Words Have Teeth

This is the work of Charles Delucie.  Hopefully you’ll find something you like, and if not, meh.  There’s some poetry, some fiction, some self-important opinion blogs, and even some lyrics.  Enjoy yourself.

The Snake and the Sheep

The Snake and the Sheep

A haze of dust rises from and the column

Seemingly countless sandalled feet stamping the earth

Like a segmented snake it writhes and permeates

Over hills and villages with like ease

Led by banners and sigils bright and waving

Whose honor is representative of the whole

The serpent feeds like a storm of clicking angry beetles

Drinking rivers dry and inhaling entire fields of crops

Its head is most fierce

A cohort of spears and swords covered in gory glory

These individuals are renowned for the purest ferocity

Nothing escapes their blood thirst

Each man has been tested in contests beyond number

Most fierce of the most fierce is the fair haired man at their apex

His rage is measures in only gallons of blood

His wrath only in shattered men

He stands at the center of the foremost line

The tip of the spear driven into the heart of this land

He fears no man

He fears not even the gods

All things have a fulcrum

The seemingly unassuming circle of buildings has stood for generations

Barely able to be called even a town

Shepherds and farmers live in pastoral peace

A serenity to be envied by all the world

The verdant slopes of their hills hold no value

Beyond the sighing breaths that stir the tall grasses

They live and work solely for the joy of the moment

Never giving credence to dread or regret

They guard their peace with measured threat

Mystery the greatest soldier in their army

They are the fist that guards an ancient secret

their duty served quietly and without vanity

All of these men have been taught from birth only to defend

All except for one that lives at their center

His rage is measured in the bleats of his laughter

His wrath in the sighs of his lute

He fears no fate

Not even death

All things have a fulcrum

The serpent slows as it crests the verdant hilltops

Stopping suddenly with an audible wind of exhalation

The fist of defenders stand calmly

The only sign of life, their clothing in the breeze

The haughty serpent thinks little of the small fist

It sends only its head, the body slithering on to larger glories

The fist coils tightly, counting themselves outmatched five to one

Their weapons rising like the hackles on a cornered wolf

The fair-haired destroyer grips his blade with corded hands

His eyes lit by the prospect of blood

The young man strings his bow calmly

His mind at rest, accepting the transition to come

As the Serpent stampedes into the glen

The sound from their throats a symphonic fury

The fist still stands serenely

Ready for the exchange with no expectation

The fair-haired berserker lifts his massive brand skyward

His eyes fixed on the soul he would claim first

The young man raises his bow with grace belying calm

Nocking an arrow and drawing the string back taut

All things have a fulcrum

The fair-haired monstrosity rips his blade from the sky

The young man looses his arrow with a tonal buzz

Just as the weapon is to strike down the destroyers victim

An arrow drives through his fair hair, stealing his ferocity with little protest

The rage gone from his arms, the fury bleached from his eyes

The tip of the serpentine spear collapses at the foot of the grassy hill

Panic takes hold as the strength of the line is broken

The fist piercing through the hole as though impossibly anticipated

The great serpent unravels like a spool of thread with no spindle

The greatest of their strengths now their heaviest burden

The well trained blades working with all cunning and speed

The fist take full advantage of the fray

As the sandalled serpent falls to the shepherds

Disbelief is stronger than pain or fear

The blood of both sides color this once green hillock a deep crimson

But at the end the mystery retains its veil

One young man lay his unstrung bow across his knees

As he knelt lazily on the only remaining patch of green

The head of the snake, and the fury of the fair hair and fallen to the unlikeliest foe

And the boy only thought of his sheep and his lute

I’m Gonna Go So Fast

I’m Gonna Go So Fast

Charles DeLucie

(The excersize was to write a piece in the voice of a younger self, then as your current self.  This was my rendition.)

