I long not for this world but for the next
I spend my money only on the things I am certain will kill me
I am tired but my heart races and sleep is nothing more than a fantasy
I feel as bloated as the cow my friend overfed while his father vacationed in Hawaii
It ate and ate until the insides burst and became the outsides
But milk is the only thing that eases my mind anymore
I’m more addicted to it than I am you
Friday, October 7, 2011
Milk
Friday, September 23, 2011
Eric & Lia
We found the joint they rolled, the one that fell down between their bed. They scored some from a guy in Koh Tao and brought it with them to Phi Phi. We get stoned and they tell me about how they met in China at a language submersion school. For the first three months they only spoke Mandarin to each other. A week from now he'll be back in Berkley and she'll be back in Jersey.
I tell them a story about a man who was sent to space to live on a space station for twenty years free of earth contact. The space program created him an android that looked identical to his wife—a women he loved dearly. The android was programmed with an advanced artificial intelligence. It had all the qualities he loved in his wife and none of the one he hated. Several years they lived together before the man realized it wasn’t his wife he had been in love with but the android. In desperation he lit the space station afire, triggering the release of the escape pod that would take him back to his wife. When the pod entered earth’s atmosphere and crashed into the ocean a retrieval team took little time getting him to safety. Once debriefed and let free he went to see his wife. When she told him that she wasn’t in love with him anymore but rather in love with the android the space program had provided her upon his absence he told her about the people he killed to see her and how it was only a matter of time before they found out what he had done. She says she never wants to see him again, that she’s happy with what she’s got. The story ends with the man being escorted from his own house by an android that look and sounds identical to him.
She wipes a tear from her eye before excusing herself. I can hear her crying in the bathroom over the wiz of the fan. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without the girl,” he says.
I tell them a story about a man who was sent to space to live on a space station for twenty years free of earth contact. The space program created him an android that looked identical to his wife—a women he loved dearly. The android was programmed with an advanced artificial intelligence. It had all the qualities he loved in his wife and none of the one he hated. Several years they lived together before the man realized it wasn’t his wife he had been in love with but the android. In desperation he lit the space station afire, triggering the release of the escape pod that would take him back to his wife. When the pod entered earth’s atmosphere and crashed into the ocean a retrieval team took little time getting him to safety. Once debriefed and let free he went to see his wife. When she told him that she wasn’t in love with him anymore but rather in love with the android the space program had provided her upon his absence he told her about the people he killed to see her and how it was only a matter of time before they found out what he had done. She says she never wants to see him again, that she’s happy with what she’s got. The story ends with the man being escorted from his own house by an android that look and sounds identical to him.
She wipes a tear from her eye before excusing herself. I can hear her crying in the bathroom over the wiz of the fan. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without the girl,” he says.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
At the Sunshine Guesthouse
In Phuket there stayed a deaf backpacker in my guesthouse. He was German I think. It was hard to tell. When he first arrived I saw him arguing with a tuk-tuk driver over the fare. He tossed his hands about and threw a tantrum, his eyes watering in frustration. Though he would smile when we passed in lobby, he never made an attempt to communicate. In the human evenings he shuffled through images of great Thai and Chinese temples, replaying video after video, each one of him and a group of deaf children, all with smiles and the hand sign for ‘I love you.” But one night, the man didn’t come back. Someone from the consulate collected his belongings the next morning. In broken, English the proprietor told me, “sneaker wave.” I imagine he was squaring up a photo, back to the ocean when it took him. The next night two English girls checked into the dorms; one slept in the same bed he did. I told her the story but I don’t know how she took it. She didn’t know him like I did.
Holiday in Cambodia
In Phnom Phen a women on the street offered me an hour with her infant daughter. The day before a man handed her a hundred dollar bill. I told myself he was doing it so she wouldn’t be out her today. I don’t see anything wrong with lying to myself.
JJ's
One night she couldn’t take the noise anymore. When she was a girl, before the backpackers found it, before it was Sihanoukville it was quite. It wasn’t full of techno and beach bars. Six years ago an English guy raped her daughter and left the country before they could catch him. It was the only time she was thankful the Khmer Rouge took her husband. She didn’t know what he would have done.
I was there the night she showed up at JJ’s. It was twenty-five cent beer night. The September crowds of budget travelers started fights, spilled drinks and danced topless on the bar. She sat near the door, putting all her weight on the balls of her feet. At one point an American asked her for a dance on a dare. When she didn’t respond he told her to fuck herself.
