NUT HOUSE

     

     "Come on - let's go in."  She must have sensed my hesitation or she wouldn't have said a word.  Bathed in moonlight her eyes looked magnificent; filled with promise and the reflection of new construction which lay feet behind me.  Perfect corpulent lips thinned to and enticing grin:  "What are you afraid of?"  She whispered while placing a hand on my chest then letting it trace down my stomach.  Her bravery had always been a turn on.  She loved to test mine.  But regardless of how courageous I carried myself I knew Michelle was the more valiant of our dynamic duo.

     The night was clear with a moon bright enough to cast our shadows long and lean against the fresh top coat of the driveway.  From the outside the house looked complete.  I expected the inside to be skeletal.  My father had passed us the tip after closing a deal on the property next door.  It wasn't that I was scared... just that the moon seemed to spotlight our every move.  If it weren't three in the morning and we hadn't spent the night out in Boston I may not have felt so sinister.  But Michelle insisted on checking it out now and I hated disappointing her.  So there we were;  my BMW parked crooked in the driveway like we already owned the place and I, determined to hide any trace that I wasn't the most fearless motherfucker on the planet, pulled up the garage door without an ounce of hesitation.  All the while saying a silent prayer the neighbors were deep asleep.

     Secured in the darkness I instinctively slid a hand into my jean pocket taking hold of my Beretta .25.  The smallest sidearm in my collection, it fit snug in the palm of my hand.  Rarely did I travel without this insurance policy.  Unknown to anyone I would flash my bar card each morning and breeze around courthouse metal detectors.  During family New Years eve trips to Times Square I stood ready to flip off the safety and defend my loved ones at he first sign of trouble.  The most powerful handgun in the world?  It was not.  Do you feel lucky punk?  You'd be luck to blow the head clean off a gecko with this thing.  In sub zero New York City I'd bet against a ordinary round penetrating the garb of a well layered perpetrator.  For this reason hollow points were my standard issue.

     Upstairs we found the electricity working and Michelle's love - first - sight exhilaration quelled my initial misgivings.  From the giant tiles of the stadium sized kitchen to the cathedral ceilings in the grand living room; bedrooms, baths, attic  to basement - all flawless in her eyes;  unfinished but awaiting Michelle's personal touch.  The problem was someone else had an offer pending.  After a little research I learned their agreement with the builder required proof of financing within forty-eight hours of any competing bid.   We had our pre-approval so I threw in an offer for a thousand more, we held our breath and  two days later were on our way to owning 3 Strawberry Hill Lane.

     And now that she was gone what was I supposed to do with it?  Outside mounds of dirt surrounded "Michelle's project;"  the worlds greatest in ground pool.   Inside every inch of the place screamed her name.  She'd selected the paint, wall paper, carpets - fuck!  Everything down to the goddam three-ply toilet paper.  I would look, touch,  but could breath in nothing but torment. nothing but MIchelle.  I thought I might try dropping by to pick up a few items.  Perhaps even push around some dust.   I found I could, but only after getting so high the sky looked up to me.   I walked by pictures without looking.  Blocked the urge to reach up in the closet for the videos... to see her laugh... just for a minute... you can handle that.. maybe after another line...

     Finally I realized living in this house was simply not possible.  To do so would be an invitation to compete insanity.  And it is exactly what I did for the next four years.

B4/U/NO/IT

       

     The first time Anthony came to visit me in Strafford he picks up the phone and asks me through the glass:  "Daddy, when are you coming home?"  " Oh, before you know it," I said.  "No Dad,  I already know it."  That's when I realized what I was dealing with.   So I decided to put all the cards on the table and while I watched other guys at Fort Dix filling their kids with bullshit in the visiting room: "Daddy we're so proud of you! When can we see the plane you fly?"  I decided throughout this bid I would always tell Ant and Kyera the truth about my exploits and answer honestly any question they had.

     Now Anthony's almost ten and when my sister Tricia brought up the idea of home schooling I was very busy in the SHU (Secured Housing Unit / Solitary Confinement  / the fucking hole for Chrissake)  where I had gone from running court rooms to running lines of ripped bedding around the cell to provide a little privacy.  At the time my cellie was D'Ablo,  a leader in the El Salvadorian gang  MS 13.  He was a nice enough guy, covered in prison ink and machete scars.  Yet, because of the language  barrier I never did figure out exactly why he removed the blades from the shitty two inch razors they gave us twice a week  and stored them between his cheek and gums.   Day after day I remained in a state of heightened  alert.  At night I slept with one eye open.  Looking back I can't say I  ever relaxed, but was able to lower my guard when he was snoring, or on the other side of the curtain engaged in a marathon masturbation session. 

     In the SHU we were allowed just one phone call a month.  And for that we needed to keep track of the days then beg the C/O to roll the mobile phone booth to our cell and feed the receiver through the slot.  Segregated, and sleep deprived,  it was hard for me to express how I felt about the home schooling situation.  I had complete confidence in Tricia,  but couldn't help being worried whether Anthony would learn in this environment.  That was until last Saturday, when my concern was extinguished entirely.   
     "Hey Dad, What are we going to do today?"  "Do?  Why we're going to be Responsible, Honest, Willing, Open-minded,  Caring, Objective, and display Humility and Gratitude;  aren't we?"  I was just playing around with a little lingo from RDAP.  Nevertheless,  Anthony only paused a moment before looking up with budding sarcasm and spitting back at me:  "No Dad, I think I'd rather be Irresponsible, Dishonest, Unwilling, Closed-minded, Selfish, Partial, and a Conceded Ingrate."  (That's my boy).  "Take it easy there killer,  you don't wanna wind up in the SHU."