       Man this is going to be so cool.  Its totally going to work and we’re going to have so much fun.  “No, Josh.  Dont put it there, put the hook part on the bar by the wheel.”  He did, and I grabbed my part and hooked it onto

 my skate board.  “Ok now when you go down the hill it will pull me too.  I’m gonna go so fucking fast!”  Cussing will make Josh think i’m like his other older friends.  So will this because I’m gonna look really cool going down this hill.  He’s getting on the scooter, this is going to be so cool.  “Go Josh, GO!”  I yelled this time.  I cant wait to go down the hill.  I climb over on my stomach and hold on to the sides of the board tightly.  He’s starting to pull off, but I can see the hook of the bungee thing starting to come off the bar.  That’s weird but this is still going to kick ass.  I’m gonna go so fast.

        Looking back, this was a bad idea from the start.  I was going to get on a skate board, lay down on my stomach and get pulled by a scooter, connected by a small bungee cord, and supposedly rocket down this hill looking so cool.  Here’s what I didn’t take into account.  I was young and small, probably 70 pounds, and the bungee cord only had a holding capacity of about 20.  Numbers like that didn’t matter to my childlike plans of a superhero-like trip to badassery.  So when the hook flew off of the back fender of that scooter, and since it was stretched to capacity and full of kinetic energy, it flew at my face faster than my eye could register.  The dull hook buried itself in my skull and knocked me out almost immediately.   When I woke up Josh was long gone, and I was bleeding and had to walk home with a bungee cord sticking out of my head.  On the way home i figured out what had  happened and tried to think of what I would tell my mom who would undoubtedly freak out.  How did I ever live to adolescence with ideas like that?

The Voice of an Angry God

The Voice of an Angry God

Charles DeLucie

       I grinned stupidly as the force of the blow nearly took me off my feet.  A hearty laugh came from behind me as well as a hand on my upper back, stopping me from falling over completely.  My ears rung.  My shoulder felt like a small car in a head on colision, but hot-DAMN!  That was fun.

“Just remember to hold it in tight to your shoulder, and pull the trigger, don’t squeeze it.  It’s not like the pistols.”  It was my grandfather’s voice, and he was smiling behind me and watching as I reloaded the heavy shotgun and pulled it back against my shoulder.   He grabbed the butt of the weapon and pulled it firmly into the muscle of my shoulder.  I pulled back the fore-stock, chambering another round, and set my feet.  He patted me firmly on the back and I nodded before pulling the trigger.
Jesus Christ!
The sound that thing made shocked me even the second time, but man I loved it.  I missed again, not that it really mattered.  I was in love with this solid black fire maker.  When it barked it sounded like the voice of an angry God, and made you feel like you were holding on to a kicking mule, but it was fun.

       When I looked up at him he was smiling down on me in the way that he always seemed to be.  His cheeks hiding his eyes behind his dark lenses, and his pearly teeth showing generously.  When I looked at myself in the mirror, and thought about how much I hated my smile, I always wished that I had his.  Who cares if they were fake, his whole face smiled.

        I chambered another round without waiting for his approval or his instruction and this time took firmer aim at the pulverized washing machine he had chosen for target practice.  I knew it was a washing machine only because my grandfather had told me it was.  Its twisted and bullet riddled metal shell had more holes than metal at this point and made me think of atoms.  How there was more space than matter in the things we could see every day.  It always made me wonder how I never just fell through the world.

       I pulled the trigger and this time the little balls of metal rocketing out of the front of my rifle struck home, tearing even smaller holes in between the various polka dots in the steel.  The laugh boomed out from behind me and after he patted me hard on the back I heard him crack another beer in celebration.  It felt as good hearing that laugh as it did destroying that war torn washing machine.  I turned around and he was still smiling.  He always seemed to be.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Alex sprung forward in his bed forcefully, the sweat that soaked his face and chest flew from his body with the violence of the action.  The pain from his shoulder ripped him from the nightmare he was escaping, planting him firmly in the room in which he had been confined for the past week.   Several times each night and every morning was exactly the same.  Visions, both from his past and from the venom that was still being cleared from his body, plagued his sleep to the point of exhaustion.  It was only by force of will that he kept Merediel from dosing him with the bitter smelling concoction of roots that she claimed would help him sleep.  He knew he had to keep his wits about him if he were going to get out of here and back to his task any time soon; he could not give up now, not when he was so close.

