"Bound and Gagged"

Good day everyone. I wanted to take a moment to explain and request your understanding in relation to my absence the past month. First I have to say none of this is offered as an excuse but rather as an explanation. Many people who read this have not read, or have elected not to follow my other blog about my dad's prognosis, which is fine. But over on that blog I have described some things that have happened to him and his health. In fact Dad's diagnosis of stage 3 lung cancer and a prognosis of 6-9 months to live hit me like a Mack truck, load of bricks, jack hammer; you pick the quote that works for you. 

If you read it, or go back and read the blog you will find me in turmoil, maybe it was more like a deep, deep hole. I’m not even the person with cancer but it was an extreme sensation that came over me and shortly after that the holidays arrived and monopolized my time (and mind). His illness pulled me down into that hole and although I had a smile on my face my core person, my emotional base, my innards were ‘sludged up’ like the sludge in an automobile engine or 'quagmire of quicksand'. I knew it, my family knew it and my readers knew it.

This emotional cesspool polluted my mind while my initial blog posts flowed from the pit. Before I could gain any stable footing and write again the holidays were upon me. Thoughts of, “Can I enjoy this?”, “Do I betray my dad if I feel happy?”, and “The holidays can’t make this any better. It will still be there when it’s all over.” roamed around my mind (like the unexpended visitor in the car from my other blog). If you follow me on Twitter; user @_andybryant you may have read that I sing in a men’s choir at church and the group took part in several performances during the holidays; there was a lot going on.

No words came from either of my blogs.

"Bound and Gagged" by time and emotion I was not free to write.  I received many emails and tweets from people around the globe encouraging me to write while expressing concern for my dad. Many people sent messages for my dad; I passed them on to him and he says, "Thank you."  I tried to write but I was distracted by many things; I apologize to everyone reading this post and my "regular" followers who support me with their follow. Just knowing that you are there ready to support me with your thoughts and prayers, and ready to read my writing provides me with mental support that really does make a difference.

But with all that said I can tell you my mind has passed through a threshold of emotion into a realm of mental fiction. I once again can see the imaginary characters and worlds who have always been inside my head. I am prepared to release them through my keyboard and into this world.  Be prepared, I have seen many images, some truly disturbing during this mental 'bound and gagged' period of my life - I am prepared to face them and share with you. I have envisioned the movements of their bodies, conversational interchanges between them, and how the two become a person (or character) while understanding how my observations can be described for you. Be prepared, I am imaginging things to write that I’ve never shared before.

"What?", you say.  Watch for my update announcements here and on Twitter, my heart is racing now just thinking about it.

Take care and be safe! 

A Pin Drop

You could hear a pin drop.

Then they both walked out the door

Looking across the room Sarah said, “Well, that’s just not something you hear every day.”

Earlier in the morning, around 9am the couple had arrived, not late but not early either. In order to make the trip both had gotten out of bed at 3am, quickly showered, dressed, and grabbed plastic bags filled with bacon and egg Sarah prepared before they went to sleep the prior evening. Bella (Bell), Sarah’s Mother never liked coffee, not even the smell of it so Sarah brewed some coffee the evening before, let it cool and poured the beverage into a thermos just before they walked out the door. Her plan was to eat the food and enjoy the coffee during the trip; Bell grabbed a bag that had some bread in it, along with two bottles of water and a small container of milk. The bag of bacon and egg contained enough for both ladies.

The trip would be a long, mundane drive in a 1982 Ford Mustang convertible which would be considered a gamble to “arrive alive” by most anyone that caught a glimpse of the car. But Bell’s husband Roberto bought the Ford for the family when Sarah was in her 20s and the car had survived for more than 25-years with only a few problems; most being normal wear-and-tear issues like oil changes, tire alignment, and air conditioning maintenance. Bell had always considered the vehicle’s survival a reflection of Roberto being a good judge of vehicles, with his good judgment being a characteristic that attracted her in the first days of their young love affair. But no matter what the car’s age or appearance it was the only reliable vehicle either of the two ladies owned. The auto would have to suffice for this adventure.

