Chapter 3

The 70s
Click, click, click. My footsteps echo down the neverending hallway to her office. The floor is always polished and clean. I don't want to go to see her or talk to her because I know she knows. She never says so, but she knows. She hears me coming every week, and her door is always ajar. "Come on in, honey" her calm voice seeps through the door with her name on it. "I heard you coming down the hall and it made me smile". I always believed her, I could just feel she wasn't lying. Her eyes told me so, and they always locked into mine for the first minute or so, as if she were trying to read my mind. So I alwys sat down in the "crazy chair", where I knew her other clients sat. The other fucked up people that paid her to listen to their problems, or to get her to help them with their problems. She knew things about me that others didn't know about me, but not all my weird ways. She knew 'cause my parents, Karen and Rich told her before she met me. When you're 13 you have no rights, and I just had to go with the flow. My parents always did that, like a dictatorship. My dad used to be called Dick by his friends and even has a dance trophy with "Karen & Dickie" on it. I call him Dick too, behind his back most of the time, and sometimes to his face when things go really bad. She asked me why I called him Dick, like she didn't know. I was honest though, and told her "because he IS a dick, ya know?".
She had the story I wrote in her hand. More ammunition from Karen and Dick. Had I known this would be read by strangers, I would have made it much less sleazy, and with better penmanship. Or I would have been real careful to destroy it after I copied some of the passages out of the book called "Them" or something like that. Somebody gave me that book, I can't remembe exactly who, but it had a red cover with yellow letters on it's frayed paperback cover. It might have been Johhny H., complete with scratched coke bottle glasses and wrinkled clothes. Maybe it was Mark K, with his inability to say "s", but substituted it with "sh", like when he would say "yesh" if you asked him if he had weed on him. Doesn't matter either way. She had the paper and was reading (rereading) it infront of me. That's when I heard her utter the word. It poured slowly from her lips, like Mrs. Butterworth's syrup. And she dragged it out and let it echo all over the walls of her office, while I sat in the crazy chair forced to listen to it. H-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l. I knew what it was, but we never spoke of these things in my house. That doesn't mean those things weren't going on. Just ask Dick. On second thought, don't ask Dick. He'd deny it. Or freak out and punch his fists into the walls next to your face. Then you'd think twice about saying it again. Alpha dog Dick always beat his opponents into submission.

Chapter 2

The 60s
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Kindergarten headbangers ball - 5 y.o.
Bang, bang, bang. My hearts pounding really hard because I'm paranoid. I'm real quiet to make sure no one else is around my door or in my room. I know I'm paranoid, but it's ok with me. It's what makes me tick. I was taught to be paranoid. He taught me real good. I hear the echoes from the TV downstairs in my dark room. When's it gonna happen next? When's it gonna end? When I get stronger and older I'm gonna fight back or run, and keep running. I'm in pain but I can't open my mouth, I feel the terror but can't tell anybody , I don't want to think about my shame but I want to tell somebody. My thoughts tell me its not safe, my hidden life in the dark. The night reveals what the day hides. When its dark, bad things happen. I don't like the dark. In school we learn that God is the way the truth and the light. The light is good and God forgives all sinners if they repent. They just have to tell the priest they are sorry and say some Our Fathers and Hail Marys in the pews outside the confessional. That's what he does. He thinks he is forgiven. He loves me, 'cause he tells me in the dark. He shows me he loves me. But I don't want this love and I just keep banging my head against my pillow until I go to sleep. Maybe that will make it go away. Maybe that will make him go away. "Quit banging your head" would boom from the downstairs blue recliner, then silence, for about 2 minutes, then the banging would start again. The banging is the only thing I know that I can control.

Apomixis

a novel by Michael Richard Haboush (777)




In botany, apomixis is asexual reproduction, without fertilization and modified meiosis.The modified meiosis caused seeds that are genetically identical to the parent plant. Although the evolutionary advantages of sexual reproduction are lost, apomixis does pass along traits fortuitous for individual evolutionary fitness. A unique example of male apomixis has recently been discovered in the Saharan Cypress, Cupressus dupreziana, where the seeds are derived entirely from the pollen with no genetic contribution from the female "parent" (Pichot, et al., 2000, 2001). Definition by Wikipedia.

Chapter 1

Dead, dead, dead. It's August 26th, 1990, and its 12:01 a.m., and I'm not dead yet. I mean, I know it's exactly one minute after midnight. I've been waiting for this minute for my whole life, and it's here. It's not what I expected, but life never is, ya know? I know it's 12:01 because I just looked over at the cheap beeper I stole from Greg a few days ago and saw the black LCD readout on its tennis ball yellow bed. No white light, no angels, no heavenly music. Typical. Just silence. I can hear the heavy breathing coming from my own lips as I lie in the otherwise pitch black room. I've reached 26. This wasn't supposed to happen. All my worries, my prophesy, my obsession, and it didn't come true. What fuckin' now? I'm on the floor because there is no furniture. But I really don't care, I got other things and it makes things easier to check out. Its warm and kind of humid and I feel a little sticky. My body is tight from working out. What a waste to work out and have six-pack abs when you'll be dead. I do alot of shit that doesn't make sense, though. So does almost everyone else I know. I just don't tell them usually, 'cause where is it gonna get me? Nowhere, and I'm already there. I'm still here and it's 12:02. I feel warm breath on my neck and feel the bristles scratching the left side of my chin. Dino is licking my ear but I don't respond, I'm too busy thinking and staring into the darkness. I'm too wrapped up in my own shit. I'm alive, it fuckin' figures. Nothing ever goes my way. It's a wonder I 'm not fuckin' crazy. Crazier I mean. 12:03. Gotta make a plan. Gotta reproduce myself into something else.