It was evening by the level of light and heat in the room, and Merediel was just walking through the door with a tray carrying his supper.  As always the smell of the sweet meats danced in Alex’s nose and set his mouth to watering.  The hunger that accompanied the daily healing sessions was something that Alex was used to, however when he was a soldier, even after becoming an officer, the Patrecian healing halls were only permitted to give them soldiers rations, so as not to pamper the hardened men.  Besides, he had to admit that his hunger-shrunken stomach was growing well used to the frequent and savory meals they were feeding him in this place.  It would be difficult to adjust once his path led him back to the road where food was scarce and hardly held much taste at all.

“I see you’ve been at the dreams again.”  Merediel said before giving a loud dissatisfied sniff and a shake of her head.  “You’ll never heal if you keep up with this constant jerking about.  If only you’d drink the Rigger’s Root tea I leave with your meals, you would sleep all night with none of this business.”  She looked at him down her nose as she spoke, and he guessed she was on her tip toes again, trying to seem larger and more intimidating.  If she stood higher than his chin to begin with it may have worked, but her displays were the only thing that brought anything close to a smile to these long bed ridden days.  “I have half a mind to try dosing you again, no matter what you say.”

“I wouldn’t suggest that Merrie.”  He said with a dry tone that hid his mirth rather well.  “You remember what happened the last time you tried that.”  This time he offered her a smile, but it carried any warmth whatsoever.

Her eyes flashed and her nostrils flared at the mention.  She even stomped her foot and which set her head to nodding in an all too familiar fashion; this time he even managed to bring out her natural accent again, the sound of which always made it near impossible to control his laughter.  “Yes I do, and I ought to put that poor man in here next to ye, so ye can hear his moanin’ about the wrist ye nearly took clean off his arm.”  She spat the words at him before briskly walking across the room to grab her basket of linens.  She brought it back and slammed the hard bottom on the bedside table with a loud thud.  “And I have asked ye time and again not to call me that.  Ye have no right.”  Her voice quieted and became a bit more composed.  “No right at all.”

Alex chewed his food to hide the laugh he felt in his stomach.  He liked the woman despite all her prattle.  She reminded him much of the barrack Sergeant that had been in charge of the Cub’s Hall when he was a boy.   Merediel was no soldier but she had the short temper of one and the hot anger of a Hall Warden if he had ever seen it.  He found it strange to be amused by another person again, it had been quite a while since he had a real conversation with anyone, let alone been glad to be in their presence.

She lifted his injured shoulder beyond the point where it could yet bend forcefully, obviously taking revenge for his comments by causing him pain.  The large bit of meat he had in his mouth tumbled out when his jaw sprung open in surprise.  After he recovered from the bright flash of pain that had choked any other thought from his brain, he picked up the half-chewed piece of ham and stuffed it back into his mouth greedily.  She grumbled and muttered under her breath, cursing him as a “wool-headed lummox” as she usually did.  It did seem to be her favorite curse when it came to any of the men in the hall.  Though he heard her use it more often when it referred to himself and Thiodr.

Then as though summoned by his thought of the man, Thiodr appeared in the doorway.  As he had every morning and evening since Alex had awoken, Thiodr stormed into the room as though he expected his presence demanded immediate attention.  Merediel handled him with the usual deftness that she usually did, quietly ignoring him until she had finished redressing the wound even through all his heavy sighs and chuffs to let her know he was in the room.  She patted the wound lightly and looked up to Alex’s face.  “Finally we have some progress with this shoulder.”  She looked down at the shoulder and nodded again before turning to face Thiodr.

