The last building he passed before turning off of Jacobson was a Bed n' Breakfast. Jeffery paused at the red light and thought to himself how this sort of invention spoke directly to him and how it would fill the innermost instinctual needs of his person. After making note of it's location he continued home.
His headlights illuminated familiar pavement as he turned onto the final stretch. A straight path of freshly redone pavement whose beautiful filled middle line lit up the road in the sort of way that painted lines are usually incapable of doing. As he pulled into his driveway the Ford Taurus sputtered and squealed in what would seem like fear to what was waiting in front of the house. Jeffery ran himself perpendicular to the fear which sounded more like a slipping fan belt than any sort of worrisome warning and exited the vehicle with a clear head. Two squad cars sat in front of the house. The policemen and Jeffery exchanged a suspicious lack of heeding each other's presence and he made his way up to the front door. His lackluster pass-by of the police without a word being a direct result of the lust burning inside him to read whatever was important enough to crumple into his pocket and their unmistakable ignorance to his existence within the same city block being a direct result of the four cops commenting to each other on the surprising amount of coloured paper lying in the gutter next to the house which held a striking resemblance to numerous tickets each of them had issued in the past.
Jeffery entered the house and stepped directly into the kitchen. His mother, surprised to see him, turned to look upon her offspring and gave him one of her biggest smiles. He shrugged it off, it was the kind of smile that only mother's were capable of, and only mother's understood when they saw each other staring off into the distance thinking of their children.
"Mom, What did you do with those pants I was wearing earlier?"
She put her hands on her hips, the oven mitts covering them made this gesture even less menacing than it already was,
"Jeffery dear, I haven't gotten them ready yet, they just finished in the wash and I have yet to dry them. You can't wear them again till morning."
"No mom, there was something in them I needed."
"Have you seen those lovely gentlemen out on the front lawn? I was about to bring them rice krispies squares."
"Mom, did you find a piece of paper in one of the pockets? It would have been crumpled." His tone was clearly more desperate than he would've liked to have let off.
"That reminds me, I need you to help me with the computer, I want to invite some of my friends to a daffodil showing this weekend. The silly printer never seems to work when I do it."
Jeffery's mother was well known for her prized daffodils and even more known for her afternoon showings, everyone who was anyone would show up to them. He didn't have time for this, he knew it could go on for hours and he still wouldn't get a useful response. He started down the stairs and her voice was slowly drowned out by the increasing distance between them. When he got to the laundry room he heard the front door close as she no doubt left to distribute her baking and invite the officers to her showing. A pile of crumpled papers sat next to the washing machine. He began to sort through them.
Jeffery's mother was outside feeding the police.
"Such strong men, and don't you all look so dashing in your matching uniforms. I bet you all develop quite an appetite working so hard. Here, have these, their my Jeffiekins' favorite."
"Much obliged ma'am," the policemen had finally been disturbed from their parking ticket trance.
"Be wary of the daffodils, please, did you stop by to take a peek? I'm having a showing this weekend you know."
"No ma'am we are actually here on official business. We are waiting for your son to come home so we can ask him a few questions."
"Well you sillies, Jeffery is inside right now, that's his car there in the driveway."
The policemen, a little taken aback from their inability to do their job and now being out maneuvered by an elderly women each sort of jitter-stepped before coming to their senses.
"Ma'am, we are going to need you to step across the street and wait there until we tell you."
"Over to Lisa's petunias? Oh I have been meaning to step over there and see them, I suggested a new soil for this year and can't wait to find out how it's been working." She spoke to no one as she was already heading over to her neighbor's garden. One of the officer's pulled out a megaphone and began speaking towards the house.
Gum wrapper, 7-11 receipt, gum wrapper, old unused kleenex, none of this was what Jeffery was looking for. A booming voice came down the stairs which felt like it rumbled the foundations of the house.
"We know you are in there. Come out with your hands up. You are wanted for questioning." The voice's lack of descriptive words sort of irked Jeffery but his quest was not yet completed. He opened the machine and saw his jeans stuck to the side. Quickly rifling through the front pockets, he discovered it. It fell to pieces in his hands.
"Questions pertaining to the whereabouts of Detective Clark Wesson," the voice continued.
Jeffery was now in a pinch, he had no idea where the detective was, his one lead now resembled simple pocket lint under his fingernails and he hadn't had sex all day long. He needed to make a serious decision, would he go out and confront the police who would no doubt incarcerate him for at least the remainder of the night, or attempt a high risk escape out the back alley and leave his precious Taurus behind?
Friday, May 27, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Chapter 11
Forty Second and Jacobsen
"Where to from here?", Jeffrey said aloud to himself as he peered out the window of his beat-up Taurus. Beige would never have been his first choice in colour for a car, but, as Jeffrey often replied when asked, 'when you're offered a price like that, hard to turn it down'. In truth, he had only bought the car to stymie his mothers continuous complaints about the smell of cigarettes emanating from her car whenever Jeffrey went out for a night on the town. He had finally had enough one morning and went down to the used car dealership (Ed's Big and Bigger Car Lot) around the corner, eventually leaving with a 1993 Ford Taurus sedan.
"When the fuck was I down here?"
