What really happened

 No one reads stories or even personal blogs. 

I have to get this out and if no one sees it, probably for the better (for some reason I can't articulate)

Krystn first met Jake Peavy in fall of 2018 - I was even there. I knew he was eyeing her, I even said something to her. Later, he signed to take part of the business and she immediately started throwing his money into whatever. I was pushed out and she started meeting with Jake to work on "business paperwork." She confessed in February of 2019 that she'd slept with him on 3 occasions and that he'd given her weed and mushrooms. 

I decided to try and work it out. We went to therapy, but she was never really invested. Over the next year, she went to the worst places downtown and became known as "the girl who would take anything you put in front of her." She doesn't even know how many drugs she did or what they even were. She also confessed (after getting caught) to sleeping with at least 6 men, strangers, one of which she slept with mutlitple times, of who became known as her "boyfriend." We were married for all this time. I had no idea.

I discovered more - she had put our kids in danger, driving while high, and other times, driving when "coming down off a Molly" as she put it. She neglected the business, Keller Works, taking money from the register to go downtown and party, as well as almost completely losing it, due to lack of money for supplies.

Upon telling her I was done and we were divorcing, she spent a week in an in-patient facility for mental illness and substance abuse, of which did nothing for her. See, we divorced, with a stipulation that she stay clean in order to keep joint custody of her kids. Since then, I've had to take full custody twice (over the last year). This was partly due to the boyfriend she met almost immediately after we divorced, of who she is still with now - she met him at the Garage, where she was getting all of her drugs. He has been found to use with her.

The extent to her lying has been incredible. Never have I ever known a human capable of such deceit in my life. She is literally the worst person I have ever met to date.

So, naturally, I get upset when she goes on the Drew Barrymore show and pretends to be a good mother, and when she gets credit for a business that I co-founded, or when she secretly places blame on me to those who may not find out otherwise.

I told her when I drove her to the hospital last for ODing and not knowing if she was ok or not (as I threw out her open beer in the cupholder) "the most unfortunate thing about all this is that MY kids have to have YOU for a mother." 

I still feel that way.

McKallenger

Hello?

Ms. Odin?

Yes?

Mary Odin?

Y-yes... sir?

Hmm, you sound older than twenty-four.

Excuse me?

Ahem, hello, my name is McKallenger and I was inquiring as to your sitting service.

Oh... Ok, yes I do babysitting. Um, I usually work by referral. Who told you about me?

Um-m, so how much time do you need beforehand to be able to sit?

Well, if I have the time available, I’m pretty flexible. When did you need me?

Tonight please.

Oh, tonight... Um, well I guess... actually I could be available tonight but... I’m sorry to have to ask and I hope I don’t seem rude, but you sound awfully young. How old are you?

I’m thirteen. Is that a problem?

Oh, uh... No, I mean... Um, is this for a sibling? Are you calling for your parents?

Hell no! They’re not around. They’ve already gone out and I doubt they’ll be back until sometime way into the time of night that most people don’t call night anymore. And no, I’m an only son, only child, no others. I was calling for myself. I need a sitter for the night.

Oh, I see. So you're already alone?

That’s what I said, isn’t it? 

Y-yes...

So then how about seven o’clock? I could meet you in front of my house before we go out. My address is-

Before we go out? Um, I don’t really go out when I’m babysitting.

Well this isn’t babysitting, it’s just sitting.

Actually it’s neither. I’m sorry but, tell me, where are you parents? Why do you feel you need a babysi- uh, a sitter?

I’m a developing young man and I need social interaction to assist in my... development. I need to go out and experience things and I would like to hire you to be with me.

So you’re really needing an escort.

No, dear, those girls are prostitutes. 

...Right. So, who did you say referred you?

I’m a gentle type of guy and I’m quite strong for my age. I can take care of myself. I can assure you that I will not be a jerk or boring. I know I’m young, but I look older than I am and I’m good looking. I’m tall, too, I promise.  

Ha, that’s great. It sounds like you don’t need a sitter. 

Oh, no, I don’t need a sitter. I am calling for your company for the evening and that is essentially what you do. You’re a very attractive young woman and I would like your company and I’m willing to pay your wage.

Hmm... Well that’s somewhat insulting. How do you know I’m an attractive young woman?

Well you are aren’t you? I know these things. So, is seven o’clock satisfactory to you?

I think I’m going to have to pass on this one.

Pass? No, you can’t... I mean, you already said you’re not doing anything tonight, right? Are you just going to pass up a job opportunity?