“Oh, Thiodr, I didn’t know you had entered.”  She said, a warm smile crossing her face.

Thiodr turned that very familiar shade of red as he nearly shouted his response.  “Of course you knew I was here woman.”  He blew out a big breath of air, the effort of trying desperately to bottle the rage that boiled over so frequently in this room was very plain on his face.  He stammered a few times before finally spitting out the same sentence he always did.  “You know why I’m here Merediel.  What change can I report to the Baron on this man’s condition?”  He stood impatiently, eyeing the Lion and Merediel both, sizing the pair up as though preparing to defend from a sudden concerted attack, and while Alex might be at a disadvantage with his injured soldier, he was sure Merediel would more than make up for his injuries.  He nearly chuckled at the thought of the stout woman bristling with armor and weapons, standing before the much larger Thiodr with not an ounce of fear in her.  Merediel acted, as always, as though she barely noticed the man’s presence as she stripped the sweaty sheets from the bed and replaced them with fresh ones.

“No change, Thiodr.”  She pulled the bundle of dirty linens from the floor and tossed it into the now empty basket that was wedged firmly on her hip, her spare hand hitching up her skirt above her ankles and heading toward the door.

“NO CHANGE!?”  Thiodr screamed suddenly enough to set both Alex and Merediel’s hearts to racing.  “It has been nearly a week, and still he has had no improvement.”  He quieted his tone as he once again gained control of his temper.  “And not only that but you just told this… this MAN, that he was showing progress.”  He balled up his fist and pointed one finger at the small woman.  “Why are you keeping this man from the Baron’s questions Merediel?  Why are you hiding him here in your hall?”

Merediel unclasped her fingers from her skirt and set a balled fist on her hip.  Alex knew what was coming next, and thought Thiodr should be out the door if he knew at all what was good for him.  She began speaking in a calm voice, and though it held little in the way of volume, the cold sting of her tone cut through the air with some force.  “Thiodr, this man is my charge.  He is in my hall.  He is under my protection until I say.  Not the Baron, not you, not even he himself will take him from this hall until I think he is ready.  And if I’m honest, the more you pester me and keep him from his rest the more I’m likely to keep him here under my care.”  Her voice remained even and steady though the razor edged words made their impact very clearly.  “Now go tell the Baron that there is no change to report.  As soon as he is ready, I will send for you.”  And with that she hitched up her skirt once more, and walked around him and out of the door.

Thidor stood there for a long silent moment, glaring hotly at Alex.  He took a deep breath and walked to one of the tall windows that lined the room.  He stood there for a handful of minutes before he finally spoke.  “She was a beautiful woman you know.” he paused then looked to his hands.

Alex raised his eyebrow cautiously not expecting to hear any kind words from Thiodr at all, especially after another of his searing outbursts.  He stayed silent, watching the man’s pained eyes scan the horizon while his mind worked.

“Before she… turned, she was the most beautiful woman in Festle.”  Thidor spoke quietly now as his gaze moved to his booted feet.  Another few moments passed before he wheeled suddenly and strode out of the room purposefully.

Alex was growing quite tired of the contest between Merrie and Thiodr; their bickering was amusing for a time, but now only served to exasperate him.  He flexed his shoulder slowly and worked it in a small circle, the healing he had undergone since being in the Hall was much faster than natural healing, though not quite as fast as the Healing Halls of Atenium, a fact which, when brought up to Merrie, had caused her to sniff, nod and stamp her foot at him in the space of one sentence.  Her punctuations always made Alex smile, which heated her agitations all the more.

He sat up fully and swung his legs over the side of the bed slowly, bringing him to the only other position apart from being on his back that he had occupied in the last weeks.  He cautiously scooted closer to the edge of the bed, bringing the soles of his feet to rest gingerly on the cool wooden floor of his room, the temperature of which nearly caused him to pull back jerkily; he resisted it as to avoid the flaring pain he felt whenever he moved too suddenly.  As his feet stuck more firmly to the ground, his weight gradually transferred from his bed to his wobbly legs.  They quaked a bit at first, and his stomach, which was just recently filled, growled with a sudden hunger; however he continued to stand until the only thing touching the bed was his hand on the bed post, steadying himself.