As the two drove away from Sarah’s home the vehicle left a small trail of smoke. There was obviously an oil leak and it was probably just a matter of time before the Ford met his demise. Bella looked back and noticing the smoke unfortunately reminded her of just how dangerous it can be to travel such a distance in an antique automobile. She said another short prayer. She then gazed across the seat at her daughter and whispered to God, “Let us travel on the wings of angels.”

Sarah reached over to the dashboard and turned the radio on, the base tones in the rhythmic ‘bum-bummed, bum-bummed’ music pulsed in against their skin. In an almost synchronistic manner the two tapped fingers with the beat of the music, the younger woman silently raised and lowered her shoulders as the music momentarily led her away from the reality of the trip.

Time slowly passed and the sun continued to rise, glaring into their eyes. As noon approached the stellar light took a position directly above the road and the temperature inside the vehicle began to rise. Both ladies pulled out cool liquids, sipping slowly while the vehicle’s air conditioner hummed and they continued the day’s trek.

The trip required 2 planned refueling stops along the way and Bell had made plans to check out the convenience stores at each stop. The stores were really gas stations, but Bell did not get out of the house often so ‘convenience stories” would make for an exciting change of pace. When the ladies stopped at the first gas pump she quickly ran inside and practically demanded conversation from the clerk who was watching the money register. Belle enjoyed sipping soda and eating peanuts; Sarah even noticed her Mother lighting a cigarette for a gentlemen who fumbled in his pocket looking for a lighter while she asked him questions like, “Are you from around here?”, “Where are you headed?”, and “What are your plans for the future?”

Driving across the flat ground of the country-side gave the impression that the state roads never-ended. The low, mundane rumble of the tires rolling across the asphalt was such a sound that almost anyone would fall victim to the hypnotic noise. Sarah was not immune to this effect, several times her head snapped back to an acceptable alertness while she guided the vehicle back to the center of the road. She knew that each minute behind the vehicle’s steering wheel was a gamble with both of their lives.

“Mom…”, Bella did not answer. Sarah looked across the seat and noticed that her Mother was asleep.

“Mom…” she repeated. With this call of ‘Mom’ she nudged Bella in the forearm.

“Mom…”

Her Mother looked up and asked, “How long was I asleep?”

“I don’t know.  But I do know that if we don’t stop and let me rest for a moment the two of us will be claiming our eternal rest.”

They looked at each other, nodded in the affirmative like a couple bobble-head dogs in the rear window of an automobile, and one said, “OK, keep an eye peeled for another service station, I mean a convenience store.”

The humming of the tires continued but both ladies were more attentive as each road-sign and mile-marker was reviewed for a hint of what might appear in the distant horizon.

After fifteen-minutes and a half-dozen roadside exit signs Sarah veered the vehicle off the main thoroughfare and onto a service side-road. She stopped on the shoulder of the road, looked both ways and elected to proceed toward the only fueling station insight.

In what appeared to be a planned exist of the Mustang Bella sprung out of her seat and headed toward the store entry (and its lone employee). The station attendee was a female and Sarah knew her Mother would have a thousand questions for the young lady.

While Bell settled into a chair next to a coffee machine inside the store Sarah locked the vehicle, walked across the parking lot, stepped inside the store and headed toward the restroom. While maneuvering around a couple display cases she allowed herself another look back at Bell and the station attendant, shook her head and passed through the restroom door. After a few minutes of personal time Sarah walked back in Bell’s direction, found a lone chair, sat down and realized just how nice it was to not be vibrating or holding an accelerator pedal down.

A few minutes turned into 15 minutes and while enjoying a moment of relaxation Sarah realized that the asphalt rumble had been replaced by another one, the Bella rumble. It was at that moment Sarah noticed she was surrounded by store stock; cans of peas, beans, soup and soda.  She pulled a couple cases of peas over in front of her chair, kicked her heels up on the boxes and leaned back in the chair.

Moments later Bella asked her, “Do you really think I’ve got cancer?”

“Mom, why do you ask such silly questions? Just because Glenda talks about it all the time doesn’t mean that is why you’re tired.”

