A young man was murdered across the street from the house where I lived . He was walking home late Saturday night. Two cars came. One man got out and shot him point blank in the head.
We don't know what he was guilty or innocent of. But we do know this. He was in somebody's rock and roll band. He was somebody's boyfriend. He was some mother's son. And now he's no more.
There are some people who are there all your life, as constant as breath they make you believe in reality. Then there are others who more resemble bolts of lightening, who, by circumstance, are there for a critical moment and then are gone as fast as they came. And your paths cross again it bends your understanding of what's real, of who you are.
"You look a mess," the cat said to me.
Looking down he was right. My clothes were torn and my body scratched from the chase. At some point I must have vomited on myself because the front of my shirt was covered in this milky hue that smelt disgusting. It was so bad I rolled on my side and vomited again.
"Finished?" the cat asked.
I rolled back over to face it, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
"You are a hard one to get attention from," he continued.
"You could have gone about it nicer," I said.
"I could have," he agreed, "But if I did you would have missed the point."
"The point?"
"The point."
"The point"
"Yes, the point," he was becoming agitated and his tail beat back and forth off the ground. "Which I could get to if you'd quit butting in."
I pushed myself up to a sitting position which must have alarmed him because for a moment I thought he was going to take off again. I raised my hand for him to stay. "The floor is yours."
"You have been chosen to go on a quest," he said.
"A quest?"
"Oh dear, are we going to start that again?"
"Sorry," I said, "Go on." At the moment I just wanted him to get out whatever he had to get out so I could pass out again. "What kind of quest?"
I noticed a little purr when he talked. The kind of contented purr a cat makes when your stroking it. And, I swear he was smiling
"A very difficult quest. There will be many trials and you will face many enemies. There is no guarantee that you'll survive, and, even if you do, no guarantee you'll be successful in the end."
"What kind of trials? What kind of demons?" I was becoming rather agitated and swore that if I was to vomit again it would be all over him. As if he understood my intention, he slid back a little.
"That I do not know. But apparently you do, otherwise I would not have been sent to prod you along."
"But I don't know." My anger is rising.
"But you do."
"How do you know?" The world was starting to spin again and I could feel my heartbeat in my temples.
"Because if you didn't I wouldn't be here."
That was when I blacked out again.
The fourth morning was when it all went down. I remember waking up from
my run earlier than usual. It was still dark, and it seemed a bit
foggy. The wife was still asleep so I dressed in the dark, grabbed my
nano, and was out the door.
Much to my relief the carcass was gone and I made my way on down Jacksonville and into town. My morning route was the same. From my home I made two laps around town, enough to get in about 6 and a quarter miles before work.
I made the climb up Jacksonville, it becomes Howard St. when you reach the apex and begin your descent at the New Fellowship Church and was halfway down the hill when of all things I almost tripped over that damn black cat. I must have missed him because of the fog but he was there. And alive. I knew it was my cat and he knew it was me because he almost seemed to smile at he began running.
I chased him and he knew it because every once in a while I would seem him turn his head to make sure I was still following. He lead me to parts of town I'd never ran before. Where Howard comes to a T at Spring St, I normally turn left and head toward town but, the cat turned right so I followed. I pursued him through streets, alleys, and people's yards. He seemed intent on putting obstacles between us. Several times I caught my foot jumping over someone's hedge knocking the wind out of me on landing. When this happened, the cat would stop and wait for me to gather myself before taking off again.
Finally, he took me up a street I'd never been on before. It was a never-ending climb and I could not make up any ground. I was running out of steam, so I one last act of desperation I opened up with everything I had hoping to catch up.
My legs screamed with pain and my heart felt as if it were being squeezed by this tremendous fist. I must have blacked out on somebody's lawn because when I came to, there was the cat sitting by my head, cleaning itself.
My Stephen King moment happened four months back. Turning off my street onto Jacksonville, my regular morning run, I saw a dead animal laying in the middle of the road. Dead animals, the victims of cars, are in abundance in the early summer months with the competition for food and a mate so I paid no mind. That is until I came upon it.
The dead animal happened to be this black cat that I'd frequently meet up with on my runs. We frequently crossed paths in the mornings; I'm not the superstitious type so it never bothered me. In fact it seemed rather friendly, often stopping what it was doing to sit and watch me as I went by. A curious trait in a cat I thought and I was inclined to stop and pet it if I wasn't deathly allergic to cats.
The manner of death was horrifying. The cat lay on its side, like it could be napping, covered head to foot in quills, or needles, or something. And in its middle, where the stomach was, was a pink hole where the guts spilled out.
I carried on with my run. What was I to do?
The next morning on my run I did not notice the carcass in the road when I turned the corner. I was relieved until I got closer and saw the that the carcass had moved closer to the berm. I did not appear to have been run over or kicked, or otherwise moved there. In fact it was in the same state as it was yesterday. The only difference seemed to be in its face, where I swear I saw pain.
I sidestepped the body and carried on with my run. What was I to do?
The third morning kind of freaked me. Now the cat carcass lay directly in my path, the same position as the previous two days and the pained look on its face. Only this time I saw that the right front paw had been severed and was laying there about a foot away from the body.
I was disgusted but I carried on with my run. What else was I supposed to do?
Jude got into the Jesus business at nineteen right after his third stint in rehab. Going door to door selling the Good News. Soon he hooked up with the wife of a State Trooper and discovered the Word was easier to sell when it was accompanied by a dime bag. It was a sweet ride that came to end one Saturday night beneath the Tacony-Palmyra bridge when two troopers worked him over pretty good.
A couple walking toward me, to young to be so beaten down by the world. They more resembled to Juvee's on work detail than lovers. As I drew near her hand instinctively touched her belly and I saw the bump. We were to distant to have anything in common but, there we were, passing by, me to old and they to young to be victims of what was lost.
Three A.M. The kitchen table. Smoke curling around the overhead light like a snake. It's sobering when you know your life's outcome halfway through the fight. The way he saw it he had two options: He could tuck it in or he could throw a haymaker and hope for the best.
The little fat kid got his first real kiss from his first real girl the summer of sixth grade. Most. Strained. Sweaty. The couch in the basement of his best friend BB's house with BB's older sister. 10cc. Lights out. BB with her best friend. Playing seven minutes in heaven.
He told me he became a true believer the day he walked out of that hospital. "I owned nothing," he said. "No house. No car. Just the clothes on myself and some shit at a friend's. He said I couldn't stay there no more. Too crazy. Man, I'm like Jesus."