This isn’t a job, kid. I don’t know who told you about me but they must have been mistaken. Who was it anyway? Was it Mrs. Patterson? This seems like something she would be behind.

I don’t know what you mean. I’m simply asking to go out with you tonight. If you’d prefer not to have to drive your old Maxima, you could use one of my parents BMWs. My parents are very wealthy. They won’t even know that you-

Wait, how do you know I drive a Maxima? What is this? Are you making fun of me? 

No.

Yes! Who is this? That’s not funny. You think it’s funny to mess with girls when they’re down? Who’s there with you, kid? Is it Jason? It is, isn’t it? Man! I know how to find the jerks. You all seem to just magnetically fly to me. Thanks a lot, I’m now back to feeling depressed and I was finally having a good  day. I’m hanging up now.

Wait! No! I don’t know Jason. I’m not lying. You can come and see. In fact, come see. I’m at the last house on-

That’s not going to work. 

Well, hold on a second... Oh, right... Jason. He’s an asshole. Oh, he’s a member of Tri-Alpha house. I know people there, I’ll have him kicked out. In fact, I could tell them something really bad and he won’t be able to get into any of the-

Wait a minute... Are you on Facebook?

Huh? Sure, well, everyone is on Facebook.

I mean right now. You are aren’t you?  Alright Mr. McKallenger, hang on a sec.

Um, listen it’s already five now and there’s not much time for you to shower and get made up, so, you know, and I’d like to stop by the Carmike Theater for just a minute, right before seven thirty. I have a quick errand to-

Aiden McKallenger, twelve years... oh pardon, twelve and a half years old, NOT very tall, NOT very muscular either... East Stone Private School... I hate private school kids.

Well, it’s not exactly a choice I get to make. In fact, you know, I  hate them too. I’m nothing like them. Actually, I’m much more muscular in real life, too. I can see how you would resent them, having to go to Mulbury and all. 

Don’t you dare go there.

Oh, right, yeah. And you know, you actually did good for coming out of there. Getting through state college... that’s pretty good.

Alright you little bastard, you really don’t get it, do you. And you never will. You’re just some rich brat who gets whatever he wants. You’ll get your expensive education and rub shoulders with people who will carry you all the way through your dumb ass ivy league college and right into some long title position that pays you more than you’re worth. And you’ll never see a single student loan note. You’ll never be stressed out about paying for life. You’ll never know what it’s like to be the youngest person you know with a master’s degree, with no decent job and not a single prospect for the future, all moapy with bags under your eyes from stress, running off every prospect of a real date.

...Are you... crying? Sorry, but... I... I think I’m in love with you.

Oh shut the hell up.

Hm, yeah, that’s a bit of a stretch. But it’s not what you think. Private school, I mean. Although this may be hard to believe, I’m not very popular.

How modest.

Actually, everyone hates me. I don’t understand. My therapist says that I have Asperger’s syndrome but she’s a quack and seems to like giving out that diagnosis. My parents think so as well. Anyway, any important people’s shoulders that I might be rubbing against have all grown to hate me, I fear, so that whole scenario is out. Listen, I feel we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Perhaps we could start over... Hello, my name is Aiden.

Aiden?

Yes?

No.

Ok, well, there’s not much time before seven, I’d really like to know if you would be interested in taking me out. We could go by the theater by seven thirty and then perhaps eat at Gallenheuz Bistro. How do you feel about desert?

I feel like you’re a loser.

Please don’t call me that.

Loser.

...That’s quite a painful word to me. My father called me loser before he left today. Another guy at school, Randy Baxter, likes to give me that title. That is the reason I’d like him to see me with you at the theater at seven thirty before he and Chet Remus go in to see that new Matt Damon movie. Actually, if you can just make it to the movie, I’ll pay you your wage for the whole night.

Oh, the irony. You don’t want to be thought of as a loser, so you hire a loser to take you out.

You’re a hot loser. 

Listen, your therapist is absolutely right. 

What do you mean?

I sure wish wish I could afford a therapist. Maybe they could figure out what’s wrong with me.

I think you’re perfect.

I would rather hear that from someone else.

Someone with more value than me? I see. 

Don’t do that.

Oh… Sorry.

...It’s not really like a private school brat to say sorry... This kid, Randy... I assume he’s got rich parents who give him whatever he wants, too?

His dad is the CFO of a corporation. A corporation his whole family inherited a long time ago. His dad’s a bigger brat than he is. CFO stands for Chief Financial Offic-

I know what it means, Aiden.