Then a moment later Bell pulled out an x-ray image of something that she explained was a breast and that she believed the little spot was cancer. In fact she told Sarah that the store clerk thought it was cancer and the older gentlemen who bought two packs of cigarettes a couple minutes earlier agreed that it was cancer.

“It has to be cancer” Bell said. Of course Sarah had no idea what it really was but she wasn’t going to agree with her Mother just because she was anxious about the trip to the doctor. Every time Bell had a sore throat she self-diagnosed and the problem was never as bad as her Mother’s imagination. Then Sarah thought. “Where the heck did she get the x-rays any way?”

At that moment Bell yelled across the room, “Sarah! Sarah! Wake up!” and then she shook Sarah who immediately woke up. She took a minute to compose herself and then realized that the entire conversation with her Mother was a dream…

….And she thought to herself, “What if it is cancer?”

(Continued)

*******

Author’s Comments

If you have been following my Twitter account or read some of my comments here on the blog you are aware that I committed to writing a story in sort of a medicinal format for one of my followers (she has now become a friend that follows along). She has been dealing with a cancer issue, her Mother’s cancer. During many long days the two have attended doctor’s appointments and chemotherapy treatments. Her support system is sometimes stretched thin, her children are grown and living elsewhere and her husband does not have the pleasure of leaving work for all of the appointments.

Similar to Sarah and Bella in my story there is doubt, anxiousness and worry while drudging through each day. This story is the beginning of a new storyline, some character development and the concern of whether cancer is the problem.

Please let me know what you think and post any comments you may have, whether they are directed toward me and the story or you would like to comment on an experience you, a friend or family member have encountered.

Also, if you’ve been following my tweets I also have encountered a cancer experience while writing this post. Since starting this blog post my Dad has been diagnosed with cancer, stage 3, 6-9 months to live. There were previous health issues and the physicians have conducted some test and have developed new concerns which required new test.

Also, he got sick Friday and was admitted to the hospital. In a gala of clinical care one doctor found it necessary to share the results of one test and notified my parents of the outcome.  Due to some complications this case is not treatable with surgery; the physician notified him that he would be working with him to provide the best, ‘quality of life’ care t hat he could manage. Of course this has hit the family like a weight of bricks. If you would like to read another blog concerning this subject and my first post check-out this link (http://thedaythingschanged.blogspot.com). This is a new blog I’ve started and anticipate including my observations and thoughts as things develop. Unfortunately many of you have dealt with this disease in some form or fashion which might make it hard for some of you to follow the next blog posts, but I appreciate your support of this blog, even if you can not stand to read the other one.

Another point, October is Breast Cancer Awareness month in the United States. Ladies please take care of yourself and have the appropriate tests. Gentlemen always care for your ladies, but give a little more effort during the month of October and ensure they get an appointment for the examination.  ;-)

As always, I am thankful for the time you spend reading my posts.

Interim (10/5/10)

Writing update; I worked 3 hours this evening on my next blog post. I had planned for the entry to be ready and edited Monday morning but some things developed that caused me to cancel my scheduled writing period.  But with great effort I am working to complete this project and have a post ready for my faithful readers Tuesday evening before midnight. If you are checking in for a post please be sure to come back in on me, it’s currently midnight Tuesday morning (00.01).  

Availability

You may have noticed there are several new options to the left of the blog site. The additions are in regard to several requests I have received to make my blog posts available by email or RSS feeds. Look to the left of the site and you’ll find an orange square with marks that resemble a radar disc or maybe airwaves (with ‘Subscribe in a Reader’ below it). Click this icon, the resulting page presents several different options including my blog post in more of a text format. 

To the right of the display are several other icons, including ‘Google’ and ‘My Yahoo’. Each represents a a different company’s platform for receiving blog posts and incorporating the information in email entry pages (viewable when you sign-in). It is really cool, and you’ll have the option of reading the updates when you sign-on.

Look just below this group of icons and you’ll find a short ‘sentence’ to receive the blog by email. Click it, enter your email ID, verify your service sign-up in your email and a notification of updates will be emailed to you when I post.

Above the orange icon is a list of social networking platforms. Click any of the icons and you will be able to share information from my blog with your friends on the different networking sites. Give it a try and you’ll see just how easy it can be.

