call me right away.”

In the span of three days, Molly had sprouted four more warts all on her hand knuckles. The father became alarmed. “ We have to call the doctor. This is not normal. What about the blood work. Have we heard?” All conversations were secreted away from Molly.

The phone rang it was the doctor’s office. As soon as Dan got home Mary was at the door. “ He want to see us right away. We have an appointment for tomorrow @ 8:30.” OK I’ll call work, Dan replied.

They arrived at the Doctor’s lobby were immediately escorted to the his office. The Dr. held a manila legal size file. And after greetings, the Dr. closed the door and seemed to hesitate as he walked back behind his desk.

“I’m in uncharted waters here ,” the Dr. began, “ We have Molly’s blood work and well there’s an issue, that as of now I am unfamiliar with. I’ve ordered more exacting tests of Molly’s blood and have requested consultations with a Hematologist.”

“ A blood specialist?” asked Dan “ Is Molly sick?”

“ Ah no, no, please don’t raise unnecessary alarms.” He said in a soft re-assuring voice. The Dr. spread out (3) 8”x 11” colored slides of what appeared to blood cells. Dan and Marty bumped up against the desk staring down at the exhibits.

Pointing to the exhibits with a pencil erasure the Dr. said:. “This is one of Molly’s red blood cells. Do you see the dark dot in the center of the cell? “

“ I see it, yes I do, “ Mary said.

“That dark dot is a nucleus. Mrs. Sheehan, human red blood cells do not contain a nucleus.” Silence gripped the office. The Sheehan’s were speechless. The Dr. was speechless. All three sat staring at the red blood cell and that damn tiny spot in it’s center. Suddenly an intercom rang.

“ Dr. ...”

“ I asked that no...”

The voice proclaimed: “ It’s Dr. Barnstardt.”

“Oh, please put him through.”

The connection was crystal clear. “ Hello Dr. Wells....” There was a measurable pause in Barnstardt's voice. “ Are we alone?”

“ No the patient’s mother and father are sitting here with me. The three of us want to hear what your findings are.” Dan and Mary nodded agreement.

“ Dr Wells, I… I… well first thing first: where were these blood samples taken?”

“ Right here in this office. Control of the ownership chain was rock solid.” Dr Wells stated.

Barnstardt: “ Very well. So there is zero chance of any contamination?”

“ None. Zero. But Jesus you never know.”

Barnstardt: “ Very well . The blood samples I evaluated contain...” his voice trailed off. ” Dr. Wells, perhaps we should consult with each other before we discuss this matter with the parents.”

Dan ‘s voice began to quiver, his lower lip sputtering. “ Doctors we are here, that’s our little girl and we are hear for answers.” He seemed to clench his fist and Mary rubbed his shoulder.

Barnstardt: “ Folks I’ve never seen human blood like this before. Ever. Not at Harvard Medical where I interned, not at John Hopkins where I did my medical studies. There had to have been contamination, Dr Wells. Before we proceed with any further diagnosis, I’d request the patient come to our hospital offices and let’s do some more blood tests but under a more controlled procedure. The blood showed no trace of a buffered tri-sodium citrate solution that I think should be employed . “

Dr Wells: “ Folks, Dr Barnstardt and his team are the best there is. Lets get our little girl over there as soon as possible.”

Mary spoke first. “ The scientific method of investigations should be followed. Lets get Molly into Dr Barnstardt’s offices and go from there.”

Dan asked:” Is Molly sick? And if so what is her prognosis? I mean how is she sick? As of this moment what does the blood analysis reveal? “ There was silence .“ SOMEONE SPEAK UP!”

Barnstardt: “ I think, Dr Wells, that there had to have been some sort of contamination of the patient’s blood sample. There just has to have been, damn it.” His voice, too was rising.

Mary thought: Throughout all this conversation , I sense that the doctor’s are fraught with worry. There’s a palatable tension in the room. And it is not coming from Dan or myself.

It was decided that Molly would be taken to Barnstardt’s offices the day after tomorrow where a more thorough and chain of command sample evaluation would be undertaken.

“ Thank you Dr Barnstardt.”

And as Dan and Mary headed towards the office door. Dan turned and looked at Dr Wells. “ Dr you were going to tell us what those dark spots in Molly’s red blood cells were. I know you were.”

Dr Wells shuffled his feet, stared down at the exhibits. “ I’m not an expert, but those red blood cells on these images appear to have amphibian characteristics.”

“ Say what?” Dan and Mary both called out in unison. “ Amphibian characteristics? WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?”