Oh, right. Yes, they actually have an airstrip on their property for vacationing. Randy told a bunch of people the other day that he wasn't even going to learn about his families company or the job he will be handed once he's out of school. It won't even matter, he'll always be rich.

And you won't?

Hardly. My father is so stingy with money I can't imagine him sparing anything for me that I don't meticulously force out of him.

…Hm...Alright seven o’clock, we’ll take one of those Beamers. No dinner, though, that’s just too weird.

Excellent! I must prepare myself. You don’t happen to have anything... how do I say... skimpy to wear do you?

Aiden...

Yes?

No.

I am freedom.

I am freedom.

As an eagle, I awaken and stretch my wings as far as I can, observing the valley, far below my nest, atop this great mountain. I stand tall, proud. I move like liquid to the rim of my nest to display my full glory to the land below.

I lean out and fly down, separating my feathers and letting the wind glide in and dispense my blessing upon the land.

The inhabitants of the land accept my blessing. They respond with strange metal flags, raised in my name. Thousands of barrels held high and pointed in my direction as I pass over them.

Acting in my blessing, they shout to me,

“We are freedom.”

Then, all at once, they fire upon me. I feel the wind shift as the sharp fragments escape their barrels and whip passed me on every side. I shuffle and weave, dodging the aim of their desire.

I am freedom, struggling.

I collapse my wings, making myself lesser to become a smaller target. I arc my form to ascend, away from the fury around me. But, to ascend I must flap my wings. I extend them far for just once, to push myself beyond their reach. But, before I can hoist myself up on the wind, a small piece rushes up and lodges into my right wing. I immediately buckle in pain.

I am freedom, descending.

I spiral down, holding my majestic wing close to my body. The damage is disgraceful to my figure. I extend my left wing outward to soften my fall, and, in response, receive a second fragment. The pain jerks me about in the air. I can no longer steer my fall and the descent picks up speed. I close my eyes as my body connects with the earth.

The impact paralyzes me. I cannot breathe. I can hear them in the distance, calling towards me.

A sharp pain surges my body, involuntarily thrusting my form onto to my talons. I push through the pain and, with all of my strength, through my broken bones, I hobble away. I search for refuge, but I find none. I do not know if I move toward or away from my hunter.

In my attempt at escape, I am snatched from behind and slammed flat into the dirt of the earth. I cannot see my captor behind me. My mouth fills with dust and I begin to feel small, stabbing pains along my back. The pains continue, becoming more rapid. I feel cold on my backside. My feathers are being removed.

I lift my head up out of the dirt, and as I begin to turn it, it is shoved back into the dirt, sending a crack through my beak. The sharp pains and the cold continue down my wings.

I am freedom, mangled.

My captor turns me over. She is a strong woman and she smiles at me, admiringly. Not admiring me, however, admiring herself.

She rips the feathers, quickly from my chest in a quick motion. Then runs her cold, calloused hands around my broken frame, lifting me up, over her smile, and into the chilling wind. I can see others approaching. They wear anger on their faces.

The woman touts her accomplishment to the approaching mob.

“I am freedom, I have exposed this wonder with my hands!”

Then, as others arrive around me, I feel a pull at my left talon. I look over to see a man, grinning wide. In a quick motion, he swipes a blade at the upper end of my talon and it severs from my body. I cry in pain and the crowd collectively cries in satisfaction.

I see the man slip a ring into the top end my severed limb. Once he had finished, he held it up for the now larger crowd to see. He exclaimed his fortune to them all:

“I am freedom, I will wear it on my keychain!”

The woman, with her filthy hands around me begins arguing with the man holding my talon. They shout harshly at each other, each arguing their claim on me.

I spread my naked, wounded wings out to attempt to fly away. My right wing is met by two large hands. I look down at the large man, smiling at me in selfish joy. He yanks me from the woman’s grasp. By only my right wing, he holds me up to his eyes and exclaims to the crowd:

“I am freedom, I have conquered this wonder with my bullet!”

He then begins lifting me upward, but before he can raise me above his head, a second man takes hold of my left wing and brings me down. I look into his contending smile and he proclaims contrarily:

“I am freedom. It was my bullet that conquered this wonder completely!”

The two men hold opposite ends of my body, each tugging his own direction. The now even larger crowd screams hysteria as the men stretch my limbs farther than I could ever do on my own. Then, in a sudden instant, sound dissolves and my body becomes weightless. I do not feel the ground as my body connects with it.