Jacobsen Ave was well known across the city as something of a rough area of town. A collective hangout spot for drifters and addicts alike. Jeffrey was certain he had no reason, past or present, to visit these streets. Pawnshops neighbouring pawnshops facing pawnshops.
Christ, look at all the pawnshops.
This sparked a memory Jeffrey had of a small, crumpled slip of paper he had been thumbing in his pocket the night before. A short, vague moment in the course of the evenings events.
How drunk did I get, fuck. Think, Jeffrey, think. What do you remember? You were in a car. Whose car? It wasn't the Detectives, no. This car had leather seats. Dark leather. Not quite black, maybe brown? And that smell. Burnt hair? Cigarettes. Whiskey. And perfume? Beautiful perfume. Legs with smooth, buttery skin. And how they brushed against mine playfully in the backseat. And we were alone. Were we alone? C'mon, Jeffrey, think! Who was she? From the bar, the woman in the corner. Yes! It was her. Her voice, silken, and her beautiful, unexpected, citrine eyes. We spoke. But of what? Who was she? Oh, the blissful moan of her orgasm. How could I forget her? I couldn't have been that drunk. No man could be that drunk. Where the hell did I leave that paper?
As this last thought escaped him, he turned the car back up Jacobsen towards home.
Hope the old woman didn't do the laundry...
"Where to from here?", Jeffrey said aloud to himself as he peered out the window of his beat-up Taurus. Beige would never have been his first choice in colour for a car, but, as Jeffrey often replied when asked, 'when you're offered a price like that, hard to turn it down'. In truth, he had only bought the car to stymie his mothers continuous complaints about the smell of cigarettes emanating from her car whenever Jeffrey went out for a night on the town. He had finally had enough one morning and went down to the used car dealership (Ed's Big and Bigger Car Lot) around the corner, eventually leaving with a 1993 Ford Taurus sedan.
"When the fuck was I down here?"
Jacobsen Ave was well known across the city as something of a rough area of town. A collective hangout spot for drifters and addicts alike. Jeffrey was certain he had no reason, past or present, to visit these streets. Pawnshops neighbouring pawnshops facing pawnshops.
Christ, look at all the pawnshops.
This sparked a memory Jeffrey had of a small, crumpled slip of paper he had been thumbing in his pocket the night before. A short, vague moment in the course of the evenings events.
How drunk did I get, fuck. Think, Jeffrey, think. What do you remember? You were in a car. Whose car? It wasn't the Detectives, no. This car had leather seats. Dark leather. Not quite black, maybe brown? And that smell. Burnt hair? Cigarettes. Whiskey. And perfume? Beautiful perfume. Legs with smooth, buttery skin. And how they brushed against mine playfully in the backseat. And we were alone. Were we alone? C'mon, Jeffrey, think! Who was she? From the bar, the woman in the corner. Yes! It was her. Her voice, silken, and her beautiful, unexpected, citrine eyes. We spoke. But of what? Who was she? Oh, the blissful moan of her orgasm. How could I forget her? I couldn't have been that drunk. No man could be that drunk. Where the hell did I leave that paper?
As this last thought escaped him, he turned the car back up Jacobsen towards home.
Hope the old woman didn't do the laundry...
Chapter 10
As Jeffery came back to the conscious world the lack of porcelain beneath his person was the first sign that he was once again not where he thought he was, this time he couldn't even be bothered with opening his eyes before releasing a familiar vibration through his vocal chords.
“...ugghh.”
Before he continued he thought about how much he hated overdone and tired segues to symbolize passages in time or a shift in thought.
“Fuck.”
Finally his eyelids tucked themselves under his brow and his pupils were forced to work in order to achieve a proper focus of his surroundings. Before proper dilation was found the blurry image which encapsulated him was already snapping dendrites around as his neurons reached into the depths of his memory to locate a snapshot of reasonable understanding to recognize the image currently being sent to them by Jeffery's overworked pupils. They wanted a good blink to refresh but the current neural activity in his brain didn't have time for this sort of thing so it was forgotten and tear ducts began to empty out into the arid wasteland of opaque sclera. In reality the timing of this process was 2.98 * 10-38th of a second but to the jumping electrons it felt far longer than the half-life of a specific bacteria found in black mold so obscure that its existence upon earth was yet to be discovered. Unfortunately for the dwellers of the planet, this bacteria held the key for a vaccine to all the worlds worst diseases, but was commonly scrubbed at, painted over, and attempted to be resold as 'good as new' by sneaky realtors looking to make 18% commission. None of this had occurred to Jeffery however, as that during his first glance at the blurry room, he (almost) instantaneously recognized his surroundings has his very own room back at home, and was currently staring at a strange crack in the wall near the bottom of his dresser which he had concluded would have made for an excellent place for a spider to hide a egg-sack. His head no longer spinning, and his memories still connecting, he stood up and decided he would fill a sudden urge of hunger which had come over him and left him craving for eggs. Ignoring whether or not his mother was home, and disgruntled at the fact that the refrigerator held none of his desire, he walked outside, twirling his keys as he moved down the stairs towards his near-beige sedan. As the keys licked the rays of sun one in particular reflected a stinging bolt of brightness into Jeff's retina, resulting in a squint and angry look in the key's direction. It was the extra key his ex-girlfriend had given him. The neurons finished their not-so-speedy recovery of files and Jeffery was flooded with questions. One of which being extremely potent: “Was she actually dead?”. As an unfortunate repercussion of the memory reset, his short-term had been dumped and the neurons were unable to auto-recover the happenings of the past fourteen hours or so. What had really happened last night Jeffery was now oblivious to. As he unlocked the door and prepped to enter the driver's seat, he noticed a piece of paper stuck nicely underneath his left window wiper. It was a parking ticket for a part of the city Jeffery swore he had never been to. Seventy three dollars for parking too far from the curb at Jacobson Ave. and Forty Second St.