She sat quietly for nearly an hour until she caught herself tapping her toe to the beat. Only early mornings, when the passed out are sound asleep and the dubstep is no more she sleeps. It was often she looked in to the blue eyes of her grandson and cursed his existence.
Friday, August 5, 2011
The Boy Who Had Become King
Every night at three in the morning a boat arrives at Ton Sai Bay from Krabi carrying anywhere from six to twelve, 500 gallon drums of cooking oil. The drums are off-loaded and distributed to the dozens of restaurants and guesthouses throughout Kho Phi Phi while the empty ones are returned to the boat where they are taken to Krabi and refilled. The livelihoods of the Kho Phi Phi people depend on the arrival of this oil. At around four in the morning the boat, then full of empty drums, would disembark for the Thai mainland. Tyler checked his watch. It was nearly three. In an hour’s time, he thought, both him and Karl would leave Kho Phi Phi forever on that boat.
Tyler, lying in a cot, holds his knockoff Casio watch above his face. The Casio, a staple of the knockoff accessories found in Tyler’s current part of the world was already beginning to rust in the humid wet-season air. His eyes squint, pressing the button in the top left corner he makes the watch’s illuminating color change rapidly from red to blue to green to yellow and back again. He presses the button again watching the lights, paying no attention to the time. The watch’s novelty wears off after a few light cycles and Tyler slowly returns his arm to his side.
A fan, that at one point appeared to osculate, stares Tyler in the face. Without the fan the small one cot room would be unbearably hot. The humidity makes sleep impossible and the sound of the wall fan on full blast is defining. Throwing his legs over the bed Tyler stands and walks to the fan. Spreading his fingers wide in front of the exposed blade brings back memories shared with Caroline. The mental image of Caroline’s hand rhythmically raising and lowering in the wind brings a smile to his face but, nearly as fast as it was conjured up, the image changes to Caroline’s face pressed to the sand by a hand as she struggles to keep her underwear on. The image makes his hand return instantly to his side.
There’s a soft knock at the open door and a Thai boy, no more than eight or nine, stands in the open doorframe. The look in the boy’s eyes was one Tyler had never seen—sympathetic and scared. Mok appeared behind the boy who could easily be his son, resting his arms around the boy’s neck. A small cut on Mok’s chin appears as if it were recently bleeding.
“We find him,” Mok informs.
“Where was he?”
“Like you say.”
“At the dock?”
“Waiting for boat, yes.”
A warm smile comes to Tyler’s face. Extending his hand to pat the boy on the head recalls a voice in Tyler’s head reminding him of Southeast Asian etiquette. The head is what connects the soul to the heavens; he remembers reading verbatim in Lonely Planet as he moves his hand to the boy’s shoulder.
“Get him ready. I’ll be out soon.”
Mok nods submissively before nudging the boy along away from the door. Mok pulls the door closed, still nodding, as he remains avoiding eye contact.
Sitting on the edge of the cot, elbows on his knees, Tyler breathes deeply. The humid air is heavy. Reaching into his pocket, Tyler removes a pack of L&M cigarettes and a book of matches and a digital camera. Pocketing one, lighting the last cigarette and tossing the empty pack in the corner of the room he turns on the camera, inhaling the tobacco deep into his lungs. Flipping through pictures of the elephant trek, the slow boat and the Full Moon Party, all of which spotlighting the beautiful Caroline brings a tear to his eye. Any sense of time is lost and Tyler extinguishes the burning cigarette filter on the metal bed frame.
“Oi! Ty? Ya in der?” the unique accent could only be that of Stephan’s. Without a response the door cracks. Stephan’s vibrant blue eyes peer in through the opening. “Can I come in?” his eyes seem to ask. A nod is enough of an answer and the door opens more reveling a short tan Aussie with long curly blonde hair.
Stephan was as local as a Westerner could be on Phi Phi. Speaking fluent Thai, Stephan acted as the middleman between the locals and the tourists. It was said Stephan could get anything one’s heart desired on the isolated island, except prostitutes that was—he made that very clear. He was Phi Phi’s vice guy of sorts. Naturally, he was the first one Tyler came to after hearing the news from Caroline. Stephan sat on the rickety table, the only other piece of furniture in the room, rolling a spliff.
A moment passed without conversing before Tyler spoke, “Do you think this is right?”
“Right?”
“Yeah, do you think what I’m doing is right?”
“That’s not fer me to decide,” Stephan spoke blankly. “He put up quite a fight.” The room now smelt of marijuana as Stephan offered up the spliff.