Dr Wells: “ Those red blood cells with the nucleus are the cells of a frog. Contamination is the only reasonable answer. Good day and we’ll see you soon.” He took a breath. “ Dr Barnstardt will resolve this matter, I promise.”

On the ride home, Dan spoke first. “ Jesus, does Wells have a blood collection and diagnosis contract with an aquarium?”

Mary sat silent and did not let on to Dan what she had witnessed the previous Sunday night.

In the days before the appointment with Dr Barnstardt, more warts were observed on Molly’ s hands. By the night before the appointment every finger on Molly’s hands had a wart , some fingers especially the index fingers had two or three. Molly didn’t seemed to mind, though.

Michael noted this behavior and asked Molly why she wasn’t worried or embarrassed about the warts. They certainly were noticeable.

“ I don’t know, “ Molly answered, staring at her hands and the warts. “ I don’t know why.”

Mary sat at the kitchen table . “ Molly make sure you get a good night’s sleep , we have a big day tomorrow with ice cream at the end.” She stared at Molly’s eyes.

“ Molly, look at me.” Molly looked at her. “ Your eyes, why… there not blue any more. Huh? They are green and your pupil ...”

When they arrived at Dr Barnstardt's office a team of white coated personnel were at the glass door entrance to greet them. “ We are the Sheehan family.” Yes we know someone spoke and soon the team was surrounding Mary , Dan and Molly. The closed circle began moving the Sheehans out of the lobby and through white doors and down a bright corridor and into a laboratory room.

Drs Barnstardt and Wells soon came into the room. “ Good morning Molly and mom and dad, we are happy you are here and we are anxious to get you home.” Dr Barnstardt smiled.

“ Mommy, why aren’t I scared? I should be , shouldn’t I?” Molly asked.

Dr Wells spoke: “ Of course not Molly, you are an expert in giving blood!” Everyone laughed.

Dr Wells led Molly to a Guernsey where a nurse propped Molly’s head on a pillow, draped her with warm, white quilted blankets and brought her right arm out from under the blanket. He and Barnstardt slipped on vinyl gloves. Wells drew a rolling table near to Molly’s arm and adjusted the table height. All the while Dr Barnstardt was buying himself collected empty vials from voluminous shelves. Each vial had a different colored cap; blue, red, purple ( 2 caps), white.

Dr Barnstardt placed the vials on the table aside of Molly . “ How come they have have different colors?” Molly asked.

“ Well each color means that when we take a tiny drop of your blood , we’ll be sure that we take as little as possible. Because your blood is precious! Normally we have a phlebotomist do this procedure, folks, but Dr Wells and I thought we’d collect Molly’s blood and get the three of you home right away. I hear that ice cream is in store for you, no?”

“ Yes,” Molly smiled. Dr Wells glanced down at Molly’s hand as Barnstorm poked to find a service vein on the underside of her arm adjacent to the elbow area. He counted the warts that have appeared since her last visit. He drew a heavy breath and glanced around hoping no one had heard him.

The doctor strapped a small tourniquet above Molly’s elbow and began tapping her arm for a suitable vein. “ Well Molly, here’s a strong vein. Strong like you!” And with that Dr Barnstardt pricked her skin. “ Molly if this needle was any more smaller I’d need a microscope to see it. Right? We call it a #22; someday you’ll be 22.”

All five vials were filled to their pre determined levels, gauze pad and tape placed on Molly’s arm.

Mary pulled Dr Barnstardt to the side. She whispered: “ Check out her eyes. They look strange.” Barnstardt smiled and tapped Molly’s hand while staring into her eyes. His face turned ashen. Molly’s pupils appeared to becoming oval shaped.

Dr Wells walked them to the entrance door . “ I’ll call with the results as soon as we have them,” he smiled. Bending down to Molly: “ And you little brave girl, enjoy that ice cream”

Four days passed. Then five. Mary was anxious, Dan was getting upset, Michael was hungry and Molly was outside playing along the stream bank. “ I would like to collect all the frogs I find, but that wouldn’t be right, “ Molly thought. “ I have to feed them , too. What would I feed them? Flies? How would I catch a live fly?” Suddenly a common house fly landed on her knee and in a flash of a millisecond Molly scooped-it up into the palm of hand and then pondered: Now how did I do that?

Later that day Mary and Molly were sitting on the back porch. “ Molly I watched you playing in the yard a while back and I saw you jumping.”

“ Ma all kids like to jump.”

“ But you weren’t jumping like a little girl, you were really jumping. I mean high in the air!”