Screw the eggs
Jeffery had some serious sleuthing to do. He also wanted to fuck.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Chapter 9
"...ugghh. Fuck."
As Jeffrey rolled over and opened his eyes to the piercing noon rays streaming in from the open curtains next to where he lay, he became acutely aware of the soft acoustic guitar floating down the hall from a seemingly distant room.
Where the hell am I? What happened last night? Is that fucking Oasis?
"Ugghh," as he tried to smother both sun and sound with a baby blue, carnation embroidered lace pillow case. After a few minutes of failing to drown out the muted strumming, he swung his legs out over the edge of the bed, surprised to find a comfortable pair of silk slippers awaiting his feet.
"Huh."
After a lengthy stretch, Jeffrey slipped out the half open door to find himself in a baby blue nightmare. From the walls (painted such a faded blue as to almost appear white on first glance), to the matching side table, to the almost inconspicuously crooked gouache painting hanging above it.
"Jesus," as his eyes adjusted slowly to the flood of light and dull periwinkle throughout the house. He stepped from the hallway, where he was greeted by a strikingly beautiful younger lady he quickly recognized, yet couldn't quite put his finger on how.
"Good afternoon, Jeff. It is Jeff, right?"
"Yes, ma'am." Ma'am?
"Feeling better I hope? Bit of a rough one last night, eh." As she said this, she let out a soft laugh that struck a beautiful chord inside Jeffrey. Feeling a little taken aback by his sudden desire, he made an about turn and began an awkward half-jog to the bathroom he had passed moments before.
A man's voice echoed down the hallway, "You alright in there bud?" As Jeffrey heard this, the elusive memories of the previous night came rushing back to him. The waitress? And the fucking cop. Where am I?
"Couldn't leave you to find your way home in the state you were in last night, my friend."
That bar is less than two blocks from my house. What the hell happened last night?
Jeffrey slumped into the sink, unable to control the buckling of his legs. He heard the door behind him creak open, then a soft whisper, as the world faded black again.
Chapter 8
"Stop it son, you are looking at me as if I was your mother."
"Just dehydrated, thats all." Jeffrey answered quickly and what he thought quite convincingly. He knew it wasn't true dehydration, it had been approximately seven hours three minutes and thirteen seconds since his last glass of triple distilled glorifying planet-cover. It was an urge. The urge surged through his veins and purged all thought but it; putting him on the verge of insanity. Jeffery looked up confident as ever, first noticing the busty brunette currently pouring a gin and tonic for one of the fake-id bearing boys sitting in an awkward and totally conspicuous table meant for two in the corner, swarming it and all peeking over their shoulders to see if he was actually going to achieve greatness and come back with a purchased alcoholic beverage. While he waited for the bartender to become available he glanced to his company, the man's lips pressed softly against the glass as he allowed the perfect amount of liquid to slip its way in to tantalize his matured palette. Jeff was unsurprised that Clark was accustomed to the smooth strength, and watched in a sort of awe as Clark allowed the remaining ice to clink against the glass in a noteworthy musical manner as he returned the drink to the coaster; all the while lighting up one of his black cigarettes. The only thing Jeffery found surprising about him was that the detective appeared to have taken no interest in the current serving of minors happening just a few feet away. He seemed (in his sort of laid back yet learned way) to have his full attention on Jeffery, he appeared to be reviewing every word they had spoken to each other as of yet and looking for something he may have missed. At least that's what Jeff imagined he was thinking.
Jeffery was snapped out of ogling detective Wesson's non-chalent swagger by high-pitched shouts of achievement erupting from the corner. Finally he spoke:
"Why are we here?"
"You looked like you needed to get out of the house."
"That's it? No more intimidating questions?"
"She's cute, wouldn't you say?" Clark posed as he nodded to the extremely attractive woman heading in their direction.
Jeff only had a moment to look up and lock eyes with her, 'I really did need to get out of there, wow she really is my type isn't she.'
During this moment of weakness Jeff missed his chance at realizing that he was trapped in a Harrison Ford pseudo-world where his Tommy Lee Jones already knew everything there was to know about him, instead as the woman asked if they'd like another round he unleashed his vocal chords and made a very good decision:
"Three shots!" The girl, knowing one was for her, gave him a flirty tip-wink which she usually saved for alcoholics in their forties willing to fork it over for one chance to imagine a situation where they had her bent over the bar. Clark let out a grin, although Jeffery once again missed it, and downed the rest of his glass. Jeffery could feel his 'dehydration' already on the mend, he'd been winked at before...