It felt good to stand, and his legs felt as though they were yawning from the long rest.  He curled and uncurled his toes rapidly, drumming them on the wooden slats quietly as the blood circulated through his limbs, making them less and less shaky the longer he stood.  He gathered the white sheet, which was now half soaked with his sweat only minutes after being changed, and draped it around his waist to hide his nakedness.  He had already blushed whenever Merrie bathed him and cleaned his nakedness as though he was only a babe with no shame at all – which she found far more amusing than he liked – and the last thing he needed was for her to walk in on him fully nude standing in the middle of the room with no protection whatsoever.

After arranging the makeshift covering he took his first step in nearly three weeks.  He closed his eyes as he felt the room around him lurch from the strain, but he kept upright and pushed himself to take another step, then another; each step bringing him closer to the large open window in front of him.  He kept his eyes closed tight to prevent the spinning room from robbing him of his balance, as he held his now shaking hands out in front of him and grasping the sill of the tall window.  A sharp breeze blew through the window bringing with it the fresh smells of a bustling town; scents he hadn’t smelled since he was a much younger man.

Though his room was well lit, his first look into courtyard below, even in the failing evening light, made his eyes ache with the strain.  Gazing out of the window he confirmed his thought that he was not on the ground floor.  The angle at which he had been to the window while in his bed offered him only a view of an adjoining wall, but now he could see down from what appeared to be thirty spans.  As his eyes adjusted to the fading light he saw a beautiful garden of deep green hedges spotted with white flowers alongside stands of yellow and red flowers which he did not recognize at all.  There were flowering trees there as well, each one with a different colored fruit weighing down the slender branches.  There was a fountain at the center of the courtyard with a statue of what must have been a woman by the long hair flowing down its back; she looked to be holding a man in her arms but he could not see from his angle.  There were walkways everywhere, some darting into the hedge-mazes, others circling back through the flower garden and small orchard, but all of them seemed to wind their way back to the fountain at the center.

The colors made his breath catch in his throat in a most unexpected way, and he was glad that his first sight hadn’t been in full sunlight.  He had grown used to the gray skies and muted colors of the Festering Wilds, and this sudden burst of color made his heart stir in his chest.  He had nearly forgotten that such color existed at all, let alone all in one place at one time.  The beauty of the experience nearly overwhelmed him and he stepped back from the window and held his thumb and forefinger over his eyes as though in pain.  He took a deep breath and looked again, however the shock returned immediately, along with the catch in his throat.

He turned from the window and saw that the long journey from the bed to the window, which had taken him nearly a quarter of an hour, was only eight spans and could have been covered by six or seven lengthy strides.  He sighed heavily at the thought of going through all of that again only to get back to his bed and leaned back against the sill heavily.  He stood there, leaning and eyeing the journey back for several long minutes before a familiar face walked through the door.

“Out of bed already sir… I mean Alex?” Preyan stammered as he came into the room.  “Merediel hadn’t told me you were walking just yet.”  The boy had taken to coming to check on him once his duties were through, always looking like he wanted to ask questions but never actually coming out with them.

Alex nodded and tried to stand a little straighter.  “She didn’t tell you because she doesn’t know, boy.  And I’ll have it stay that way.”  He took a step and, after feeling the world reel a bit, decided the wall would be a good place for him at the moment.  He took a deep breath before speaking again.  “That woman would have me abed for the next two months if I’d let her.”  The boy laughed and nodded in response to the Lion’s words.  “And besides, I’m fed up with hearing Thiodr’s voice in my room every morning and night.” He paused, thinking for a moment before declaring his intention.  “It’s time I had a word with this Baron of yours.”  He steadied himself and with all of his considerable focus walked somewhat cleanly back to his bed, only faltering once when he felt the floor drop out from beneath his foot for a moment.