“ Oh Mommy, I was just playing leap frog.”

The phone rang. It was Dr. Barnstardt. “ Do you need a babysitter for your children? We’d like to meet with you and your husband as soon as you can arrange. Tomorrow morning, say 8:30AM?””

They arrived at Barnstardt’s office at 8:15 and were immediately escorted down the hallway and into Barnstardt's office where they were greeted by four personnel; Barnstardt, Wells and two women clad in white medical cloaks. All four had name tags clasped to their collars.

“ Folks these two doctors are from the Nation’s offices of the Center for Disease Control and Prevention. They specialize in well, unique cases of ...” His voice trailed off. “ Of... Dr Heilman ...”

One of the women stepped forward. She was tall, angular and about 50 years of age with reddish hair, slightly streaked with gray worn as a bun atop her head. In a stern, pointed almost mathematical manner, she began: “ Mr and Mrs Sheehan, we were called by Dr Barnstardt because we specialize in potential communicative blood- borne diseases that may constitute what we in the profession call: surpassing the species barrier. That is a mingling of differing species... . “ She stopped and looked to the to the woman jotting notes. “ Blood. Molly , somehow, some way, under some almost unimaginable situation has amphibian blood in her body and those amphibian blood cells are co-mingling with Molly’s.”

No one gathered said a word.

Mary began to cry, softly at first and then a constant heaving of her chest. “ Well what is the prognosis? Is she going to turn into a half human/half frog freak show item?”

Dr Wells spoke: “ Oh my , Mary , there isn’t a scintilla of that outcome. We just think a parasite or something similar somehow entered her system- a scratch, a bruise any ripple on the skin...”

“ Like a wart,” Mary proposed almost randomly. There was silence.

Dr Heilman: “ Here’s what we want to do. Place Molly in an isolation room under our supervision for a period of time….”

“ How long? School comes back to session in about 4 weeks. And where is this room? Who is in charge? ” Mary snapped. “ Dr Barnstardt, are you OK with this? Is there a danger to Molly?”

Dr Barnstardt: “ Yes I think this is the best approach for Molly’s sake. He proceeded to discuss what the professions calls: a cytokine storm. This occurs when a virus ( non human as from a bat or mosquito) has entered the human body and our immune system immediately begins to confront the invading virus, and becomes hyper-activated and instead of killing the virus it actually harms the patient.

“ And Molly seems just fine. Like a normal 12 year old. So we don’t see this as a similar medical condition. Which has given us great relief.” Dr Heilman smiled.

Mary looked to Dan. “ Dan what do you think?”

Dan brought his right hand out towards the assembled doctors palm side down. “ I think this infection approach and its safeguards is correct. Maybe I , too should be put in isolation. Look.” The doctors crowded around Dan’s hand. “ Warts,” Dan whispered. Mary sprang up from her chair stared at Dan’s wart- encrusted hand and began to sob uncontrollably.

“ This is a freaking nightmare!” She screamed.

Dr. Heilman: “ Jesus.”

Dr Barnstardt reached for the intercom. “ Blood station ready- STAT!”

The blood results determined that Dan , too, had the now familiar black dot in the center his red blood cells. His blood contained amphibian blood. Dr Barnstardt stared at Dan’s eyes. The pupils were clearly becoming oval shaped.

30 years later.

The phone rang. “ Hello?”

“ Michael Sheehan?”

“ Yes this is Mike. Can I help you?”

“ Mr. Sheehan, I am a reporter with the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, Dave Medine. I am writing a piece on Doctor William Barnstardt who recently died. Does his name sound familiar to you?”

Michael took a breath. “ I guess. Why have you contacted me?”

“ The family has given me full access to all his papers.” The voice seemed to hesitate to continue. “ Mr. Sheehan the doctor treated your family many years ago .”

“ But all that’s confidential. Again, how did you find me?” Michael stood up and began to pace the kitchen.

“The doctor kept a personal diary and the family has given me full access. He never used real names, but on page 134 of his diary , he slipped and alluded to the “Sheehan amphibian dilemma.” The reporter asked if he wanted Michael to continue. The reported alluded to the many rumors that circulated those many years ago about a young girl infected with amphibian blood.

“That’s bull crap, nonsense and I think I’ll hang up.”

“ WAIT!” the reporter snapped. “ I know the CDC was involved and we can get a FOIA in a half an hour.”

“ OK, tomorrow , I’ll meet you at the Eat n’ Park on Ohio River Blvd. 10 AM.”