"Just dehydrated, thats all." Jeffrey answered quickly and what he thought quite convincingly. He knew it wasn't true dehydration, it had been approximately seven hours three minutes and thirteen seconds since his last glass of triple distilled glorifying planet-cover. It was an urge. The urge surged through his veins and purged all thought but it; putting him on the verge of insanity. Jeffery looked up confident as ever, first noticing the busty brunette currently pouring a gin and tonic for one of the fake-id bearing boys sitting in an awkward and totally conspicuous table meant for two in the corner, swarming it and all peeking over their shoulders to see if he was actually going to achieve greatness and come back with a purchased alcoholic beverage. While he waited for the bartender to become available he glanced to his company, the man's lips pressed softly against the glass as he allowed the perfect amount of liquid to slip its way in to tantalize his matured palette. Jeff was unsurprised that Clark was accustomed to the smooth strength, and watched in a sort of awe as Clark allowed the remaining ice to clink against the glass in a noteworthy musical manner as he returned the drink to the coaster; all the while lighting up one of his black cigarettes. The only thing Jeffery found surprising about him was that the detective appeared to have taken no interest in the current serving of minors happening just a few feet away. He seemed (in his sort of laid back yet learned way) to have his full attention on Jeffery, he appeared to be reviewing every word they had spoken to each other as of yet and looking for something he may have missed. At least that's what Jeff imagined he was thinking.
Jeffery was snapped out of ogling detective Wesson's non-chalent swagger by high-pitched shouts of achievement erupting from the corner. Finally he spoke:
"Why are we here?"
"You looked like you needed to get out of the house."
"That's it? No more intimidating questions?"
"She's cute, wouldn't you say?" Clark posed as he nodded to the extremely attractive woman heading in their direction.
Jeff only had a moment to look up and lock eyes with her, 'I really did need to get out of there, wow she really is my type isn't she.'
During this moment of weakness Jeff missed his chance at realizing that he was trapped in a Harrison Ford pseudo-world where his Tommy Lee Jones already knew everything there was to know about him, instead as the woman asked if they'd like another round he unleashed his vocal chords and made a very good decision:
"Three shots!" The girl, knowing one was for her, gave him a flirty tip-wink which she usually saved for alcoholics in their forties willing to fork it over for one chance to imagine a situation where they had her bent over the bar. Clark let out a grin, although Jeffery once again missed it, and downed the rest of his glass. Jeffery could feel his 'dehydration' already on the mend, he'd been winked at before...
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Chapter 7
As the detective walked down the front path, Jeffrey was stricken where he stood. He made a deflated effort to speak, which garnered no more than a feeble squeak, then decided he had no choice but to follow.
"Walk. One foot, two foot. C'mon Jeffrey it isn't that hard."
"Hmm?"
"Nothing sir."
Finally finding his feet, Jeffrey ambled down to the detectives car in what could only be described as an awkward, almost painful gait. The front door to the car was already opened for him.
"Am I to sit in the back?" 'Shit, maybe I've seen too many cop movies', Jeffrey thought to himself.
"Well, Jeffrey, why then do you think the front passenger door is open?"
"Sorry sir. Just a little nervous is all." It struck Jeffrey that through this entire situation, from the doorbell ringing to that ridiculous question, the delicious crunch of The Captain hadn't left his mind. 'Concentrate Jeffrey.'
The bar was one Jeffrey had found himself at many times before. How many nights he had wandered in here, love-drunk and exhausted from whatever sexual escapade he had been having that evening.
"What are you drinking?"
"Err...milk. Wait, sorry, scotch on the rocks."
"Make that two. You don't seem to be entirely here Jeff. May I call you Jeff?"
"Yeah, no. Sure. Sorry I am just finding it a little difficult to concentrate right now. This is all, well its all a bit confusing."
It seemed quieter in the bar than Jeffrey had remembered. Dimmer. The faces of the few sitting around seemed distant, cold. The room was starting to shimmer and fracture. 'Is it the cereal? When was my last bowl of cereal?' As the bartender came up with the drinks, Jeffrey offered a small nod, perhaps without even noticing her at all, and drifted back into his thoughts. Slowly his eyelids came down. And suddenly the lights brightened. The world was bustling again. 'Would you like some cereal Jeffiekins?'
"Jeff? Jeffrey? Jesus son, get up."
"Huh?..."
"You seem to have passed out son. Something on your mind?"
Jeffrey you're losing it bud, he said softly to himself.
"Walk. One foot, two foot. C'mon Jeffrey it isn't that hard."
"Hmm?"
"Nothing sir."
Finally finding his feet, Jeffrey ambled down to the detectives car in what could only be described as an awkward, almost painful gait. The front door to the car was already opened for him.
"Am I to sit in the back?" 'Shit, maybe I've seen too many cop movies', Jeffrey thought to himself.
"Well, Jeffrey, why then do you think the front passenger door is open?"
"Sorry sir. Just a little nervous is all." It struck Jeffrey that through this entire situation, from the doorbell ringing to that ridiculous question, the delicious crunch of The Captain hadn't left his mind. 'Concentrate Jeffrey.'
The bar was one Jeffrey had found himself at many times before. How many nights he had wandered in here, love-drunk and exhausted from whatever sexual escapade he had been having that evening.
"What are you drinking?"
"Err...milk. Wait, sorry, scotch on the rocks."
"Make that two. You don't seem to be entirely here Jeff. May I call you Jeff?"
"Yeah, no. Sure. Sorry I am just finding it a little difficult to concentrate right now. This is all, well its all a bit confusing."
