Namaste and thank you for joining me today. All right, readers, this is it: the conclusion of "The Diary of Jim". I hope you enjoy it.
All night at work I waited
anxiously for her to visit me, but again she did not show up. Disappointed and
frustrated, I headed out to my car with my tail between my legs. On the front
windshield of my car, stuck under the wiper-blade on the driver’s side was
another small piece of paper. On it were detailed instructions on how to get
somewhere obscure to meet her. I was beginning to be frustrated with the games
she played. But at the same time it was the thrill of the chase that allured me
so much; that and her dead-sexy body. There is something truly compelling about
a woman who is unafraid of her own sexuality. I can’t help but wonder why she’s
playing so hard to get. I suppose I may find out sooner rather than later.
Somewhere on the other side of town after being lost for
longer than I care to forget down one-way streets, I finally found my
destination. The 15 story Waterhouse Apartment building stood on the edge of
downtown and gazed majestically out over the park across the street where
bicyclists and joggers could be seen at almost any hour of the day so busy with
their cardiovascular workouts.
My gut instinct told me to be suspicious and not to go
inside the building, but y other instinct, the hormonal one, also known as
libido won the battle. So inside I went and I was quite amazed by the lobby
alone. Floral arrangements of fresh lilies and daises flowered the area and
gave a homely, comfortable environment to the Waterhouse.
Across the lobby were two side by side elevators. I read the
piece of paper Sylvia had left me again: 11E. The thought passed through my
mind on how she would have been able to afford such nice living conditions on
an RN’s salary alone. That was among many other questions pondering through my
mind.
The elevators took forever to make it down to the ground
floor, and once inside it took even linger to go back up to the eleventh floor.
Eventually the doors opened to a long hallway going either direction. The
antiseptic smell of a cleaning crew’s visit still lingered in the air. To the
left and right both were lettered doors. On the left were apartments labeled
“G-L”. On the right were apartments A through F. I went two doors down to the
right and took a deep breath before knocking. Behind the closed door I could hear
footsteps approaching the door. The deadbolt unlatched and the door swung
inward.
Sylvia looked like she had been crying and her breath
smelled of cheap wine. The red, swollen rings under her eyes were a dead
giveaway that something was wrong. Why she had been crying was the question
still up in the air.
“Come in, come in!” She motioned with her hand hurriedly as
if half expecting someone to discover my presence there.
Once behind closed I tried to console her by asking what
was wrong. A tear drop rolled down her face as she started to redden again.
“I shouldn’t have asked you to come here, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry for what?” I asked, but then I already knew.
Looking around her apartment I could see that she very much did not live alone.
She whimpered softly as I walked past her into her living room. Picture frames
hung on the walls, stood on bookshelves and even lay on the coffee table in
front of the couch. Had she been staring at these pictures? Could the man next
to her in almost every photo be the reason she was crying?
“Is this your…?”
“Yes!” She blurted out with an admission of guilt. “He’s my
husband.”
I nodded my head like I understood, but I was just as
confused if not more than before I had known the truth of her games.
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you telling me this?’
“I’m afraid.”
“Of what?” I asked exasperated.
“To admit to you that I … I …” She paused. “He’s never here
any longer. I feel so alone.”
“That’s it?”
“No.”
“Well then what else is there?”
“I’ve been trying so hard not to fall in love with you, but
when I’m with you I just can’t help myself.” And she cried.
Despite my inclination to be angry and runaway quickly,
there was a weak part of me that couldn’t stand to see a woman cry. I grabbed
her with both arms and pulled her head into my shoulder. My shirt was instantly
wet with her tears. I had no idea what to do. I allowed her to wipe her eyes on
my chest. The other half of me was red hot with anger to think she would do
this to me. I wanted to lash out, but I just couldn’t. The window to my back
hung open and the cool, gentle breeze helped just enough to cool my nerves down
slightly; until the front door opened.
In walks Sylvia’s husband who stares directly at me, never
shifting his gaze as he removed his jacket, wallet, pocket change, and
unhostered his gun setting them on the small table next to the door.
He made some offhand comment about his day at work sucked
before kissing his wife on the cheek. He sat down on the couch directly across
from where I was standing. His cold gaze pierced through me straight into my
soul and I did not like it one tiny bit whatsoever. The way he acted, however,
was odd because he was quiet, analyzing, and threatening. I backed up to the
wall as far as I could until I bumped into an end table almost knocking off
their lamp onto the floor. Alienated and paranoid, I felt as if I were marooned
on Mars without life support.
From a dish on the coffee table, her husband grabbed a
large handful of peanuts and shoved them in his mouth, chewing them loudly and
with his mouth open. I wanted to move and leave, but I was nearly paralyzed
with fear of what he may do to me for sleeping with his wife. After what seemed
like an eternity, he stood back up and paced the living room. He raised his
eyebrow like “The Rock”.
“So… Who the fuck are you again?” He looked directly at me.
