Out Like A Lamb Part 9

There’s something about a working class town that sends chills up my spine. The same way I have to pay attention when the National Anthem is being sung. I sit passenger over an overpass and look to my right in a foreign city and see smoke stacks, factories… small houses, fireplaces… smoke stacks, factories… it reminds of home and family. Every time I blouse my pants it’s the product of the hard work and blood of my father and his father. And oh, oh your friends say Delaware is beautiful. But they didn’t live here and they didn’t die here. Where the cracks in our family’s hands line the streets and the corners. Where the cracks in our family’s hands are more than stories and scars. Saturday mornings spent listening to marching bands. Saturday nights spent sitting around a fire in the backyard. And a history of tradition left under a Christmas tree next to a hospital bed year after year.




I bleed lines of mules and madmen. She screams.
I bleed lines of mules and madmen. She screams.
She screams out. “I bleed lines of mules and madmen.”
I bleed lines of mules and madmen. She screams.
She screams and screams.
I bleed lines of mules and madmen.


And the walls mute her. They mute her if she is screaming. She wants to reach out but she doesn’t. It gets buried deep underneath her skin and bones. All the way under her organs and blood cells. The blood travels from her heart to her brain which conducts the fingers holding the pen. And her pen writes her story in a book kept under lock and key. Just like her heart. But still she screams. What do you think about all of this? Sometimes I think there’s still nothing like your smile.


So… what do you think about all of this?


I think that I took you to my parents house and introduced you to my friends and I think I write it all here because I could never say this to you. I’d be a little embarrassed and you would never admit to wanting to hear it anyway. Although I think you do. You just don’t want to want to think you do. But you do. It’s supposed to get easier now that we’re older, but it doesn’t. Not for all of us.


I think I’ve seen a lot of beautiful cities from airport windows. Chicago, Dallas, Houston, Atlanta, San Antonio. I was there between flights and that was it. I think I’m too used to packing bags. I’m too used to saying good bye. I’m too used to embracing. I’m too used to getting dropped off. I’m too used to all of this…


I’ve been having dreams lately. I dream of dreaming at home. In one of my dreams I dreamt that a little girl was sitting on a fence outside of my window and she wouldn’t stop crying. I also dream about people, people that I know and some I haven’t met. People of all walks of life and we socialize beautifully.


Too used to all of this… I get out of the car and hug my Mother, I always hug her first. I make sure she is first. She always starts tearing up at this point. I hugged my Grandmother yesterday, I wonder what she thinks about all of this? I know she hates it. I shook my Brothers hand earlier. I am proud of the man he has become. I am proud of everything he does. After I hug my Mother I will shake my Fathers hand and I can tell that he is proud, as much as we hate saying goodbye. This is how it always is. I walk inside the airport and get in the security line. Waiting and waiting, all of these commuters are…


Before all of this I say goodbye to my friends. We hug and reminisce and hug again and repeat the cycle until I finally have to walk out the door. We always leave on good terms but I develop a hatred for every single one of you. I have to admit it hurts when I’m asked by others how you’re doing. You vanish and return based on my appearances. I’ve always wanted our definition of family to be more stable than that and if we have different opinions then so be it. I will see you when I see you, I just wish you saw my house more than I do.


Waiting and waiting, all of these commuters are just waiting and waiting. And I stand behind them bleeding lines of mules and madmen. I notice a sign to my right that portrays what an “expert traveler” looks like and it looks like me. Nothing but carry-ons because I’m never staying anywhere for long. This line is moving far too slow and I’m wondering how the security line could possibly take this long. It’s an assembly. Take off belt, empty pockets, take out laptop. Place all belongings in a plastic bin. Take off shoes. Walk through the metal detector. Gather belongings. Fill pockets, put on belt, put on shoes. Stare at a screen and hope that your gate is not the farthest one from where you stand. And of course it is. I hope there is somewhere I can have a drink at close to my gate. There isn’t. My iPod is drowning out all sounds. “Flight 1931 to Denver is now boarding first class and priority flyers.” I’m not going to Denver. Finally my zone is allowed to board and it’s funny because I’m in civilian clothes and I get no special treatment. I board/bored. I struggle to find room to stow my carry-on as a flight attendant greets me. I’m already disgruntled because I have the middle seat between Crook in His Suit A and Crook in His Suit B. Their condescending eyes descend on me and I can only hope they are as upset as I am. The flight attendant goes through emergency procedures and I could care less. I hate flying. The Captain gives his mandatory speech and we taxi down the runway. We gain speed and ascend. I’m not allowed to listen to my iPod yet, but as soon as I hear the flight attendant give me permission I play my music so loud I can’t even hear the jet engines. It’s like I’m not even flying, like I’m not even there. Every time I leave I’m inclined to listen to the music my brother makes. Fuck it, I’ve been having dreams again.