It seemed quieter in the bar than Jeffrey had remembered. Dimmer. The faces of the few sitting around seemed distant, cold. The room was starting to shimmer and fracture. 'Is it the cereal? When was my last bowl of cereal?' As the bartender came up with the drinks, Jeffrey offered a small nod, perhaps without even noticing her at all, and drifted back into his thoughts. Slowly his eyelids came down. And suddenly the lights brightened. The world was bustling again. 'Would you like some cereal Jeffiekins?'
"Jeff? Jeffrey? Jesus son, get up."
"Huh?..."
"You seem to have passed out son. Something on your mind?"
Jeffrey you're losing it bud, he said softly to himself.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Chapter 6
Intrigued. Puzzled. Disoriented. Hungry. Jeffery felt it all as he uncrossed his legs and allowed them to straighten as he grew taller and prepared to walk to the door. The door was still shut and locked, since childhood his mother had this method of dealing with his friends it went along the lines of: opening the door, greeting the person opposite of the frame, and shutting it again without letting whoever it was into the house while she called him and forced him to trudge all the way over there to let them enter.
It seemed like much too much time had passed by the time he had stood up to head towards the door, it felt like the man who wished to speak with him would have surely became aggravated and bored and would have left by now, Jeffrey however knew it was just that feeling of moving in slow motion that hits people when they stand up too fast and only a few seconds had occurred in real-time. He allowed his toes to sink deeply into the carpet and curled them a little before lifting them up again to rinse and repeat the act of walking he had become fond of as a mode of transportation for much of his life. He held his breath for the last step as he exited the room into the hall to prepare his sock for the harsh non-carpeted surface to follow. As his shoulders passed through the doorframe he immediately wished he could have taken back the breath-hold, standing on the opposite side of the open door and mom’s warm smile was an officer of the law. The feeling of not being able to breathe in and gasp sent his heart racing and an almost panicked sense of false dry-drowning filled his person. He quickly gathered his composure to steady his heartbeat and tried to keep the same pace he entered the hall with as he continued down it, failing of course from his terrible abilities of multitasking he stumbled on his fourth left step and only caught himself enough to stand upright when he was less than a meter from the cop. His mother looked happy and clueless, the thought that he may be in some sort of trouble hadn’t passed through her mind yet, and to tell you the truth, Jeffrey thought to himself, she probably didn’t even process the fact that this was a police officer even though his shiny brass badge was gleaming brilliantly from the soft light emanating from the standing lamp next to the door. She said something about leaving you two boys alone and began to walk away and the man at the door followed this up with something along the lines of ‘would you like to step outside for a moment sir?’ but Jeffrey was still stuck in the moment and was simply standing and staring and, from the policeman’s point of view, stalling.
The cop reminded Jeffrey of one of those awesome detectives from the Dick Tracey era. The way his tan fedora matched his long trench coat, his faded vertical striped shirt with bold brown suspenders almost melded his unclipped holster into the whole ensemble; making it almost a very normal sight that wouldn’t even put the most uneasy of anti-firearm activists in any sort of alarm. The man’s face was rugged and intimidating, it was that kind of face only highly experienced police detectives earn, the kind that looks scruffy even when freshly shaven, it was woven with wrinkles only possibly created through years of grimacing, looking at things every day that most don’t have to see once in their lives. Jeffrey was struck with the realization that perhaps this man wasn’t here about the parking tickets and tried to gulp down all the air he was still allowing to go sour inside his lungs which of course only ended in a giant lump in his throat. With the first fluid motion within the cop-civilian relationship Jeffrey slipped into his shoes, grabbed his jacket off the rack and shut the door behind him, all the while getting his breathing figured out again. Funny that in times of most severe desperation that we lose control of our most primitive living techniques and substitute them for intense observation of whether or not that girl finds us attractive, Jeffrey took a half-second to ponder.
The man pulled out a soft pack of Dubious Blacks and tapped the top until a filter exposed itself out of the torn paper, he then lifted it to his mouth, paused, and instead pushed it in Jeffrey’s direction.
“Cigarette?” The man offered. Jeffrey stuttered in response but still lifted the cigarette with his left hand and looked back at the door as if he was fine with smoking as long as his mom did not see it. By the time he turned back the detective had already put away the pack, lit his own cigarette, and had placed the lighter in perfect position to light Jeffrey’s as he spun back around.
“Your girlfriend has just been found dead. Murdered.” The man spoke before Jeffrey even had a chance to thank him for the smoke, so he took the sudden news with one hand in the air finger pointed towards the man and with his eyes open as if about to speak. This however did make it easier for him to make it to his next position, which was gaping mouth and hand on man’s shoulder. All Jeffrey could think to say was:
“Ex-girlfriend.”
“Well obviously she is now.” The detective said wittily as he took out a notepad and flipped to a new page to begin scribbling ‘took news suspiciously well, first thing he did was make a joke.’ He did not bother trying to be conspicuous about what he was writing down at all and upon reading what the man was writing as he wrote it Jeffrey quickly realized his poor choice of words and he became even more uneasy, more so than he ever thought possible. He also made the realization that these were his first steadily spoken words to the detective and he had no idea (unlike the rest of the world) that this dashed word could be so self-incriminating.