“Did anyone see?” Tyler asked, waving off the offer. Although he trusted Stephan, Tyler was aware of the Thai government’s attempts to crackdown on drug use by tourists. Horror stories of fellow travelers being forced to participate as undercover bait by the Phi Phi police were frequent. Smoking a joint in Thailand could land you on death row—this wasn’t anything Tyler wanted to risk. Tyler also knew that if any authorities caught word of a Westerner doing what it was Tyler had planned on doing, that every cop on the island would jump at the opportunity to apprehend him. Tyler would not pay any sort of bribery money based on the simple fact he had none to spend. Being caught also meant possible harm to not only Stephan but also Mok and his son. This was something he was willing to risk. Tyler knew if everyone did their part there would be no repercussion—at least no lawful repercussions.
“It’s hard to say. We tried to keep him quiet. He hit Mok.”
“I noticed that.”
There was again silence between the two as Stephan puffed away. “What ya got der?” he asked, motioning to the camera.
“Just pictures.” Tyler replied powering down the Cannon, tossing it on the bed next to him. “Where is he?”
“Ready when you are.”
Tyler was on his feet before Stephan could even finish speaking. Stephan took another hit and before he could exhale Tyler was at the door.
“Hey, don’t forget this,” Stephan motioned to the knife that had been sitting on the table next to him the entire time.
A group of Thai men stood around a closed door. They watched Tyler’s every movement as he joined them. The group gazed at Tyler as if he was the Angel of Death. The knife, tucked into Tyler’s belt was visible under his sweat-soaked shirt. Stephan hadn’t moved, finishing his cigarette, he had done his part for now.
A muddled voice came from behind the door. It grew louder and louder until Tyler could make out words. “Get me the fuck outta here! Hey! Ya hear me?! Get me outta this fucking chair!”
Hearing the voice from within was reassuring. They had found him before he could escape. Tyler again thought of Caroline. He wondered if she was asleep. He wondered whether or not she would be okay with what he would do. Tyler thought she would.
With a nod from Mok the group separated, forming an isle where they once stood. As Tyler walked to the door the Thai men bowed their heads, some said prayers, others, eyes up, watch Tyler like a boy who has become king—hungry with power.
Behind the door sat a man tied to a chair. The man recognized Tyler in an instant.
“You? What the fuck do you want?” the man barked.
Tyler remained silent as he circled the bound man.
“Well? Are you gonna get me outta here or what?” The man struggled in his chair to get free.
“You shouldn’t struggle,” Tyler spoke in a reassuring voice. He gathered a chair from the corner of the well-lit room and placed it in front of the man. The man tried to kick at the chair but discovered he was tied too tightly to kick any distance. Tyler scooted the chair away from the man and took a seat.
Tyler sat, peering at the man much like the men outside the door were staring at him. He took in every inch of the man’s body: the sweat running down the man’s neck, soaking into the man’s shirt collar; the broken toenails attached to toes sporting tuffs of hair running wild; the tattoo of the initials C.M.M. on the underside of his wrist; the torn armpit hole in his green tattered t-shirt that revealed darkly tanned skin just below the shoulder.
For a moment Tyler thought about the man’s life. He wondered if he had kids, maybe someone back home he cared about. Tyler wondered briefly what his favorite band was, his favorite food, the best orgasm this man ever had. He thought about all the things that could have given this man pleasure and how he was going to take all those things away.
“Karl, right?” Tyler finally spoke in a soft tone.
“You’re name’s Tyler.”
“That it is,” Tyler nodded in approval. “I assume you know why you’re here?”
“Psh, I’m standing by the dock mindin’ my own goddamn business when I’m jumped by a mob of chinks. So no, I don’t know why I’m here. Why don’t you tell me.”
The denial set Tyler back for a moment. He hadn’t assumed the man would take this course. Tyler stood, turning his back to Karl. He placed his hand over his face to collect his thoughts. He thought of punk music, about how jacked it got him. He tried not to think of Caroline and the night they shared not 48 hours ago.
“What was it like?” Tyler nearly murmured with his back to Karl.
“It’s a mob of pissed off Asians, how do you think it felt?” Karl replied.
“I’m talking about Caroline!” Tyler snapped, pounding his fist against the closed door.
“Who?” Karl sounded genuinely confused.
“The girl, the one you… ah, you know who I’m talking about, goddamn it! Don’t pull this shit with me!” There was a new ferocity in Tyler’s voice.
“Listen man, I really have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!” The man pleaded.
Tyler stopped for a moment, breathing in the sticky tropical hair. “How was it?”