Preyan looked at him with a careful measure of trepidation.  “If Merediel doesn’t know you’re up and about, I don’t think she will take to kindly to me taking you through the city in your state, aside from the fact that you don’t have much in the way of clothing.”  He tried to force mirth into his tone, but his worry was very evident from his face.

Alex straightened up a bit, trying to look as imposing and intimidating as possible in his state, and leveled a disappointed look at the young man.  “I knew you were assigned to work under Merediel here in the hall,”  He paused and looked Preyan up and down, giving the effect of severe judgement.  “but I didn’t know you were afraid of the girl.”  He put a bit of disdain in his voice to drive home the ruse.

Preyan reacted as though Alex had given him a script to follow.  His chest puffed out and his shoulders spread visibly as he also stood to his full height.  “I wouldn’t say I’m afraid of her,”  He stammered as he fought to come up with the right words, but finding only a vacancy he settled on simple repetition. “No, not afraid.”

Alex knew that the need to impress a figure looked upon with youthful idolation was great at Preyan’s age and stage of young manhood, and took full advantage of the fact that a bit of poking and prodding would allow him to get almost anything he wanted.  He had tried the same with the boy’s brother, Priorim, but found the young scholar’s logic to already be keenly aware of the manipulation.  Preyan – thankfully – was destined for the sword, and would only gain his wits after a few years in service.  He wasn’t the type to use the weakness of others against them, however he needed to be on his way as fast as possible, and if the Baron could facilitate that departure then it was the Baron he had to see.  He sensed the boy working through his own shame and pride and struck just when he could see the mulish nature of youth take hold.

“The Baron needs to speak to me, and I to the Baron.  And you know Thiodr has been in fits to get me over to the manor, which is likely the only reason Merediel has kept me here this long at all.”  He pushed the manipulation as hard as he could at this point, driving to get the boy to relent and bring him to the Baron now when Merediel would less likely be wandering the halls.  “I’ll need my clothes, Merrie told me that my things were in the trunk over in the corner.  You’ll likely have to give me a hand.”  He gestured for the boy to go and fetch the materials.

Preyan furrowed his brow as though his sense of duty was arguing with his sense of pride.  His pride clearly winning out, as Alex had hoped, he walked to the trunk and – upon opening it – pulled a bundle from the trunk.  When he handed them to Alex, without a word as he was still obviously screwing himself up for the task, the Lion noted that it was only his clothes and that both his weapons and pack were absent.

“Was there nothing else in the trunk boy?”  He asked quickly, the edge in his voice was obvious and belied his urgency.  “No pack?  No bags?  Nothing?”  He spat out the questions faster and faster as the panic truly bean to set in.

Preyan looked up from his thoughts as though in a daze and shook his head, “No sir, only the bundle of clothes.”

“Quickly, look again.  Be sure there is nothing else.”  He commanded the boy now, his panic quickly turning into rage.

Preyan strode to the trunk and peered under the lid again, only to rise shaking his head softly.  “No sir, empty now after the clothes are gone.”  He paused a moment, before going on.  “If you’re looking for your weapons they were taken by the Baron when you came in, I overheard that much when they brought you to the hall.”

Alex began to seethe at the ridiculousness of his circumstance.  “Not the weapons boy, the pack.  The Pack!”  He was shouting now, desperate to make sure his charge was still within is grasp.  If these backwater Tremainers had lost it he would rend the entire city to pieces.

Preyan shook his head, looking more and more confused as the strange tirade went on.  “No sir… I mean Alex, but I’m sure whatever you had is with the baron as well.  I’m sure everything is alright.”  He tried to use his tone to calm the irate, half-naked, man before him.

Alex wheeled on the boy now, and showed, nor felt, any of his previous pain or discomfort as he walked briskly across the space separating the two of them and grasped the boy by his collar.  “Sure are you?  Are you so certain that your Baron hasn’t made a mess, by simple mistake, of what I have set the very edge of my life’s breath since I took my first?”