These fucking dreams again. This little girl is following me around and before I can even speak she says “Many children will burn soon. You don’t believe it, but that is a lie.” And she keeps repeating it over and over. She follows me in every dream. I try to touch her, to move her from my path, but she is constructed of the toughest porcelain you can imagine. She has one phrase. “Many children will burn soon. You don’t believe it, but that is a lie.” I wake up constantly. Fuck it, I’ve been having dreams again.


Every time I leave I’m inclined to listen to the music my brother makes. I pretend like every word he sings is about me. Yeah, that’s my vanity. I pretend like every word she ever writes is about me, but that was actually true at one point. We reach a cruising altitude. I’m currently wondering how I’m going to deal with all of this… I mean, I’m only 40 minutes in to a 4 hour flight and I have to use the restroom already. The Suited Crook to my left with the aisle seat has his laptop out already and I would hate to inconvenience him. I can’t nap because my mind is racing and I don’t want that little girl around right now. I’m already coping with loss. A constant cycle of loss, cope with that. Coping and coping. I finally muster enough of the appropriate amount of courage to ask the Crooked Suit if he could let me out. He looks at me like he’s annoyed, but he agrees. I urinate and I wonder if I tried to open the hatch how quickly I would be beaten. I also wonder why the middle-aged flight attendant didn’t follow me in here. There’s occasional turbulence. But fuck it, I’ve been having dreams again.


These dreams again.


Every time I leave I’m inclined to listen to the music my brother makes. Up here, oh up here, everyone is so vulnerable. Everyone is so vulnerable up here. We have that in common. What happens when innovation becomes the standard? Sometimes I feel under fire like I’m Joseph the Dragon Slayer. I want you to tell me where it comes from, because I already know where it goes. For right now it’s following longitude lines and GPS coordinates. Ground stations and waypoints, look it up. My music is playing and that’s what is making me feel grounded right now. “Many children will burn soon . You don’t believe it, but that is a lie.” Oh no. I feel asleep for a second, and that little girl is offering me some water while a unicorn is handing out pretzels. Thank God that it’s only the flight attendant for now. I look out the window past Crooked Suit B and to my complete horror I see the sky open up and a dragon flying out of the fissure straight towards the plane (plain). The little girl is riding on the dragons back and she saying “Many children will burn soon. You don’t believe it, but that is a lie.” Oh, no. I wake up in a panic. I’m sweating and nothing is abnormal. The Captain tells us we are beginning on our descent. The flight attendant tells us to turn off all electronics and… fuck this.


I lose my short term memory for what feels like days at a time. It might be by choice. Maybe it’s because I can ruin relationships better than I can start them. I guess. Yes, I guess I get mine. And guessing is what you do when you’re not sure. You consider the options and guess. And I don’t even care.


As we descend I think about how my Mother always asks me to write something nice. So this next part is for her.


As we descend the steps are basically repeated in reverse order. I hope we enter a black hole on the way down and I somehow wind up in my mid 1990’s day dream. I go there frequently. And trust me, we are descending.


Andy, Billy, grab your jackets it’s time to go over to your Grandparents. Christmas morning.


A father, mother, grandfather, grandmother, brother, aunt, uncle, cousin… things will never last this way. We could never be that lucky. We could never be that family. We grab our jackets and get in the car. Our drive is short because we always lived close. And here is the kitchen table. All cutlery laid out perfectly. Decorative plates and napkins. We could never be that lucky. And this is my Fathers world.


This is my Fathers world and you are just living it. And I thank you. And I thank you. And you. And I thank you. Thank you.


Another orignale by William Wallace

Out Like A Lamb part 7 coming soon.