“How many times do I have to tell you man, I don’t know what the fuck you’re…”
Tyler turned abruptly and stabbed the knife through the back of Karl’s hand into the wooden frame of the chair. A scream, like a cloud of noxious gas filled the room, then at once was gone. Tyler removed the knife flicking the blood off the blade.
“What have I done? Huh? Tell me!” again the man pleaded.
Tyler removed the last cigarette from his pocket. Sliding the cigarette between his damp lips, Tyler then removed the book of matches from has pocket.
The man screamed again, this time louder than before.
“Please be quiet,” Tyler spoke, readying the cigarette for lighting.
“You’re fucked up, man! You’re a sick son of a bitch, ya know that? What’ve I done, huh? Tell me!”
Tyler, in a single fluid motion spun around, sticking the knife deep in to the man’s left leg. The man jerked from the pain as Tyler held the knife steady in place—still deep in his leg.
“Why are you doing this? Huh?” the man pleaded.
Tyler slowly removed the knife from the man’s leg, this time wiping the blood off of the man’s face, slowly caressing the knife, first on the left side, then on the right until the blade appeared clean. Holding the knife to the light Tyler examined every grove and knick in the blade, rolling the handle over in his hand.
Squatting before the man Tyler spoke clearly, “Because she would want me to.”
The man, bleeding heavily from the right hand and the left leg, began to laugh. “All this over some girl.”
“Don’t you dare say her name,” Tyler snapped.
“You really think you love this girl?” the man chuckled. “Let me tell you something boy, love? It’s all bullshit.”
“Stop.”
“You think you’re in love? You don’t know what love is. Ask yourself something, kid: is she really worth it? To kill over?”
Standing slowly, Tyler removed a match from the matchbook, struck it against the back of the book and lit the cigarette still between his lips.
Inhaling deeply, “Yes. Yes, she is.” Tyler made eye contact with the man, staring deep into the man’s brown eyes, exhaling the a thick cloud of smoke in his face. In a slow and steady motion Tyler began repeatedly stabbing the knife in to Karl’s gut. Each bend of the elbow, inserting and removing the knife from the bowels of the captive man, came in a rhythmic fashion. Tyler remained in eye contact the entire time until his elbow and bicep grew sore from piercing the man’s flesh.
The man lay motionless in the chair, blood flowing from his abdomen. His head flopped back, eyes still open, peering towards the ceiling. With his thumb and forefinger Tyler held the man’s right eyelid open. Taking one last breath from the cigarette Tyler extinguished the burning tobacco directly on the man’s pupil. The man jerked his last jerk as his feet spread out away from his body. Blowing on the tip of the cigarette to keep it lit Tyler did the same to the left eye.
“I can live with what I’ve done,” Tyler spoke, “you don’t deserve to.”
Tossing the butt at the feet of the bloody corpse, Tyler turned, opening the door and exiting the room. The crowd of people had reduced in numbers; Tyler figured that most couldn’t bear the man’s last screams. Stephan still sat in the same place, keeping his eyes to the floor. Mok stood, eyes adverted as Tyler exited the room. Tyler’s eyes scanned the faces of the on looking Thai people, all of which gazed back upon Tyler with the same look the small boy had given him before. With a single nod Tyler left the room.
While Tyler returned to his bungalow to retrieve his backpack the lifeless body of Karl was stuffed deep inside a 500-gallon drum that earlier today held cooking oil. The drum would be the last loaded on to the ship that night. When the vessel was far enough between the island and the mainland the barrel of oil and corpse inside would be dropped to the ocean floor never to be seen again. Stephan has arranged all of this, including Tyler’s safe passage to the mainland.
Collecting his North Face backpack from the bed, yet another knockoff purchased along the way, Tyler scanned the room one last time as he always did before leaving. Tyler checked his Casio once more. A single, unsmudged droplet of blood covered the last digit. Three fifty something, the watch read. Unlatching the watch from his wrist, Tyler held it in front of his face. He pressed the top left button one last time before tossing the watch into the bin. Stephan’s people would scour Tyler’s room one last time for any evidence unconsciously left behind. Stopping the fan and turning off the light to save electricity, Tyler quietly closed the door behind him. As he began to walk in the direction of the beach his eye caught the illumination of the adjacent bungalow—Caroline’s. Tyler continued to walk. He would board the boat, leave Thailand and never seen Caroline again. He had his reasons.
He would mention this incident only once more in his entire life—alluding to it only in story written for a writing class.