Of course, further down on the left side are the archived copies of my blog posts.

Take care!

INSIDE MY HEAD

Why do people never understand me? I don’t really like crowds and it is not a big thing that I don’t talk a lot. I know what I want and my Mother knows too. My Dad sometimes seems to have a problem with me not wanting to play a lot of games, but he is really hung-up on baseball and me somehow becoming a super player. I thought my interest with the ball was what he wanted but when I was concentrating on handling the ball and not batting he just blew his stack.

What makes him think I will ever be able to play ball?

I liked the part about chattering that ‘hum batter, batter’, but I just could never get the batter part of the thingie. But I was really good at the ‘hum, hum’ part.

What’s the big deal with talking all the time? If I wanted to talk I would do it.

I like to say, ‘Hum, Hum’.

I don’t understand why people are always getting mad and crying. There must have been a reason for everyone getting upset we went to the mall and I started screaming. But I did not like that part of the mall. In fact, I had never been there. Why couldn’t we go in my favorite door, the door we always go through?

Everybody knows I don’t want to be touched. IT HURTS!!  Why did they grab my arm when they pulled me over to the bench??

And the kids were pointing and laughing. Why did those kids start laughing at me when I was sitting on the bench? Daddy tried to stop me from rocking, but everybody knows I like to rock. Why can’t they just accept me for being myself and let me be comfortable?

Why didn’t Daddy stop the kids from laughing at me? What’s so funny?

The other day, when I colored that picture in the kitchen Momma said I did ‘Good’. She’s always saying that but I just don’t get it. She is always giving me coloring books and saying, ‘Good job’. 

And who is that lady, ‘Grandmother’? She is always excited when she visits but I don’t think it is that good. I don’t understand…and then she cries.

I can talk if I want too. Just let me be me, leave me alone, especially at night. I never want to sleep and don’t want to sleep now. I may only be a little kid, but leave me alone, by myself.

I want to color something now.

I have autism.

**
This blog entry was written after a discussion I had with one follower on Twitter. Her family has not faced the challenge of having a child with autism, she has the challenge of 2 autistic children in the family. My effort with this writing was not to be overly dramatic with the character, but rather to use the thoughts, or at least the thoughts that an autistic child might be thinking, even though he is not able to communicate in a manner to make his thoughts be known. My creative liberties allowed me to inject the idea that an autistic child is thinking on the level that most of us are thinking, but evidence does not indicate this is happening. For anyone with an autistic family member, or friend – I am sorry that more of my story is fiction than fact.

 Autism is a disorder of neural development that basically impairs communication and social development. There are many facets of this disease and attempting to describe the ‘template person’ that would be the example that includes all possibilities of the disorder is an impossible task. But something that seems to be a commonality among many sufferers is a lack of communication skills (can not speak appropriately; do not understand what is being said, and/or can not comprehend the appropriate emotions for particular circumstances).

A constant rocking motion while sitting or standing is also a possibility, while hypersensitivity to touch and being irritable or uncomfortable in a new place can also take place. Concentrating on a small portion of a whole object, or item when much more is available is another behavior displayed by a person with autism.

An overbearing characteristic of non-autistic individuals is ignoring the person, expecting them to fit-into unsafe or new situations, or making fun of the autistic person. This takes place often with children, including bullying and making fun of different behaviors.

There is a strong genetic basis for this disorder, but it is not understood whether it is caused by mutated cells, or genetic variables that will one day be discovered and consider common variables.

Recently I read an article, supported by research, which indicates childhood immunization shots might either cause, or lend some children to being more susceptible to contract this disorder. Indications of autism are most often recognized by parents in the first 2- or 3-years of a child’s life, but can be deceptive and misleading to even the most alert parent due to the fact that many children develop normally, as their cohorts and then regrees into known autistic behaviors after the ages of 2, or 3. For the most part different types of behavioral and cognitive interventions improve deficits, but there is no known cure.

If you are new to autism and my story causes you concern or the desire to become involved contact a local autistic support group in your area, or tweet me at @_andybryant and I will get you in touch with some people that I know who will be glad to supply information or contacts.