Preyan had fear in his eyes as Alex’s grip tightened threateningly, and he thanked Gregorim for the fact that it was he and not Priorim in this position.  Between Pri’s obstinance combined with the rage that was coming alight in Alex’s eyes,  there would likely have been bloodshed before either of them came out of the room.  He again tried to calm the enraged Lion.  “Calm down Alex, I will take you to the Baron and you can see for yourself that all is well.  Put on your clothes and we can leave now if you wish.”

Alex barely heard the boy over the blood pounding in his ears.  All of the stresses and frustrations of his time on the road seemed to flood out of him all at once.  As the red drained from his vision he realized that the boy was right.  He had to be right, because if he wasn’t none of this mattered anyway.  He released the boy slowly and felt the strain of his action suddenly as he nearly passed out from the sudden exertion.  Preyan caught him by the shoulder, steadying him before his eyes rolled back in his head and he did indeed slip into blackness.

When Alex was pulled from his sleep, it was the first time in months, it was not out of the claws of some horrific scene from his dreams, instead he awoke feeling very much like he had spent a long night in a tavern.  As he slowly tried to open his eyes he was vaguely aware of a woman’s voice calling his name repeatedly, and after a few repetitions he remembered where he was and that it was likely Merediel’s voice he was hearing, which was odd as she had never purposely woken him up before.  Once they were open he saw that it was indeed Merediel, however instead of the normal disappointed or annoyed look she normally wore, there was a look of worry on her face.  He was about to ask her what was wrong when he saw they were not alone in the room.

Behind her, about a span or so, was a tall, well-built man dressed in fine clothing.  He wore a quite unhappy look on his face as well as a thickly braided silver chain around his neck.  Hanging from the chain was a medallion which bore a silver wreath on a red field, the standard of Festle.  By that sigil alone Alex knew that he was finally eye to eye with Harod Fehrentiel, Baron of Festle and Lord of Southern Tremaine.

That morning… (video)

Watch this fullscreen with your sound on.  Makes it more encapsulating.

That morning…

I remember waking up that morning.  My mother was shaking me awake and saying my name over and over.
“Justin.  Justin wake up we have to go.”  Her voice wasn’t right.  There was panic  - a timbre I hadn’t heard before.  “Get out of bed we have to go right now.”  She repeated it again, and I finally opened my eyes.  What I saw in her face was enough to pull me completely out of sleep.
“What’s wrong ma?”  I asked, instinctively already doing my best to comfort her, even before I knew what was wrong.  Her face was lined, making her look much older than the young vibrant woman that had raised me.  Her hair was a mess, which told me she had also just woken up.  She hadn’t  the time to run a brush through it, which she had a habit of doing just after waking, so I knew it was sudden.
“Grandma called…” she began, her voice cracking as she did her best to pull the words from a place she had dreaded aloud for years.   Before she could form the rest of the sentence, I knew.  There was no reason for me to know, he wasn’t sick.  The family had just had a barbecue the day before and no one noticed anything amiss.  But still – I knew.  I knew from the wild panic behind her eyes.  I knew from the flaming hair which sprung from every direction on her head.  I knew from the canyon deep worry lines creasing her forehead.  And, oddly enough, I knew from her stark lack of tears that it was permanent.