Normally, this sort of thing would be the key to naming a prime suspect for the case, which Jeffrey already was prior to the meeting at hand, through the testimony of Annalise’s neighbour, Janet, who told the police of an argument overheard earlier between the used-to-be-couple. Janet had that sexy shade of brown hair and she knew it, allowing it to fall in perfect waves down onto her cleavage line to make it seem all the more sexy, she was a meddler, and Jeffrey hated her. This Dick Tracey wannabe though was much different than any old cop, and he saw the extreme nervous uneasiness not as a sign of guilt but more of a sort of cute complete obliviousness to everything that made no doubt in his mind that this man was a killer. He shifted his eyebrows to get rid of the intensity he usually had, clipped his holster and stuck his hand out towards Jeffrey,
“The name is Detective Clark Wesson,” Jeffrey feebly stuck out his hand and let Clark do all the shaking, once again feeling lost for words. What was happening to him? He used to be such a good-on-his-toes type guy.
“There’s a bar just down the street, let’s go for a drink and see if you can help us out.” Detective Wesson said as he stepped away from the house in a very follow the leader fashion, he was not much for the classic stand and interview in the cold way of policing.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Chapter 5
Jeffrey was born into a not so average family, in an average house, in a very average small town. Shortly after Jeffrey's birth, Marie, and her then husband Charles, decided it was time to move on from the redundant ins and outs of Dunmovin, California, and journey into the hustle and bustle. Growing up in a not so average family, in an average house, in the city, Jeffrey was a very average child, although one with an odd passion for cereal. Jeffrey discovered cereal at the age of 8, a few years behind most his age, and ran with it, never really looking back. At first it was more the texture, than the taste, of cereal that enveloped him. The slight slurp of milk, followed ever so beautifully by that enrapturing crunch, touched Jeffrey in a way nobody will ever fully understand.
Remembering these lustful first few bites brought more than just a smile to Jeffrey. Yet, as his blood really began to course, he was sent hurtling back into reality, somewhat rudely Jeffrey thought, by his mothers yell from the front hall. "Jeffiekins, there is a man here to talk to you."
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Chapter 4
Jeffery hated the fact that his mother told him before he left "There will always be a spot here for you if you ever decide to come back." This basically meant that she knew he would be returning. The only thing Jeffery hated more than proving people wrong was proving people right and in this case, his mother was the last person he wanted to prove right. But then again, Jeffery was significantly more comfortable with the arrangement of his mothers house (not to mention the abundance of Froot Loops) rather than Annalise's "That 70's Show" apartment. During his short but efficient elevator ride, Jeffery came to the conclusion that the reward of never ending Froot Loops and a decor that was much more manageable to bare outweighed the unsatisfactory sex and the fact that he had to buy his own Froot Loops. "Ahh.." Another satisfying disimprisonment of noise left his lungs.
Upon reaching his mother's house, Jeffery was attempting to conceive an opening sentence that wouldn't make him look like an idiot. But before he could manage to do so, his mother had noticed his car and was already waiting inside that ever so familiar frame of the front door. Jeffery got out of his car with a garbage bag full of dirty clothes and a fabricated smile that said "I'm so happy to be home!" and made his way towards the house. "Come in Jeffery! Oh I can't begin to explain how happy I am that you haven't forgotten about your mother" said Marie, Jeffery's mother. Without any hesitation, Marie took his garbage bag and emptied it into the laundry room. Jeffery made his way to his old bedroom and noticed a small stack of blue papers on his dresser. Marie had entered the room just as he was picking them up, "Oh, I see you found your collection of unpaid parking violations". Jeffery slowly reached into his pocket, hoping that the thirteen he came to the house with (because he used one for a note earlier) somehow magically made their way to the dresser in his room. 'Shit' Jeffery muttered. They must have been from when he first moved out and forgot to change his address on his registration. He grabbed the pile on the dresser and placed them into his pocket alongside the others so his mother wouldn't begin with asking 1 question which would somehow promptly turn into 50 different questions.
"What would you like for dinner Jeffery?" Ah, the infamous question that haunts most of humanity living at home to this very day. He thought long and hard about this gargantuan inquiry and came to a effortless, but very satisfying conclusion.. "Froot Loops with crushed up Bik candy bar!" He shouted in a most favorable voice "And make sure it's in the yellow popcorn bowl!". Jeffery was sitting in his favorite spot, on his favorite 'couch', a worn out bean bag that had three different holes in it which had been stitched with three different colors of thread in which was located three feet from the television (almost the same arrangement as Charlie Brown). He began to think that returning home wasn't that atrocious of an idea after all..
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Chapter 3
A very satisfying "ahh...” noise escaped through Jeffery's exhaling lungs as the strong discharge floated past his vocal cords. Had anyone been keeping track, this would have been listed as the fourth most satisfying "ahh"s of all time, the first two (unsatisfyingly enough) were simultaneously let out by an overweight Belgian man and his wife, the man who had just completed mastering the qwerty-type keyboard as he sat back in his not-suitable-for-a-man-of-this-stature kitchen chair followed by his wife's "ahh" as the combination of the weight of the man, and the tampered-with oak legs of the chair caused it to collapse underneath him, sending jagged wooden stakes through vital organs, and killing the man instantly, halting his complaining about trying to master the keyboard forever. The third (and even more unsatisfying) most satisfying "ahh" to have ever been heard came from the mouth of Adolf Hitler over the news of Poland's capture.