Tyler, lying in a cot, holds his knockoff Casio watch above his face. The Casio, a staple of the knockoff accessories found in Tyler’s current part of the world was already beginning to rust in the humid wet-season air. His eyes squint, pressing the button in the top left corner he makes the watch’s illuminating color change rapidly from red to blue to green to yellow and back again. He presses the button again watching the lights, paying no attention to the time. The watch’s novelty wears off after a few light cycles and Tyler slowly returns his arm to his side.
A fan, that at one point appeared to osculate, stares Tyler in the face. Without the fan the small one cot room would be unbearably hot. The humidity makes sleep impossible and the sound of the wall fan on full blast is defining. Throwing his legs over the bed Tyler stands and walks to the fan. Spreading his fingers wide in front of the exposed blade brings back memories shared with Caroline. The mental image of Caroline’s hand rhythmically raising and lowering in the wind brings a smile to his face but, nearly as fast as it was conjured up, the image changes to Caroline’s face pressed to the sand by a hand as she struggles to keep her underwear on. The image makes his hand return instantly to his side.
There’s a soft knock at the open door and a Thai boy, no more than eight or nine, stands in the open doorframe. The look in the boy’s eyes was one Tyler had never seen—sympathetic and scared. Mok appeared behind the boy who could easily be his son, resting his arms around the boy’s neck. A small cut on Mok’s chin appears as if it were recently bleeding.
“We find him,” Mok informs.
“Where was he?”
“Like you say.”
“At the dock?”
“Waiting for boat, yes.”
A warm smile comes to Tyler’s face. Extending his hand to pat the boy on the head recalls a voice in Tyler’s head reminding him of Southeast Asian etiquette. The head is what connects the soul to the heavens; he remembers reading verbatim in Lonely Planet as he moves his hand to the boy’s shoulder.
“Get him ready. I’ll be out soon.”
Mok nods submissively before nudging the boy along away from the door. Mok pulls the door closed, still nodding, as he remains avoiding eye contact.
Sitting on the edge of the cot, elbows on his knees, Tyler breathes deeply. The humid air is heavy. Reaching into his pocket, Tyler removes a pack of L&M cigarettes and a book of matches and a digital camera. Pocketing one, lighting the last cigarette and tossing the empty pack in the corner of the room he turns on the camera, inhaling the tobacco deep into his lungs. Flipping through pictures of the elephant trek, the slow boat and the Full Moon Party, all of which spotlighting the beautiful Caroline brings a tear to his eye. Any sense of time is lost and Tyler extinguishes the burning cigarette filter on the metal bed frame.
“Oi! Ty? Ya in der?” the unique accent could only be that of Stephan’s. Without a response the door cracks. Stephan’s vibrant blue eyes peer in through the opening. “Can I come in?” his eyes seem to ask. A nod is enough of an answer and the door opens more reveling a short tan Aussie with long curly blonde hair.
Stephan was as local as a Westerner could be on Phi Phi. Speaking fluent Thai, Stephan acted as the middleman between the locals and the tourists. It was said Stephan could get anything one’s heart desired on the isolated island, except prostitutes that was—he made that very clear. He was Phi Phi’s vice guy of sorts. Naturally, he was the first one Tyler came to after hearing the news from Caroline. Stephan sat on the rickety table, the only other piece of furniture in the room, rolling a spliff.
A moment passed without conversing before Tyler spoke, “Do you think this is right?”
“Right?”
“Yeah, do you think what I’m doing is right?”
“That’s not fer me to decide,” Stephan spoke blankly. “He put up quite a fight.” The room now smelt of marijuana as Stephan offered up the spliff.
“Did anyone see?” Tyler asked, waving off the offer. Although he trusted Stephan, Tyler was aware of the Thai government’s attempts to crackdown on drug use by tourists. Horror stories of fellow travelers being forced to participate as undercover bait by the Phi Phi police were frequent. Smoking a joint in Thailand could land you on death row—this wasn’t anything Tyler wanted to risk. Tyler also knew that if any authorities caught word of a Westerner doing what it was Tyler had planned on doing, that every cop on the island would jump at the opportunity to apprehend him. Tyler would not pay any sort of bribery money based on the simple fact he had none to spend. Being caught also meant possible harm to not only Stephan but also Mok and his son. This was something he was willing to risk. Tyler knew if everyone did their part there would be no repercussion—at least no lawful repercussions.
“It’s hard to say. We tried to keep him quiet. He hit Mok.”
“I noticed that.”
There was again silence between the two as Stephan puffed away. “What ya got der?” he asked, motioning to the camera.
“Just pictures.” Tyler replied powering down the Cannon, tossing it on the bed next to him. “Where is he?”
