The Middle of the Road

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Commercial Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short piece about sub-division...

Submitted: April 16, 2009

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Submitted: April 16, 2009



The Middle of the Road

There is magic to places that are centered only to themselves. Crossroads and property fences; old farmers' stones in the woods and their flagstone boundries...some respect these devices, others do not.

I climbed them, pissed on them and even took one apart to bury my best friend, dog, so as the coyotes' couldn't dig her up and desecrate her grave.

There is a magic to these places though...anywhere in the middle of things...neither here nor there. I understand it not, because I am centered, I suppose.

I say I am centered but in reality, I am not.

They say certain knives are "balanced" for throwing...there is no such knife that is that centered. Truely centered.

They say that cats always land always on their feet. (I have tested ths theorey....and tossed a few cats.) They do, unless you use "backspin" a basketball...they look at you like they hate you but cats never admit that you hurt them or that they didn't admit to land clumsily-so it was a bad test of what I speak.

Now, I can throw a knife so it sticks in a tree or a target and I have always looked for this "Mythological" centered knife but none really exists. (It is a fig-nuten) of your imagination...I bought old British Comando daggers and Fairbaines knives and even the dumb Chinese "Stars" to find a centered knife or blade. Throwing knives....

In England, they are great dart throwers and the legendary British Commandos throw daggers and hit their marks. I spoke to a US Marine, he told me:

"Yeah'r! In England, the commandos throw their knives...and they are good, (he added....) We have our Kabars and Camillus blades and we were taught NEVER to throw them......WE CAN!!!!" he went on but I was already losing interest in the conversation, thiking about the way the "Roadies" from the "Who" came into our dart pub and beat our asses....all triple points...all over the place. (The "Duke of the House" looked like a rank amateur...)

I don't know how I got off on such a tangeant but I suppose this is a preface.

My "Ex" used to say she could recognize me-from blocks away, because I walk, like an ape....

"Thank you..." I said, uncertainly. (I like to think that what she meant was that I was "balanced".)

It is funny to think of her now, for surely she has aged. I remember her though, the way I last saw her and her beauty and cutenes cut me like a knife...the way it was meant to. She had those high cheekbones. She was part Polish and part Lithwainian-a dangerous combination for an aetheticisian....she was cute and pretty and even beautiful, all at once, at times, and I lost her....for which I can never forgive myself.

They say that hell will be a place where you yearn for a love that is lost that you can never have again....if this be true....I have lived in hell for thirty years....but I take it on my own shoulders....I LOST IT! (UNDERSTAND?) I did it all myself....HOLTIS-BOLTUS!

I lost her and, like Prometheus, I awake every day to the torment of losing that love and that faith-every single morning. I am restored to self in the morning, and, as the day grows on, I become conscious of the loss, and, as evening wears on, embrace the sorrow and loss and devistation and torment of my soul.

"You have gotten over her..." my friends say to me. "We were woried, for a while we thought you would have a nervous brekdown...." (I don't know what a nervous breakdown IS?)

My dad said to me: "We were all worried about you....we all thought you were going to have a "nervous breakdown" but you suprised us: You were stronger than we all thought...." I shrug...

"Thanks Pop..." I answered blithely. "That was what sustained me in my hours of duress..." I smirked. "You beat it..." he admitted.

"Yes" I said, emotionlessly.

Looking back on the experience, I think that when my face contorted, involuntary into a "crying face" I was on the verge. I would be talking to a person, as normal, and all of a sudden be aware of my emotional pain and feel my face contort, involuntarily, into a rictus. We could even be telling jokes. I would cover my face with my hands. Maybe it is the "mark of Caine"....the mark of my guilt. For I lost her-as surely as Adam lost Paradise.

I tried to see her afterwards but my only supposing that the love was still there, caused the pain and anguish...and rejection....all over again. A bad reality.

I cursed her....and recourted her...and tried to win her back....only to suffer the rejection-all over again and repeat the entire process of pain. To boot she also mentioned that she only discovered "True Love" after our break up...I guess I was just a "break-in" lover...or a "starter-House"....she wanted finality and closure to a love I feel is eterrnal....

if I raise my fist to the skies and ask God to Damn her as a faithless person...than, in truth, i never did love her...I have, in my solitary wanderings but I always regret it and ask the next day for forgiveness. I asked God to dam me in her stead-he has rather "Blessed me with longevity", despite an incredibly unhealthy way of life and dangerous living habits that should kill a normal man...."


Maybe men are just boys and girls were always women...I just dont understand the utter and completeness of the loss and my dismissal. Women are better at this than we suppose...they are supposed to be our helpers....

I always expect that there is some charm in me that will guile her back into my arms and make her mine again. ....Next time she can search for me in the blackness of her Hell.....and will this Ortley fool answer? It depends on my mood....

It is like asking if, "Charle Brown" will kick a football held by Lucy....Men are ALWAYS their women...ALWAYS

Only the blackness of my answer "NO" can be her answering Hell....and I would, in truth, not subject her to hell....having lived it, I can never do this to another human being. Especially not her....

But now, who is in the stars and stellar and, who is into condos and investment plans...she is as wealthy as Crocious and I am as impoverished as a pauper locust and homeless....but not blameless. My head spins and I ask you.....

I first met her at a bus stop.....I looked at her and saw the thin supine neck and lithe spine and proud jawline (I mentioned) and wanted her. I pursued her. (I was going out with her girlfriend, which made it almost impossible....but I used her girlfriend to get close to her....) I knew if I did not win this woman my life would be worthless. Turning her against her best girlfriend was a tough thing. She was a faithful friend but due to our blossoming puberty and natural affection it came easily.

It is harder to tell from this vantage point because, to do this same thing today, would be impossibly complex.

At that time, I found myself walking her home and spending at least an hour kissing her in her parent's darkened hallway. We knew I was "cheating" on her best girlfriend. I put it down that I just "used" her girlfriend to get to "her"...which was a way.....I also had some make-out sessions with her girlfrend....but they were no where near as exciting as with her.......

It is easy to look back on it....NOW. So easy...from this so called "Rocking-Chair"....

She knows my passion is not dead...but she wants me not. Dead to her, I am.

She made that very clear to me. When we were divorced I asked her: ""Of all these things we accumulated, what do you want?"

"Everything, but you!!" she chuckled. It was meant to hurt me...and it did.

She had resurrected her friendship with her girlfriend that I used to date and together they talked about her new boyfriend and how much better than me he was. They were very cruel. (Maybe it was poetic justice...) They slashed at my ego and it was like razors. (It was meant to be...)

I desended to Hades. like Orpheus, trying to reclaim Eurydices....she was lost the way that she must be...and eventually, as I always knew she would be.

There are nights in an unclaimed, starless sky. There are no signs of navagation or constellations. This is where I am best because I challenge the faceless and give them curses and names. I name my friends and curse my enemies..."Orpheus can only go to Hades one time!" I yell. (Hells vomits him out from than on.)

His own hell is worse than any invented by man or God...for he has only "ON" or "OFF"....any thought without her in his life is a true hell...and makes God Himself blush with embarrassment for his neglect of making Mankind suffer truly in his image....or effigy. It is all about the power of is all about free ll about pride an self will. I think...

copyright April 2008 Ortley Cane

© Copyright 2020 Ortley Cane. All rights reserved.

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