Michael somehow sensed a moment of relief, of that seminal weight being lifted from his shoulders. Should I tell him? But why? For what purpose? Molly has been through enough. But so haven’t I, he agreed.

The reporter stood in the entrance way and watched as Michael pulled into the lot. The reporter was probably Michael’s age , early 40s, black parted hair and long sideburns. Hand out stretched, “ Hello Michael. Thanks for seeing me. “

They sat at a booth, ordered a cup of coffee. Michael was hesitant. “ I’ve been holding this nightmare for 30 years. It has ruined my life. I never got married, never dated really. You confront something so horrible and unimaginable, well it wrangles your emotions and spirit into mush.”

The reporter wrote furtively into his lined notebook. “ Nightmare.”

“ Oh yes, that’s the word. But you see, the disease passed me by. But every morning you look for the signs. You fear looking into a mirror.” He sipped his coffee. “My mother was also free of the disease, but she died 9 years ago.”

“ The horror, what was the horror, Michael?”

“ Lets go for a ride. My car.” They left the restaurant and Michael opened the passenger door, removing a small white envelope from the seat. Down Rt 65 and onto Rt 79 north bound heading for the Meadville exit. As Michael drove he told the reporter all he could remember; the blood work, the discovery, the father being infected ; Heilman’s efforts to find an isolation station near to Mary; his father’s death from the infected blood two years ago.

“ I couldn’t locate Dr Wells . Heilman I’ll go through the CDC. “ the reporter said. “ Any clue where I can find Wells?”

“ No I think they are both dead. I saw quite a bit of Heilman for many years, then she fell ill and we just lost touch. But I’m sure that FOIA threat could be used as you delve deeper into this .”

“ Deeper? I was thinking this ride is just a side bar to Barnstardt’s piece.”

“ Oh Jesus, “ Michael laughed. “ Your ain’t got a clue.”

Michael turned right towards Cambridge Springs, onto Rt 86 and drove some miles on narrow lane roadways where he came upon an unmarked small stone bed driveway and wheeled off the road. There was a 10’ foot tall black iron wrought gate and fence. Michael stopped and walked to a wireless communication box. The gate opened.

They came upon a small, white brick building with one single 2 foot square window and a metal front door. The building only measured 20 feet wide by 20 feet long with a 12 foot eave. Michael glanced at the small white envelope.

“Jesus, what the hell is this?” the reporter asked. “ And how did you find this driveway?”

“ Jonas Salk had this built in the 1950’s when he worked on the polio vaccine. It was his escape from all things academic . Back then of course there was only farmland here. “

There was an electronic key entry box and with a few button pushed, the door opened. There were two rooms. One large l- shaped and then a small room formed by the L shape outline. A small push of orange light came from a lamp seated on a table just to the left of the entrance. The walls were empty, and a small table with two chairs sat near by.

“Sorry for the musty-ness.” There was a gurgling sound as though from a small brook.

“Yea it stinks in here. What’s in that room? What’s that sound?” The reporter stomped about. The small room had a small window facing the larger room. The reporter peered in, cupping his hand around his eyes. “ Its pitch black in there. But… I ...there’s like weeds, grass, running water ,is that a water lily? Is that something moving? A person?”

Michael walked over to the small room’s door and unlocked it. Michael motioned the reporter to the edge of the doorway. “ Someone has to know, ” Michael whispered. They both hunched over and looked in.

Out from the murky darkness came a small child-like hand white in color, almost pure white. A closer examination revealed delicate webbing between each finger. Michael reached out his hand and the white fingers took hold.

“ Molly.” And at that, an oval shaped skinless head slowly emerged into view. It’s green, glistening oval eyes started at the men. It showed no emotion. The reporter gasped. It seemed to smile, but its lips had formed away from the front of the face and towards the sides. The nose had evolved into a small, glistening stunted bump on the face but nostrils were evident. It had no ears rather round brown spots . Its head bobbed from side to side as though trying to pull together a fragmented picture. Its actions seemed automated. Sporadic twitching movements. The rest of the body remained hidden .

“ Can I say hello?” The reporter reached out his hand and the white webbed fingers rubbed against his knuckles.

Michael opened the white envelope and emptied its contents into the hand. It was a collection of house flies. The hand and face receded from view. The gurgling water sound consumed the space.

“ That was… is my sister . Now there is someone else who knows. I need help. I worry for the future. She can’t stay here.” Michael now worried that he may have ignited a fuse.

“ Jesus, God ,” the reporter said rubbing his forehead. “ Jesus.”