I look up into the sky and see my old place of refuge. The clouds I once wove through seem like props. The cool, thin air above seems as if it is not really there, far up in the sky.

All at once, I can hear the crowd around me, cheering. I gasp in breath and a new pain enters my lungs. I flap my wings and nothing happens. I do not understand. I look to my left, then, in panic, I look to my right. My wings have been torn off.

The two men who were arguing now each held up one of my wings. Simultaneously they proclaimed to the people, ignoring the other:

“I am freedom! I have the power of this wonder!”

The crowd shouted with them, each claiming their own part of me. Each claiming something different than any other. I see my blood, spilled over the ground. The people trample it, trivializing it in a mix of dirt and sweat.

I feel what is left of me, lifted by my neck. My head folds over where I can see my decrepit body wagging about above the ground. A blade flashes across my vision and, once my sharp eyes have adjusted, I watch my body fall from my neck, away from my head. Before it hits the ground, two hands reach out and catch it. I angle my eyes up as far as I can to see a figure holding up the mass of my body screaming in glee:

“I am freedom. I have the majority of this wonder!”

My eyes fold back in my head. I can feel life departing from me. Regret mounts me. A regret greater than the pain that I have endured. I regret releasing my gift on the valley. I was naïve, and the flaw has been fatal.

I look forward one last time to see a smiling old man. His eyes show a fondness toward me as he moves me closer to him. He maneuvers me on his chest and sticks a pin through my beak, attaching my head to his clothing. He looks away and, in a low, scratchy voice, he preaches:

“I am freedom, and I will wear it as a badge.”

My eyes sweep the crowd to see the multitude of faces showing anger, disgust, bitterness, sadness, arrogance, and judgment.

As I slip into death, I have a final thought.

I am freedom. And because I am, no one can be free.

Ice Breaker

            Uncomfortable silence.

            Avoiding eye contact.

            Fidgeting with silverware. Male takes a bite of tough steak. Looks up at Female.

            Female conjures the best smile she can.

            A passing waiter, “Everything alright with you two?”

            Startled Male and Female, in unison, “Yes, thank you.

            More silence.

            More avoiding eye contact.

            Male clears his throat.

            Female looks up.

            Male speaks, “Ok... Listen, this isn’t working out.”

            Female looks confused.

            Male continues, “I mean, I can tell that neither of us feel this, right? It’s just not for us, I don’t think. I hope that doesn’t seem harsh, but, I think it’s best of me to just come right out and say it. I can tell that you’re uncomfortable and I have to admit, so am I. It’s like we’re just trying to figure out what the other thinks and do our best to make ourselves seem pleasing to the other. I'm almost completely sure that this is how you feel."

            Male pauses, looking up to female, then continues, "I hope I’m right, because I want you to know that I’m not really trying to be insensitive here, actually the opposite. If you’re really as uncomfortable as you seem, then hopefully you’ll see this as me doing you a favor. And uh, I feel like, especially since this is how I feel about the way this date is going, that if I were to just sit here and let this go on all night, that you may get the wrong impression and things could be much worse than if I just went ahead and put it all out in the open.”

            Female looks down at her plate.

            Male responds to look on female's face, “I’m sorry, I hope that wasn’t too harsh or insensitive or anything. I really don’t mean to be a jerk.”

            Silence.

            Avoiding eye contact.

            Female replies, “You know... I knew this wouldn’t go well. I’ve been on a blind date before and it went terrible. I’m not very good at this stuff. Sorry.”

            “No, I’m sorry. Maybe that was too blunt.”

            More silence.

            Female looks up at Male, “Well... Since we’ve pretty much established that this date is a flop... Do you think you could tell me what went wrong? Maybe, help me figure out what I did wrong?”

            “Oh, it’s not really just you, I’m sure. I mean half the night I’ve felt like I’ve been a total stooge.”

            “Well, actually, there were a few things I thought you could’ve been better about.”

            “Really? What?”

            “Well, first of all, I think you’re overdressed. I do like the navy sport coat and the matching pants, but this is not really that kind of restaurant. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like this place, but it’s more of a... slightly casual place. When I saw you all decked out in the suit, I kinda felt my sun dress was a bit inferior. Also, the whole night you’ve addressed me really formally. Like, you keep doing this weird thing where you open your hand out and point me to go everywhere first. It’s like you’re some general or something, commanding me to charge in.”