Interim (9/20/10)

Good day everyone, I hope everything is going well for you all. Sorry for being a way for a couple days, I’ve been creating a webpage for a men’s choir that I sing in. The job is not done, but the site is up and active. I have a few more things to change or add and it will be completed, at least for now.

Just an update, I am working on “SHUT-UP Part 3”, along with a piece for a follower on twitter (I am not sure if she’s following on the blog yet), and another short-story on autism for another follower. One person is supporting her Mother through some chemotherapy and as you probably know things can be quiet tough. While talking about it recently (actually we were tweeting) she obviously was stressed and I mentioned a couple things that might help with stress. During our discussion she agreed that it would be nice and I mentioned that I would write her a story, sort of a medicinal piece. Of course this discussion took place while I was working on “SHUT-UP Part 2” and there was no spare time. But there is now!

The other piece came to me this afternoon. Like I mentioned there is another follower that I’ve been in discussion with concerning 2 children that are dealing with autism, the sad part of the disease and the societal prejudices and treatment. I was touched by the fight the family is putting up for the rights of autistic people, so I decided to write something in support of this too.

I hope the new story lines interest you. If you’re familiar with my writing style you know that neither will be a report on the situations, I committed the storylines and my writing efforts to make each of the followers proud.

…And of course Part 3 is on the way, although I have to warn my anonymous guest that ask for the end, and commented something like, ‘How’s it going to end?’, that this might not be the end, or maybe it will be. Relationships don’t end in a half-hour, or even in a few hours. Just how long in real-time has the story line for “SHUT-UP” lasted anyway, an hour (maybe less)?

I just wanted to let my faithful followers know I’ve not forgotten you and the writing; something is coming in the next 24-48 hours.

Andy

SHUT-UP PART 2

Missed “SHUT-UP PART1” click this link before proceeding.---->  http://bit.ly/9CSnbj


(Continued from Part 1)
While pondering how to reach the knife and at the same time stay safe she heard more sounds coming from down the hallway.

Like a statue she froze while listening to silverware being moved about in a drawer or maybe being dropped on the floor.

“Damn it honey! We ain’t got no more butter knives? Why ain’t we got no clean knives in this damn house” And then like a reoccurring nightmare she heard him walking down the hallway.

With her hands starting to shake uncontrollably, wild thoughts of being discovered and killed started to race through her mind once again. She pulled the door closed quickly, but with great effort to remain quiet - she did not want to snap the door bolt. She thought, “He might realize the door’s been open.”

“Be careful – be careful – be careful” she muttered so quietly the sound might be considered by some as a thought that merely seeped from her brain and made it across her lips.

As the cadence and sound of his approaching steps increased she stumbled across the bathroom and fell to the floor. The impact was hard on her body as her buttocks slammed to the floor tiles. Her mouth popped open, similar to an autonomic response and her hands immediately covered her lips to ensure no sound came out. Once she was sure no sound had been made she reached behind herself and rubbed the parts of her body that had hit the floor, but never allowing her eyes to move away from the door.

She screamed out, “There should be some silverware in the dish washer!”

But was that answer sufficient to halt his advance down the hallway?

His steps paused for a moment, and she heard him mumble “Damn knives better be in the dishwasher”. His steps could be heard diminishing in a measure of sound; it seemed he was moving back down the hallway.

She thought, “Oh my”, while placing hands over her face and massaging both temples. Tears started to stream down her checks and she gasped for a breath while searching for control of her emotions.

At that moment the knife re-entered her thought processes, “I need that knife. How can I get out of here, reach the knife and get back to safety without him hearing me?”

“I found that damn knife!” he called out. “It was in the stupid dishwasher. I don’t know why you can’t put things up where they belong?”

“You should know to check the stupid machine without having to ask!” but she kept the thought to herself.

‘Hey, that felt really good to think’. Without realizing it, a moment of empowerment was taking place.

She continued her silent assault, “You’re a grown man and think that you can come down here and kick my ass or kill me, but you can’t find a stupid knife? What a wimp! You’re no real man!”