Jeffery removed the bowl from his lips as if he had just kissed his sweetheart and said 'goodbye, and good luck in the coming business year.' As he laid the bowl to his side on the uneven mattress, the spoon resting inside shifted its balance and fell onto the pewter sheets, allowing that last little bit of milk which always remains on the spoon to seep into the threads forever. Finally he had a moment to assess the situation around him. He looked at the wall and his first thought, naturally, was
'Shit.'
He mouthed it silently, but being the only one in the room the thought was not kept from anyone. Jeffery swung his feet over to the side of the bed and jumped off of it, landing almost perfectly on the pair of socks he had left here earlier. This reminded him of his lack of shirt and underwear and his eyes instantly darted back and forth along the floor. This proved useless as they were nowhere to be found, and he began to hunt for them throughout the house. His eyes surveying the ugly floral faux-linoleum in the kitchen, the out of style shag carpet in the bedroom, and the wet two-inch beige bathroom tiles which continued up the walls for about half a foot before the terribly chosen cyan wallpaper became visible.
On second thought, he took the remark back; this woman had no future for him. Wait a moment...wet? His eyes jumped to the bathtub, no water running there. They moved to the sink, passing the overflowing toilet in the process. Hold on, overflowing? Upon lifting the lid beautifully comfortable Spiderman boxer briefs lay unsuccessfully half-flushed in the bottom, one sleeve of his overpriced plaid shirt peeked out from underneath them. Releasing a not-even-close to the most excellent sigh ever recorded, he turned to exit the bathroom. The water now creating a path into the bedroom, Jeffery was forced to step carefully to avoid his freshly pulled up socks from getting soaking wet, for that would result in the inevitable squishy sound which can only be classified as ear-pleasing upon taking off ones boots after jumping about in rain puddles on a sweet fall Sunday between the time of ten and eleven p.m. But since this was not the case, the case of squishy socks would not be ear-pleasing, and having toilet watered socks was not appealing to Jeffery in the least. Two Bic ballpoints, one Bic lighter, one Bik candy bar (his favourite), and fourteen unpaid parking violation notices later, he had gathered up his things and decided it was time to go. As he headed to the door he stopped short at the exit-table. Quickly pulling out a rather old yet not very crumpled ticket and the blue ballpoint pen he scribbled a note. Placing the pen atop the table to ensure the note would not be blown away by the wind created via swinging door, he gave the place a last nod, took it back upon the thought of his hatred for this layout, shook his head in disgust, nodded at the shake, and left.
On his ride down the elevator, he thought of Annalise reading the note. Jeffery thought of how when people read notes they tend to read in their heads in the voice of the note-writer. He wished she would read it with the voice of an Englishman, for he believed that all narration sounded better through an Englishman.
"Annalise,
Please do not take this poorly, but I am leaving you.
May I perhaps suggest an interior designer?
P.S. I will leave this pen here; you will need it to sign for the water damage to the pleasant velvet on floor below."
Jeffery removed the bowl from his lips as if he had just kissed his sweetheart and said 'goodbye, and good luck in the coming business year.' As he laid the bowl to his side on the uneven mattress, the spoon resting inside shifted its balance and fell onto the pewter sheets, allowing that last little bit of milk which always remains on the spoon to seep into the threads forever. Finally he had a moment to assess the situation around him. He looked at the wall and his first thought, naturally, was
'Shit.'
He mouthed it silently, but being the only one in the room the thought was not kept from anyone. Jeffery swung his feet over to the side of the bed and jumped off of it, landing almost perfectly on the pair of socks he had left here earlier. This reminded him of his lack of shirt and underwear and his eyes instantly darted back and forth along the floor. This proved useless as they were nowhere to be found, and he began to hunt for them throughout the house. His eyes surveying the ugly floral faux-linoleum in the kitchen, the out of style shag carpet in the bedroom, and the wet two-inch beige bathroom tiles which continued up the walls for about half a foot before the terribly chosen cyan wallpaper became visible.
On second thought, he took the remark back; this woman had no future for him. Wait a moment...wet? His eyes jumped to the bathtub, no water running there. They moved to the sink, passing the overflowing toilet in the process. Hold on, overflowing? Upon lifting the lid beautifully comfortable Spiderman boxer briefs lay unsuccessfully half-flushed in the bottom, one sleeve of his overpriced plaid shirt peeked out from underneath them. Releasing a not-even-close to the most excellent sigh ever recorded, he turned to exit the bathroom. The water now creating a path into the bedroom, Jeffery was forced to step carefully to avoid his freshly pulled up socks from getting soaking wet, for that would result in the inevitable squishy sound which can only be classified as ear-pleasing upon taking off ones boots after jumping about in rain puddles on a sweet fall Sunday between the time of ten and eleven p.m. But since this was not the case, the case of squishy socks would not be ear-pleasing, and having toilet watered socks was not appealing to Jeffery in the least. Two Bic ballpoints, one Bic lighter, one Bik candy bar (his favourite), and fourteen unpaid parking violation notices later, he had gathered up his things and decided it was time to go. As he headed to the door he stopped short at the exit-table. Quickly pulling out a rather old yet not very crumpled ticket and the blue ballpoint pen he scribbled a note. Placing the pen atop the table to ensure the note would not be blown away by the wind created via swinging door, he gave the place a last nod, took it back upon the thought of his hatred for this layout, shook his head in disgust, nodded at the shake, and left.