End

I'm Not John Glenn

I’m Not John Glenn

                                                     

I’m not John Glenn the renowned astronaut, US Senator and one time candidate for the US Presidency. I am not him. Back in 1962, Glenn sat 100 feet in the air aboard that Atlas rocket, in a cramped one man capsule with 250,000 lbs of highly volatile fuel a few feet below his ass. His heart rate? That of a sleeping man’s: 110 beats per minute. Can you imagine me inside that Friendship 7 capsule with my heart rate issues?

Jesus, if I put too much sugar on my bran flakes, my heart rate pops to 230. I think. So, needless to say, I’m the last one in the word who wants to be ruffled. When I get angry or flustered my heart rate explodes. By someone or by my actions. So I’m concerned: as my heart rate zooms I must me doing long term damage to myself. Right?

I sought help from a variety of sources, many required by my employer because of my erratic and confusing bouts, especially in the executive room. Mr. Brinkley called these episodes “disturbing, frightening and possible career ending. “ He had a way with words. I had a doctor who diagnosed me as potassium deficient and always referenced my Limbic System or something esoteric. I just shrugged smiled and said to my self: what the hell does he know? But I knew that a fast heart rate on a continuous basis was, well, not very conducive to a long life. Especially mine.

OK so I have this heart rate issue. But what could I do about it? I live alone in an almost Telsa- like existence. I work because I like to getout of this apartment. But I seem to have need for human contact. Kinda odd. Humans haven’t been too kind to me. It is the human, I contend that drives this damn heart rate issue. If only I wasn’t human…

I graduated from college with a math major. One of my college professors implored me to continue my studies toward a PhD. I liked math for sure, but liked accounting and accumulation of things much more. I loved ledger sheets and ledger sheets liked me. I applied and got a position with the Brinkley CPA firm. During the interview I confessed ( to Mr. Brinkley who conducted the interview) to being partial to the declining balance method of depreciation. He was , too.

They did. Those columns and rows sprang out of the page and well, engulfed me. I got pretty expert at classifications and such and was well on my way to a nice career until Excel came along. So I have some freekin software application now controlling all I do. Controlling my career and sending my heart rate into stratospheric heights. I insisted, to Mr. Brinkley’s consternation , sticking with a Pental #9 mechanical pencil ( #7 way too brittle) and paper accounting sheets. By the time I entered all data to those damn Excel cells, I could complete my handwritten work in quicker time .

“ Peter, “ Mr. Brinkley would council, “ You have got to use the Excel. It is the future. Our clients expect to review your work in the Excel format.” As you can imagine I was targeted for dismissal for sure. There goes my heart rate! What could I do? Conform and send my heart to rate to even higher levels or resist which I assumed also sent the rates higher. Jesus, talk about a conundrum.

So there I was caught in some fractured limbo. And not of my making, darn it. So I would lay awake on my bed and conjure my next steps. And I could feel my heart rate , feel the panicked bumping of
my heart. One night I thought I saw my chest balloon like a bubble gum bubble. I was certainly in a quandary.

I had very few viable options. Until the visit.

 Besides I have this issue with my landlord that is driving me crazy. I rent a 4 room, one bath apartment . My HOA monthly fee is based on the number of rooms and bathrooms I have. But the landlord contends that since there is plumbing to one on the rooms I use a sitting room, I actually have 2 bathrooms. So we have a very dysfunctional relationship and in some instances almost violent. Every time he sees me which is 4/5 times a week he hands me past due notices. According to O’Dell I owe $1,300 in arrears! That’s insane. I’m thinking about a lawyer and may just look one up.

“ Does a water pipe equal a bathroom?” I ask him. “ Can I flush a crap down a single water pipe?”

O’Dell is a tall man, very thin with dark purplish veins arching all over hands . “ That’s not the issue. The issue is if someone wanted to put a second bathroom in your apartment they could!”

“ Oh and they could get a permit for that from the city? I doubt it O’Dell.” And I storm towards my apartment and shout: “ And you can shove those arrears notices right up your Irish ass!”

And so my comings and goings in the apartment building are fraught with tension. Every day. My heart ate is catapulted at home and at work. I am being walloped from both sides. And I don’t know how long I can take it. What have I done to cause such angst? Tell me.

But the weekend is coming and I have the young couple above me who scream at each other all day. All day. Alan and Stephanie. I don’t hear words, I hear tone of voices. Some of their scraps seem teetering on physical violence. I have called HOA management – that’s O’Dell- and well you can only imagine the response I get. One Saturday night I called the Police. I heard the knock on their door. I heard the footsteps to the door. I couldn’t hear anything said, but I could envision a smiling Alan arms draped over Stephanie’s shoulder all huggly. Not much came of the 911 call.