“…she said she found Papa dead.”   The words fell from her mouth dejectedly, and she looked down almost as though she was looking for the words to gather them up and take them back.  She looked back to me and I could tell she was waiting to console me, but right now we really needed to move.  Even in this, I could tell what she was thinking.
I didn’t say a word.  I threw the blanket back from my bed and threw on a pair of shorts.  I slipped into my shoes and grabbing the keys from my nightstand, ran to my car.  She was right behind me and climbed into the passenger seat immediately.
I always drove more slowly when my mother was in the car, but not this morning.  Her tears had finally started to come, and she was saying over and over.  “Oh please God Jesus Help us.  Oh Please God Jesus give my boy strength today.  Oh please help us today.”  She kept repeating it, but the words only seemed to float in the car, never quite reaching me.  She never complained as I slid around the corners that stood on the mile and a half journey between my house and my grandparents.  She closed her eyes and prayed aloud, and I never slowed down.
I pulled into the driveway, stopping suddenly enough to leave two tire marks on the cement.  We both ran into the house immediately.  We saw my grandmother at the kitchen table where she always sat, but she never looked like this.  She was making noises I never thought I would ever hear a person make, and just holding her head in her hands.  She didn’t look up when we burst through the door.  I looked at my mom, asking her what to do without saying a word.  All I knew was that I had to get here, I hadn’t worked out what to do after.  She started towards my grandmother to let me know she understood.

I still cant figure why, but I burst down the short hallway and into his room.  It was cold inside and he had his comforter pulled up under his chin like always.  His teeth were in a glass on his nightstand, we never saw him without his teeth, but that wasn’t the only thing.  He was always a tall, proud man, with a light that hung around him like a fog.  Not now though.   He was sunken, and for the first time in my life he looked old to me.  It wasn’t my Papa laying there.  Sure it looked like him, but I could tell in an instant that he was gone.  Only the husk of what he was lay there now.
I walked back out of his room and shut the door as though I was afraid that I would wake him.  I walked the few short steps into the living room and stopped.  I was frozen as I finally started to realize what was going on.  What I had lost.  What I would never have again.   The tears came through gritted teeth and clenched jaw.  I felt my fingernails bite into my palm, cutting the skin as I balled my hands into corded fists.  But I wasn’t angry.

Happy Birthday Papa

Today, August 31st, is my grandfather’s birthday.  We lost him a few years back now and things have never quite been the same, but on days like today, it’s good for me to sit, and with tears in my eyes, remember a man that always seemed to humbly know the right advice to give.  He was intelligent and kind, but never boastful.  He was always firm and encouraging but never spiteful.   He was my Papa.

Our relationship was a special one.  He was my papa and no one could ever eclipse that place in my life.  When I didn’t have a father, he was that for me, long after having to raise his own kids.  He showed me that a real man is gracious, kind, courageous, intelligent and most of all protective of his family.  He loved us proudly and always beamed when we achieved.  Sure he kicked us in the ass when we screwed up, but he didn’t just yell, he would offer you the advice to get you out of it as well.

He and my grandmother were an improbable match to me, they always seemed at odds in both temperment and personality, but after he left us I saw that even my grandmother, the toughest woman to walk the face of the earth in our eyes, leaned on him for strength and love.  He loved her too, and in his quiet way always managed to show it.

 The thing in my life that makes me the saddest when i think about my grandfather, isn’t that I’ll never get to talk music with him again, or that I will never get to ask him for advice, or even work on the odd project that he would have for me over the years (the projects that would teach me more than I ever imagined).  No doubt these are all things that I have lost and will never get back, but the thing that makes me mourn the most, is that my future family will never get to meet the man that elevated my life in such a way.   And though they will never actually meet him face to face, at least in this life, they will know him through the best parts of me.  When I teach the children I may or may not have to read, it will be from the same books he taught me to read from when i was so very small.  When I am able to give wise and humble advice, it will be his example they will be getting.  When my family sees the pride and strength with which I venerate them, it will be his strength and love that I am simply passing on.

He gave me the tools to be a man long before I ever knew what that looked like.  I have realized that this past year away from home, and will never be able to repay the amazing gifts he has given me, and continues to give me even after he is gone.

Thank you pops.  Thank you for the laughter.  Thank you for the smiles.  Thank you for the conversations.  Thank you for the education.  Thank you for your life, and thank you for your love.  But most of all, thank you for my character.

R.I.P.

Joyce Wensel

Schmidthuber

My Papa