            “Well, since we’re on formal, I’m not sure you realize it, but you’ve had the feminine formal thing down the whole night. When we first met up, you put your hand out to me facing down, like you were the queen or something. I didn’t know whether to shake it or kiss it.”

            “Really? It must’ve been a panic move in response to your outfit.”

            “Yeah, and you’ve had ridiculously perfect posture, without flaw. It’s even intimidating. You keep as straight as a board, even when you’re sitting down. It kind of gives off the impression that you have an enormous stick up your butt.”

            “I thought that was impressive on a first date. I was actually making myself do that. I wanted to seem strong and capable.”

            “Oh, on that. You’ve definitely given me that impression. You’ve kept the conversation on your great social and collegiate accomplishments.” 

            “Collegial.”

            “My point exactly. I was aware of your intelligence really early on. You didn’t have to keep reminding me.”

            Female stirs a fork through a full plate of spaghetti, “I can’t help it. I’ve been nervous the whole night. I thought you would be more impressed with me if I concentrated on my strengths.”

            “It’s not a job interview. We could’ve just talked about what you like.”

            “Well, that would’ve been easier if you would have even remotely talked about anything you were interested in. I feel like I haven’t really learned anything about you.”

            “Yeah, well, the things that I’m actually interested in don’t go well with first date conversation.”

            “Well the date’s dead, right?”

            Male laughs, “What would you have thought if I just randomly told you what level of Orc Mage I was?”

            Female looks confused.

            “I host Dungeons and Dragons meetings once a month at my apartment... I know it’s like the most cliché nerd thing you can do but I love it. I even have a limited edition, iron figurine of my character that I hand painted with about fifty different colors to match it to the exact representation of what I wanted him to be, all meticulously done under a giant magnifying glass that almost made me go blind from staring into for such long hours without blinking.”

            Silence.

            Avoiding eye contact.

            Female speaks, “I like to shoot guns.”

            Male looks up.

            Female looks down, “I’m not... I’m not really violent or anything. I just like to shoot guns... Big guns.”

            “What kind of big guns?”

            “Semi-automatic assault rifles.”

            Male looks scared.

            Female boasts, “I have a Smith & Wesson 811033 M and P 15-22, the A1 style... It’s black.”

            “Um... didn’t you say you were involved with the gun control group at the college?”

            Female looks away, “Yes, I did. Really though, after you shoot one, you can really tell how dangerous they are.”

            “But you still have a gun.”

            “I have one assault rifle, I actually have eight guns.”

            “Eight?!”

            “Um... Yeah. I would never shoot at another human being; I just like to shoot guns. I go out in the woods, pretty far out, and I’m even careful about it, but I mark trees and practice switching between them. Just last week, I took my four wheeler out and-”

            “You have a four wheeler?”

            Female looks embarrassed, “Yeah. It got difficult having to walk all the way out in the woods, so, I got it. It has a back mount so I was able to haul some timber out and make a tree house. I got it pretty high, so there would be less of a chance of stray bullets, you know, aiming downward and all...”

            Eye contact.

            Female looks away. “See, that’s why I stick to the professional talk.”

            Male takes a deep breath. “That car that I drove us here in...”

            Female looks up.

            Male continues, “It’s not mine, it’s my grandmother’s.”

            “You don’t have a car?”

            “Oh, no, I do have a car, it’s just... It’s an ice cream truck.”

            “So, you’re an ice cream man?”

            “No, I just drive an ice cream truck. I saw it on sale and I thought it was cool.”

            “Hmm. Well, you know, a young man driving a Lincoln Town Car gives off a pretty weird impression itself.”

            “Really? I thought Lincoln’s were considered nice.”

            “They are, if you’re over eighty.”

            Male looks contemplative.

            Female consoles, “I usually take public transportation, unless I’m going somewhere that no one will know me, then I just take the dirt bike.”

            “Dirt bike? Like bicycle?”

            “Like motorcycle. More precisely, motorbike. It’s really fast.”

            Long silence.

            Avoiding eye contact.

            Male looks up. “You know what? You’re pretty weird.”

Female gets defensive, “You’re weird.”

            More silence.

            Waiter appears, “Anything else? No? Very well, here’s your check. I’ll be right back to pick it up.”

            Male pulls out star wars wallet and places visa card, covered in a graphic featuring Darth Vader holding a light saber, into the leather bill sleeve.

            Female stares at Darth Vader graphic.

            Male glances down at Darth Vader graphic.

            Eye contact.

            Silence.

            Male speaks, “Um, you got anything going on tomorrow night?”