“Ready when you are.”
Tyler was on his feet before Stephan could even finish speaking. Stephan took another hit and before he could exhale Tyler was at the door.
“Hey, don’t forget this,” Stephan motioned to the knife that had been sitting on the table next to him the entire time.
A group of Thai men stood around a closed door. They watched Tyler’s every movement as he joined them. The group gazed at Tyler as if he was the Angel of Death. The knife, tucked into Tyler’s belt was visible under his sweat-soaked shirt. Stephan hadn’t moved, finishing his cigarette, he had done his part for now.
A muddled voice came from behind the door. It grew louder and louder until Tyler could make out words. “Get me the fuck outta here! Hey! Ya hear me?! Get me outta this fucking chair!”
Hearing the voice from within was reassuring. They had found him before he could escape. Tyler again thought of Caroline. He wondered if she was asleep. He wondered whether or not she would be okay with what he would do. Tyler thought she would.
With a nod from Mok the group separated, forming an isle where they once stood. As Tyler walked to the door the Thai men bowed their heads, some said prayers, others, eyes up, watch Tyler like a boy who has become king—hungry with power.
Behind the door sat a man tied to a chair. The man recognized Tyler in an instant.
“You? What the fuck do you want?” the man barked.
Tyler remained silent as he circled the bound man.
“Well? Are you gonna get me outta here or what?” The man struggled in his chair to get free.
“You shouldn’t struggle,” Tyler spoke in a reassuring voice. He gathered a chair from the corner of the well-lit room and placed it in front of the man. The man tried to kick at the chair but discovered he was tied too tightly to kick any distance. Tyler scooted the chair away from the man and took a seat.
Tyler sat, peering at the man much like the men outside the door were staring at him. He took in every inch of the man’s body: the sweat running down the man’s neck, soaking into the man’s shirt collar; the broken toenails attached to toes sporting tuffs of hair running wild; the tattoo of the initials C.M.M. on the underside of his wrist; the torn armpit hole in his green tattered t-shirt that revealed darkly tanned skin just below the shoulder.
For a moment Tyler thought about the man’s life. He wondered if he had kids, maybe someone back home he cared about. Tyler wondered briefly what his favorite band was, his favorite food, the best orgasm this man ever had. He thought about all the things that could have given this man pleasure and how he was going to take all those things away.
“Karl, right?” Tyler finally spoke in a soft tone.
“You’re name’s Tyler.”
“That it is,” Tyler nodded in approval. “I assume you know why you’re here?”
“Psh, I’m standing by the dock mindin’ my own goddamn business when I’m jumped by a mob of chinks. So no, I don’t know why I’m here. Why don’t you tell me.”
The denial set Tyler back for a moment. He hadn’t assumed the man would take this course. Tyler stood, turning his back to Karl. He placed his hand over his face to collect his thoughts. He thought of punk music, about how jacked it got him. He tried not to think of Caroline and the night they shared not 48 hours ago.
“What was it like?” Tyler nearly murmured with his back to Karl.
“It’s a mob of pissed off Asians, how do you think it felt?” Karl replied.
“I’m talking about Caroline!” Tyler snapped, pounding his fist against the closed door.
“Who?” Karl sounded genuinely confused.
“The girl, the one you… ah, you know who I’m talking about, goddamn it! Don’t pull this shit with me!” There was a new ferocity in Tyler’s voice.
“Listen man, I really have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!” The man pleaded.
Tyler stopped for a moment, breathing in the sticky tropical hair. “How was it?”
“How many times do I have to tell you man, I don’t know what the fuck you’re…”
Tyler turned abruptly and stabbed the knife through the back of Karl’s hand into the wooden frame of the chair. A scream, like a cloud of noxious gas filled the room, then at once was gone. Tyler removed the knife flicking the blood off the blade.
“What have I done? Huh? Tell me!” again the man pleaded.
Tyler removed the last cigarette from his pocket. Sliding the cigarette between his damp lips, Tyler then removed the book of matches from has pocket.
The man screamed again, this time louder than before.
“Please be quiet,” Tyler spoke, readying the cigarette for lighting.
“You’re fucked up, man! You’re a sick son of a bitch, ya know that? What’ve I done, huh? Tell me!”
Tyler, in a single fluid motion spun around, sticking the knife deep in to the man’s left leg. The man jerked from the pain as Tyler held the knife steady in place—still deep in his leg.
“Why are you doing this? Huh?” the man pleaded.