Alan is usually drunk by 5:30 in the afternoon and both of them are out on their balcony , listening to Bee Gees music. Alan knows every word of their music especially “ New York mining disaster, 1941.” But so do I, so what the heck. I don’t use my balcony, but on occasions I’m out there looking around at the city.

Now about the visit. It was a Friday morning, I showered and shaved and wore my favorite light blue button down shirt with brown tie. I liked that combination for some reason. Along with my blue blazer and tan pants, I was, well right out of GQ. I think.

I live alone and don’t need a whole pot of coffee in the morning. So I got use to plugging in a small appliance that just heats water and then pouring myself a cup of instant coffee. I sat down at the small kitchen table near the apartment’s door.

I try not to be captured by habit. So I usually use a different coffee mug each day. But that morning, I just felt like using the same cup from yesterday morning: my college alumni cup. Not that I saunter nostalgic over my college experience. I don’t. But the diploma got me this job and I guess I’m grateful.

So that morning as I took a sip of coffee and glanced at the PITT university logo ( PITT was founded in 1787 .) I noticed something moving; fast, furtive all most electric , jolted movements around my left hand. I instinctively raised my hand. Or attempted to. You see, I couldn’t lift my hand no matter how hard I tried. With all my might, with my right hand gripping my left wrist, I could not lift the hand. I thought I was having a stroke- there goes the heart rate thing, I thought.

But upon closer inspection I was aghast! My left hand was cocooned in some fine silk thread. It was anchored to the table top! My hand was wrapped by some opaque glistening , shimmering silk like material. I thought of a butterfly chrysalis. Jesus, I’m having a stroke! I could see my fingers. Then it appeared.

It came out from behind the sugar bowl. It stood there and I wondered what my heart rate is now! It is a spider and it’s multiple eyes are focused right at me. It’s eight legs are steady and supporting the segmented body. A silent rhythm. So I look at the spider and then at my captured left hand.

The spider stood motionless. I think he was staring at me or something around me, I wasn’t sure. I thought I saw its head tilt. It pivoted and walked up and onto my left hand. It began a feline-like kneading movement. Legs up, then down, up then down until all eight legs were rumbling in unison. Like a cat perched upon a blanket, smiling and happy and doing what this species had been doing for millions of years.

Not sure why I wasn’t apoplectic and believe it or not, I didn’t feel or sense that my heart rate was reaching paroxysm levels. I gulped some coffee, and as I peered at the spider, it stopped moving. I sat there motionless, coffee cup in right hand, elbow placed on the table. I glanced at my right hand and it was calm . You would think with this going on my hand would look like Ray Milland’s after the “ Lost Weekend.” No, my hand was steady, as if wavering over a field of daffodils.

“Can I have my hand back?”

So there we were, and in the words of JFK’s Secretary of State Dean Rusk “eye ball to eye ball” but this time we both blinked. The spider stopped the incessant kneading prance and turned to the web encasing my hand. Millimeter by millimeter the spider absorbed the silk threads until my hand was freed. Pieces of thread skipped off into the kitchen’s air currents . I lifted my hand , rubbed it to get the blood flowing and the feeling back. I took a gulp of coffee. I looked around and the spider was gone.

I stood, put on my sport coat , grabbed my briefcase and went to work. I had a busy day that Friday and gave little thought to the occurrence, nor the spider. Oddly I had no fear of going home. Shouldn’t I have? I mean a spider had spun a tight, strong web that paralyzed my left hand . What if it spun the web around my neck and strangled me as I sleep?

But that Friday, Mr. Brinkley insisted that I prepare Excel files for the Flanagan account. I refused. And instead handed in my assignment on 8 column worksheets with my trusty Pental # 9 pencil. He called me into his office and let me know in no uncertain terms that my position at the firm was in dire jeopardy. “I must conform, “ he insisted!

Brinkley was all I thought about on the train  ride home. If only I had a more understanding boss, my work life would be fine. If I lose this job, I figured, I have no chances of another . None. Too much competition. I do have age on my side I figured, but there many over 55 employees in the firm. So an age discrimination suit may be hard to prove. Jesus, what is my heart rate, I wondered as I stepped onto the elevator to home.

I opened the door to my apartment and gasped. I was inside a spider’s web. Everywhere I looked there was silk netting, draping the furniture, covering the stove and refrigerator, doors, draws and even the toilet was silked tight. That pissed me off, I might say. As I stepped through the door, the spider dropped down , almost struck my nose and hung in abeyance tethered by a silk rope attached to the ceiling. So there we stood eye ball to eye balls- again. After the work day I had just endured I didn’t need this confrontation. Besides, I was hungry.