On his ride down the elevator, he thought of Annalise reading the note. Jeffery thought of how when people read notes they tend to read in their heads in the voice of the note-writer. He wished she would read it with the voice of an Englishman, for he believed that all narration sounded better through an Englishman.
"Annalise,
Please do not take this poorly, but I am leaving you.
May I perhaps suggest an interior designer?
P.S. I will leave this pen here; you will need it to sign for the water damage to the pleasant velvet on floor below."
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Chapter 2
"Is that everything for you today, sir?" asked the clerk. Jeffery, with his eyes fixated on the milk and small, but ever so satisfying box of Froot Loops, nodded his head. As Jeffery turned around to exit the store, he was dumbfounded by what he saw staring back at him from his windshield. He ran to his car and grabbed the parking ticket from in between the windshield wiper and his cracked windshield, this time actually taking a moment to look at the ticket and compare it to the one he got earlier that morning. They were the exact same, the only difference was the time the ticket was issued, same company, same color of blue, same violation. Just then, Jeffery got a shivering shock from the inside of his hand sent directly to his brain, as if the milk was trying to say something. Quickly crumpling up both tickets, he stuffed them back into his pocket and continued on his mission to feed his craving.
There was just something about the way the colorful O's floated so freely in the pure, white substance. It was almost as if Jeffery had a bowl of Froot Loops in place of his brain. Forgetting about the two words that were placed in his head earlier that morning, Jeffery sat on Annalise's bed and began to bring the spoon ever so slowly towards his buccal cavity, then he stopped. For a moment, Jeffery got a faint smell of a familiar perfume. He turned his head towards the door and saw Annalise standing there with a not so comforting look on her face. He saw her mouth moving, but couldn't comprehend anything that was leaving it. His mind was still in awe about the pot of gold that was being caressed by his cold, clammy hands. "Fine!, if this is what you want then fine! You better be gone by the time I get home" and the door slammed, permeating the room with the familiar odor. Jeffery looked at the pile of parking tickets that had been whisked ever so gently of the cheap, but never the less grandeur Ikea dresser. Reaching into his pocket, he placed the change on the pillow beside him and added his two new parking tickets to the mess scattered on the floor.
Chapter 1
A classy glass bowl filled with a not so classy two hundred grams of Froot Loops began to pour over the rim as too much milk was added. The white liquid seeping into and under the saucers and plates strategically placed beside the bowl, causing them to fasten tightly to the sturdy oak table and would surely stick if not removed and wiped clean soon. The items placed in and on the saucers, plates, and bowl all residing from the same classy set surely when combined would make the legendary balanced breakfast. A female voice uttered three syllables but these were lost the moment they entered the only other set of eardrums within the room, the cerebral cortex attached to them preoccupied with the thought of God’s inevitably terrific laser surely coming to destroy the myth of a perfectly balanced breakfast. Oh my, Jeffery thought to himself, he was thinking about cereal again. This could only mean one thing; he had just had sex. Now the superimposed vision of the day’s most imperative meal had disappeared leaving nothing but the disgusting off-white popcorn stucco ceiling behind. Jeffery had a tough time trying to fathom why on earth people would do this to their ceilings, and began to wonder why he was seeing this girl in the first place. He rolled off his back to look at his girlfriend for a moment. She queried something along the lines of wondering if he had heard her. His mind was filled with too many thoughts to listen to her. First, this was the first time he had noticed the ceiling of her apartment. This was after all, the first time they had made love. He coughed at the thought, sure, made love, love so passionate it could only conjure visions of Froot Loops in his head. He definitely had had better; once again his mind wondered, thinking back two years when he lay looking at a smooth pewter colored ceiling with thoughts of Cinnamon Toast Crunch in fine china. There was a seven eleven only a few blocks away which would sure carry camping-size single dose packages of dry cereal.
He rolled once again and got up out of the bed, his mind fixated on getting his breakfast. Left his boxers on the floor and slid his jeans up over his waist, not bothering to tighten the belt. Next he grasped his leather coat off of the rolling computer chair and zipped it up, not feeling any need for a shirt in this situation. Before he knew it he was out the door and hadn’t said a word to the girl lying confused in the bed. Little to his knowledge, the moment ago in which the two lay in bed together was actually much more climactic than he thought, and as he entered the elevator and pressed the lobby button the three syllables he had initially pushed aside as something silly such as ‘I love you’ came back to him. The words she had whispered silently into his dead ear canals were ‘It’s over.’ She had just ended the relationship and all he responded with was a look, a roll, and an exit. Dammit, and he was usually such a good listener too. The thoughts of artificially colored rings had single-handedly been the source of him losing a few vital items of his wardrobe. This once again reminding him that sex ruins every relationship.
He stepped out of the apartment building barefoot and tried to think of the why’s and but’s of the break up. He couldn’t concentrate, he needed 2% milk and he needed it bad. As he approached his car he noticed an all too familiar sheet of paper blowing in the wind, softly licking the air around his windshield as if to mock him. He snatched it out and crumbled it into his pocket, yet another parking ticket for his collection.
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