Thinking like this seemed to strengthen her resolve to get the knife and survive. Standing up from the floor she flexed her fingers similar to when a person cracks their knuckles and fingers, then slowly walked back over to the door and turned the door knob. Peering out, she could still see the knife across the hallway.

“I only need to move a few steps across the hallway, pick it up, and get back through this door.” she mumbled to herself. “It’s only a few steps and he is not even on this end of the house. His lazy ass is sitting somewhere down there eating a sandwich.”

Without hesitation she pushed the door open, took a step through its frame, cautioned a single glance down the hallway and sprinted to the knife. Quickly lifting it up in front of her face she chanced one more glance down the hallway and then turned back toward the bathroom.

Completing a single step toward safety, she paused, considered racing down the hallway and pushing the knife into his chest. “That would end it” she thought. “It would only take a moment. No one would blame me for doing it; in fact they would probably wonder what stopped me from doing it a long time again.”
The next moment she pulled a chair over that was sitting in the hallway, maybe the chair he placed in the hallway earlier, and sat down. It was as though she had lost control of her mental capacity to deal with reality.

As if in another reality she touched the point of the knife against her thumb and turned it ever so slightly like a person turning a key in a lock. But there was no lock in the thumb and the knife was not a key. A small drop of blood oozed from her finger and covered the tip of the blade. She twisted the blade against her thumb for few more seconds and then, as if someone sprinkled water across her face she snapped back to reality, noticed the blood covering her finger tip and palm of her hand. Raising the bloody hand in front of her face and similar to a person eating the melting ice cream from a cone, she slowly licked the blood away from her skin.

After a few moments of deliberate effort to eliminate the blood from her fingers and palm she lifted the knife in front of her eyes, recognized the blood on the blade and wiped it against her pant leg.

“That wasn’t hard” she thought. “The blade is sharp and it wouldn’t really hurt him, at least not for more than a few seconds, and then it would be over.”

“I could even drag his chauvinistic ass out to the back yard and bury him like that girl I read about in the newspaper. No one would even know, I could tell them he went on a trip and never came back.”

With that thought in mind she stood up, took a few steps down the hallway toward the television sounds while twisting the knife between her fingers. Blood continued to drip down to the floor while she advanced on his position. Occasionally she lifted her hand towards her mouth and licked the blood off her skin. Thoughts of the blood dripping on the floor caused to her consider that the blood didn’t taste bad and that he would only hurt for a few seconds. As she continued with a methodical procession down the hall she wiped her hand against the wall, trying to be inconspicuous as to where she wiped the blood. Her self-empowering assurance that it would be easy to kill him bolstered her resolve to commit the murder.

“But it would be murder in self-defense” she reminded herself and that it would be easy, like pushing the “Easy” button sitting on her boss’s desk. She reached out and gestured like the button was just pushed, then said out loud, “That was easy”.

A smile came across her face.

Looking into the living room where the television was located she was unable to find him. Immediately her heart started to beat uncontrollably. She thought, “Oh no, oh no, oh no. I’m going to turn around and he’ll be standing directly behind me.” While that thought racing through her mind the sensation of a heart bursting through her chest seemed real.

“There you are!” he said. Her reality heard the male voice booming like an overhead sound system at a football game. “What have you been doin’ honey?”

As he wrapped an arm around her shoulders a subtle whimper could be heard while she held her breath, trying to veal her fear. Her body continued with a slight tremble. Gulping a quick breath of air she whimpered and tears streamed down her face. He hugged her tightly and said, “Its ok, things are OK baby.”

Thoughts continued to stream through her mind with the location of the knife now a fleeting thought. How she could kill him seemed to be the final thought that she was coming to terms with, “But he’s not acting crazy like he was a few minutes ago…” she thought to herself as she draped her chin over his shoulder.

“Maybe I can change him.” She squeezed him and recalled better days, when they first met; days filled with parties, dancing, trips to the beach and making love.

“Maybe he just had a bad day. How can I kill him when he’s not acting crazy?”

At the very moment the “bad day” thought no longer existed in her short-term memory, and as-if he was waiting for her thought to complete he commented, “I thought I was going to have to come down there and kick your ass, but I can see your not acting crazy anymore.”

(Continued…)