Sylvia tried to speak, but shockingly, he backhand slapped
her right across the face and she fell to the floor stunned. At that moment
something snapped inside me. Perhaps it was my twisted emotions for this woman,
or perhaps it was the way my own father raised me to never, for any reason, hit
a woman. Nevertheless, something inside me triggered. With my right hand behind
me, I grabbed the lamp that I had nearly knocked over minutes before. As he
turned back around from smacking his wife, the vein in his forehead bulged and
protruded as he carried a wicked smile across his face. That was not the look
made by a first-timer, no, he had been used to roughing people up for a while.
So I, as soon as his face became clearly visible, swung the
lamp with all my strength, pulling the cord out of the wall, across his face
the way he had done to his wife. The look on his face should have been made a
Kodak moment. Epiphany showed on his face a fraction of a second before the
ceramic shattered and splintered with a loud crash across his forehead. Blood
sprayed onto the wall, the carpet, Sylvia, and myself. This big man teetered on
his frame as blood flowed from a large laceration just above his eyebrows.
In a fit of rage, out of my mind, filled with adrenaline, I
grabbed this bloody man who stared blankly at me. One hand behind his neck and
the other on his belt, I wheeled him around and alley-oop over the threshold
and out the open window. Over 10 stories he fell, screaming, landing with a
thud. Onlookers stared up at the empty window from where he was thrown. Someone
must have heard the screams and called the police. Sirens rang in the distance,
quickly dispatched to help one of their fallen own. And I, like an idiot, stood
there a moment, dazed at what I had done.
When I looked up into her eyes I could see the truth. For
her it had all been just a fantasy fling. Her temporary lust had overpowered
her logic and rational thinking, but the fact still remained now, that she did
indeed love her husband very much. I, on the other hand, was a criminal now,
and I did the only thing that was possible to do. I ran like hell.
Towards the front door I leapt, over the couch. Her husband
hadn’t locked the front door behind himself, so escape from the apartment
proved easy enough. But where to go from there would be tricky. The elevators
would be too likely, so I went for the stairs. Down I went, quickly, yet
steadily, careful not to loose my balance and fall down the steps. Unbeknownst
to me beforehand, the entire building was not indeed apartments; it was home to
a variety of businesses, offices, sauna, gym etc. and the list goes on. Now at
approximately the 6th floor it appeared to me that this particular
set of stairs may not be the best route for me to take, yet I could not stop
running.
Large paned glass office windows passed by on both sides
with rubberneckers stopping their work to see me hurriedly pass by. At the
opposite end of the hall was another set of stairs that I chose to take. The 5th
floor, my next departure from the stairwell proved to be invaluable. There were
two doors near the stairwell exit. I tried the first, but it was firmly locked.
The second opened with a turn of the knob. I found myself in a men’s locker
room full of steam from a nearby sauna that I could not visibly see the
location of, but old men with towels wrapped around their waists walked openly
around absorbed in conversations with one another. I knew that I must find a
change of clothing and remove the blood stained garments that I currently wore.
Down a particular row of lockers I went, trying not to draw too much attention
to myself. Some clothes that I saw were too small, others too large, but then
about halfway down the row I came upon a set that looked close enough to be
right. Hurriedly, I removed my clothes and wadded them up, placing them next to
me on the bench between the two rows of lockers. I replaced what I was wearing
before with a pair of grey pants, a royal blue, button up shirt and a grey
sports jacket that matched the color of the pants.
Scooping up the crumpled wad of clothes from the bench, I
headed for the exit, tossing the clothes in the nearest trashcan with a lid. I
found a pair of stylish black-tinted sunglasses in the inside pocket of the
jacket. They were comfortable and the reality of my crime seemed distant if
only for a moment. Woo! I felt like the Nature Boy Ric Flair; styling’ and
profiling’… Woo!
I thought after that, to hell with it, so I took the
elevator. After all, they would not be looking for someone dressed like me the
way I am now. Inside the elevator, two women gossiped about some celebrity
bullshit that made me want to hurl. But on a quick thought, I joined in their
conversation so I could be walking with them on the way out the building.
The main lobby looked similar to as if someone had called
in a bomb threat. A plain clothed detective was escorting people to the door.
Without even asking, the two girls spoke for me and the detective let us pass
after giving us his card with the classic line “If you remember seeing
anything, you just give me a call.”
Yeah right, like that would happen.
The fresh air never smelled so sweet. I felt born again.
But then my headache was there, throbbing in my temples. Across the courtyard
toward the park I walked. Two men ahead of me to my left caught my attention.
One was talking on his cell phone and the other talking to the man on the
phone. Something about the two men looked vaguely familiar. Had I seen them
before? I walked closer trying to get a good look. That was when it hit me the
hardest. Both of the men looked exactly like me.
“Is there something wrong?” The man hung up his cell phone.
I was too mortified to answer.
“Are you o.k. Jim?” The second man asked.
I turned around in a circle. Every other face in the crowd
looked like my own.
“What did you call me? Just who the hell do you think I
am?”
“You’re Jim Carrey, of course.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“You’re having a dream!”
As I sat violently up in bed, I realized that I must have
had another nightmare, and my head was killing me. I managed to catch my breath
and as I lay back down my arm touched someone else. A woman rolled over. My
eyes got huge with disbelief. How did she get into my apartment?
Again, thank you to my readers. Enjoy the rest of this beautiful day. This is the one and only Quiet Mouse 420.
Peace. Respect. Love.