So you have this Brinkley fellow, the spider said. Clear and concise English with a perceptible European edge. It’s voice reminded me of the old English actor, Charles Laughton.

So there I was in my apartment in what was now a phantasmagorical Disney- inspired den of the spider. Now I had three thoughts; one- what is my heart rate and two- how could he spin all this webbing in one day and three- how will I clean up this mess?

“ What the hell is going on?” I asked. “ Who are you? Why are you here?”

You called me, the spider responded. You have been calling me for years .

I’m still standing in the door way, briefcase in hand. I needed to sit down and get the spider out of my face. “ May I sit down? And please get out of my face.” And with that the spider shot up to the draped ceiling and just bobbed . I placed my briefcase down and walked over to the kitchen table. It of course was smothered by layers of spider silk. I began to pry away the almost -twine like material and with a chair uncovered I sat down. Exhausted.

I looked around and saw no features of my home. A faceless place. The sugar bowl was covered. What am I going to do? I wondered.

No Peter, the spider said, what am I going to do? The spider was on my right shoulder, just below my ear lob and then it skipped onto the table. And once again we were staring at each other. Could this be habit forming?

“ I’m not insane, you know. I may have some stress issues and that Brinkley bastard but nothing in my brain’s synapses brings me a talking spider . “ I dropped my head into my palms.

“ And he can read my mind. Great. Just great.”

“ Oh Jesus Christ, “ I moaned “ There’s a spider talking to me. Now am going to talk to a spider?”

I sat straight up in the chair. The spider inched over to my left hand. I began to pull it away.

Peter, I’m on your side. The spider’s voice was firm but soothing. I webbed and captured your hand this morning to let you know of my powers. Do you know Roman history? Caesar had powers. Caesar and his Roman legions were chasing after marauding Germans a few thousand years ago. But the Germans escaped Rome’s capture by crossing the Rhine River. Caesar had his engineers and soldiers build a 40 foot wide bridge across the Rhine well in view of the Germans. The bridge was finished and thousands of Roman soldiers crossed over. The Germans of course had fled having watched helplessly as the Romans constructed the bridge. There being no Germans to fight, Caesar ordered everyone back across the river and had the bridge dismantled. Moral of the story: A show of power can be mightier than the sword itself.

“ Brinkley. Power. What the hell is going on with me?” I was heading out of control “ I just want to do my account work and be left alone. Come home and not be harassed by anyone. Doesn’t anyone understand that I am a simple man? Really, I am.”

Your not strong though, Peter. I am. What do you say, we put our heads together and do something about Brinkley. Life could be great for you, right?

“Brinkley owns the damn place and he’s not going any where. ” I was shocked the spider had to have an explanation. The history buff, no less.

Enjoy the weekend Peter, and wear something special Monday morning for work. And with that, the spider sprang off the table and disappeared.

It took me hours to remove all the webbing from my apartment. Hours, but I was determined to sleep on a clean bed and have my coffee in the morning. I vacuumed everything and made sure to throw out the vacuum bag so not leave a single trace of the webbing. Power? I’ll show it what power I can wield.

I was too rattled to do anything constructive that weekend. But I did put on my sneakers for a brief walk to corner market to get the Sunday paper and a walk through the local park. The spider was no

where to be seen. I dreaded Monday morning and another work week filled with Brinkley confrontations.

Well Monday came and I went through my usual routine. Shower, shave, dress and coffee. But I was constantly on guard for the spider’s return. Nothing. I waited until the very last minute to leave expecting the spider to appear. Nothing.

When I arrived at the office I knew immediately that something was wrong. The door was locked and there was no admin staff at the front desk , lights were off and I could hear murmuring. I entered the office suite area and everyone was huddled together. Some were crying. I noticed Brinkley’s door closed. That was odd. Christina, the office Manager came over to me and gave a big hug. “ Oh Peter, something terrible had happened to Mr. Brinkley. “ He’s dead.” She whispered. “ Dead.”

I was stunned and griped my briefcase so hard I thought I would tear my skin. “ Oh my God, How? What happened?”

“ It seems he fell down a flight of cellar stairs at his home Friday night, hit his head on the cellar floor and bled to death. He lived alone since the divorce. His daughter found him.” Christina remarked. “ The thought of Mr. Brinkley laying there all weekend, bleeding… and poor Dianna finding him...” her voice trailed away.