Tyler slowly removed the knife from the man’s leg, this time wiping the blood off of the man’s face, slowly caressing the knife, first on the left side, then on the right until the blade appeared clean. Holding the knife to the light Tyler examined every grove and knick in the blade, rolling the handle over in his hand.
Squatting before the man Tyler spoke clearly, “Because she would want me to.”
The man, bleeding heavily from the right hand and the left leg, began to laugh. “All this over some girl.”
“Don’t you dare say her name,” Tyler snapped.
“You really think you love this girl?” the man chuckled. “Let me tell you something boy, love? It’s all bullshit.”
“Stop.”
“You think you’re in love? You don’t know what love is. Ask yourself something, kid: is she really worth it? To kill over?”
Standing slowly, Tyler removed a match from the matchbook, struck it against the back of the book and lit the cigarette still between his lips.
Inhaling deeply, “Yes. Yes, she is.” Tyler made eye contact with the man, staring deep into the man’s brown eyes, exhaling the a thick cloud of smoke in his face. In a slow and steady motion Tyler began repeatedly stabbing the knife in to Karl’s gut. Each bend of the elbow, inserting and removing the knife from the bowels of the captive man, came in a rhythmic fashion. Tyler remained in eye contact the entire time until his elbow and bicep grew sore from piercing the man’s flesh.
The man lay motionless in the chair, blood flowing from his abdomen. His head flopped back, eyes still open, peering towards the ceiling. With his thumb and forefinger Tyler held the man’s right eyelid open. Taking one last breath from the cigarette Tyler extinguished the burning tobacco directly on the man’s pupil. The man jerked his last jerk as his feet spread out away from his body. Blowing on the tip of the cigarette to keep it lit Tyler did the same to the left eye.
“I can live with what I’ve done,” Tyler spoke, “you don’t deserve to.”
Tossing the butt at the feet of the bloody corpse, Tyler turned, opening the door and exiting the room. The crowd of people had reduced in numbers; Tyler figured that most couldn’t bear the man’s last screams. Stephan still sat in the same place, keeping his eyes to the floor. Mok stood, eyes adverted as Tyler exited the room. Tyler’s eyes scanned the faces of the on looking Thai people, all of which gazed back upon Tyler with the same look the small boy had given him before. With a single nod Tyler left the room.
While Tyler returned to his bungalow to retrieve his backpack the lifeless body of Karl was stuffed deep inside a 500-gallon drum that earlier today held cooking oil. The drum would be the last loaded on to the ship that night. When the vessel was far enough between the island and the mainland the barrel of oil and corpse inside would be dropped to the ocean floor never to be seen again. Stephan has arranged all of this, including Tyler’s safe passage to the mainland.
Collecting his North Face backpack from the bed, yet another knockoff purchased along the way, Tyler scanned the room one last time as he always did before leaving. Tyler checked his Casio once more. A single, unsmudged droplet of blood covered the last digit. Three fifty something, the watch read. Unlatching the watch from his wrist, Tyler held it in front of his face. He pressed the top left button one last time before tossing the watch into the bin. Stephan’s people would scour Tyler’s room one last time for any evidence unconsciously left behind. Stopping the fan and turning off the light to save electricity, Tyler quietly closed the door behind him. As he began to walk in the direction of the beach his eye caught the illumination of the adjacent bungalow—Caroline’s. Tyler continued to walk. He would board the boat, leave Thailand and never seen Caroline again. He had his reasons.
He would mention this incident only once more in his entire life—alluding to it only in story written for a writing class.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Where the Sun Doesn't Set
I roll the legs of my jeans up—the right first, then the left. There is a pleasant breeze blowing over Karon Beach on the isle of Phuket in Thailand. The lack of clear, blue sky is disappointing, but I’ll take the breeze over the blue sky any day.
Walking to the end of the concrete path that leads to the beach, I inhale deeply. The sea is calm tonight, the calmest I’ve seen it in the four days I’ve been here. I look south and find nothing but a horde of tourists. I look north and find much of the same. I elect to head north anyhow. The time is 6:40. Sunset is supposed to be 6:48—according to Google. I check my watch again. I can only assume Google can’t be wrong.
Expecting a spectacular sky, red as the sunsets into the Indian Ocean, I see nothing but horrific thunderheads journeying towards the island. The red sky will come, I know it.