Gee, I thought of Mr. Brinkley laying dead in a pool of his own blood… Stop that Peter, I said to myself.

Christina called everyone to a huddle . “ We are closing the office for today. I’ll speak with Mrs. Brinkley and our Attorney and get guidance . Everyone go home and please say a prayer for Mr. Brinkley and his family. I will contact you all. Please stand by your telephones and may God bless us all.” And with that we all walked out of the office. I wanted to go home and settle my diverging emotions. Something inside of me was profoundly saddened. I had met Brinkley’s family on many occasions and enjoyed their company. On the other hand he was a  prick.

I was just about to enter my apartment when O’Dell came scampering down the hall way waving that damn foolish white arrears paper. “ $1,390 !! It keeps on going up!!!. “ He shouted. And so was my heart rate. I jumped into my apartment and that bastard placed it under my door like a hotel invoice. I needed a drink, I thought. So I grabbed the bottle of Jameson from the cabinet above the stove and poured some straight into a glass and sat at the kitchen table. I have a sitting room (O’Dell’s bathroom) but I like sitting at this table.

I sat there for quite some time pondering what I should do next. Stay at the firm ? Look for other work. But don’t all firms require Excel proficiency? Jesus, there goes that heart rate. Why couldn’t that damn Brinckley, inventor of the electronic spreadsheet, have had the same fate?

I’m grappling with all these issues and I spoke to a spider! And it responded! I thought I should get help, again. I brushed my teeth and went to bed quite early. I had had quite a strange four days.

I woke up Tuesday around 6 AM and heated water for my coffee. And as I sat at the table I wondered about the spider. God I hoped it was gone. Please Jesus. I wanted it to be a dangerous figment of my

shaky imagination. But I wasn’t sure and so I waited. And waited for it to appear. I sat there all day Tuesday , no spider and no call from the office. On Wednesday morning things started to happen. The phone rang at 8:30 in the morning. It was Christina.

“ Peter can you come in tomorrow?” she asked.

“ You bet,” I said.

“ And Peter, you need to bring your Excel game with you, understand?” she said. Christina was as fixated on Excel as was Mr. Brinkley! There will be no rest for me.

The next morning I went through my routine , waited for the visitor, but he was a no-show. I entered the office and Christina greeted me. “ Peter, the police are here and want to talk to you.”

I was flummoxed. To me? “ Why talk to me? “ I asked . She smiled, shrugged and we walked the hallway into room #4; a small windowless room. There were two men in blue business suits sitting around a small table. One of the men had a holstered handgun tight to this hip. They both stood up as I entered. The handgun guy had a small recorder and a lined writing pad in front of his place.

“ Peter, thank you so much for meeting with us,” The handgun guy spoke. “ I’m Sgt Farrow and this is Sgt. Murray. Please sit down.”

“ Do I need an attorney?”

They both laughed. “ No” the handgun guy said, “ just a few questions. We’re interviewing everyone in the office.” I didn’t think they were. In fact I knew there weren’t. I just knew it, darn it.

Sgt Farrow told me that Mr. Brinkley ‘s front door was unlocked the night of his accident and that Mrs. Brinkley found that highly unusual. Due to this circumstance, the police have to conduct an investigation. Have you ever been to Brinkley’s house? When and why? So I said yes, a few times most for office picnics. That’s all. The officers asked about my relationship with Brinkley. I was 100% forthcoming about our head butting over the Excel vs. my hand written worksheets.

Sgt Farrow jotted some furtive notes on the pad. They thanked me for my time and we departed after shaking hands. Christina was right outside the door and patted me on my shoulders as I walked to my office.

“ Peter, maybe you should go home and get back to our business tomorrow. “ I smiled and said I’m here to work and to honor Mr. Brinkley’s determination.

That night when I returned home the spider was atop the kitchen table perched on a folded paper towel, silently kneading the imitation fibers. I sat down and dropped my head.

“Brinkley is dead.”

Who? What? What?

“Brinkley died this weekend. He fell down a flight of stairs in his home. Must have banged his head or something and bled to death. The police interviewed me today about Brinkley’s death. ”

The police? It was an accident, wasn’t it?

“Yea, but it seems his front door was open and Mrs. Brinkley thought that was odd.”

Oh you are free! The clouds have dissipated! How wonderful !

The spider doesn’t have a clue, I’m thinking. I have that Irish jerk O’Dell and those bastards living above and that Excel - obsessed Christina. And who knows who else to deal with.

I could feel may heart begin to soar. I wish I was John Glenn.

END