A couple takes turns passing their camera off as they pose for pictures on the sand. An Asian man buries his girlfriend in the sand giving her exaggerated breasts. Two boys kick a soccer ball back and fourth. All look to be in a complete state of bliss. I take a moment to admire the woman posing for pictures. Her beautiful tan is accompanied by a perfect complexion and her solid black two-piece bikini only accentuates her beauty. One of the boys has kicked a ‘goal’ and, with his shirt pulled over his head, runs circles around the other boy with his arms extended like an airplane. The Asian man laughs hysterically, groping his girlfriends sand breasts.
Pulling my camera from my jeans pocket I snap a quick photo of the beachscape. After a few more paces down the beach I prop the camera up in the sand and take a self photo. I shove the camera back into my pocket a pull out a pack of Marlboro Cigarettes. I struggle in the whipping wind to get one lit, but persistence pays off. I take a deep drag off the newly lit cigarette and continue up the beach.
The tide seems to be coming in and the water feels cool on my feet. I stop and turn looking into the seemingly infinite ocean. I’ve always liked the ocean. It’s the thought that just on the other side is a world I know nothing about that gets me. You can never really grasp the enormity of the ocean until you fly over it. As the water retreats my feet sink into the sand—one my favorite sensations.
Without really thinking, I bend over and write her name in the sand with my finger. The waves come close to erasing the letters, but for now it's safe.
"How'd you know my name?" a voice asks curiously from behind me. Sitting on the sand no more than fifteen feet away is a gorgeous blonde, a blue towel is wrapped around her waist, her flip-flops sit to he right of her bare feet.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
"You just wrote my name in the sand. How'd you know my name?" she asks again. I don't notice an accent, she's either American or Canadian, I am unable to tell yet.
"That's your name?"
"That's my name, and you just wrote it in the sand. Is that your girlfriend's name?" a smile crosses her face as she wipes away an obvious tear.
"Ha, nope, it is not." I try to calculate the odds of what I've just done, but they're simply too astronomical.
She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. I can tell she's been crying. I can't believe I didn't notice her. I must have been too occupied with the ocean.
"Then why did you write it?" I catch the hint of a slight laughter in her voice. I seem to have brought her some sort of humor. After all, I'm still blown away by the odds the act.
I can't help but laugh. "I really don't know." I look down again at my feet in the sand, embarrassed. Why did I write her name?
"Can I bum one of those?" she points to the cigarette in between my fingers. I've nearly forgotten about it and it has burnt nearly to the filter.
"Sure," I answer, pulling the pack from my pocket. "You know, I don't usually smoke," and it's true, I don't, aside from the occasional marijuana and hookah.
"Me neither," she says, again laughing, "but what a better time to start?" she jokes. I hand her a cigarette which she immediately places between her lips. I shove the pack back into my pocket, next removing the lighter. She leans forward, motioning for me to light it. Again the wind wreaks havoc on the process. I cup one hand around the cigarette in an attempt to block out the wind. It's no success, however that is until she places her hand against mine, creating an even bigger wind-block. The touch is innocent, but I feel there's something more to it.
"So, you know my name," she scoots in the direction of her flip-flops and spreads out her towel in an inviting manner, finishing her sentence at that.
"I'm Skyler," I extend my hand towards her.
She places the cigarette in her mouth and brushes the sand from her hand off on her bare thigh. I can't tell if she's wearing a bikini bottom or simply short shorts.
"Nice to meet you, Skyler," again she laughs. "Where are you from? Sit down, sit down," she motions to the towel.
"Oregon, USA." I find that although everyone is familiar with the United States, very few people are familiar with the beautiful state of Oregon.
She nods in excitement, taking a drag. "I'm from Seattle," she says exhaling the smoke. It appears as if she has smoked before.
"I was just there a couple months ago!" I tell her enthusiastically, "I caught an M's game!"
"Don't get me started on the Mariners." There's a quite serious tone to her voice. "Who'd they play?"
"Texas, if I remember right."
"That wasn't the one they lost in twelve was it?"
I bow my head, about to recount the worst sporting event I've ever been to. "They had the bases loaded with no outs in the bottom of the tenth AND eleventh and lost by two in the top of the twelfth. Frustrating. And," I continue, "I had to drive five hours back to Oregon after it finally ended. Don't get ME started on the Mariners."
She just stares at me.
"What?" I ask concerned.
"I was at the game."
"No shit?"
"Yes shit!" She shakes her head as if she's trying to wake from a dream. "Man, how crazy is this?" She too appears to be baffled by our chance encounter.
"I know, right?" It is hard to believe. I want to ask her why she was crying, but it doesn't seem necessary.
We sit in silence, both awaiting something colorful from the setting sun.
"It's like the sun never sets here, it just becomes dark suddenly." Her words are hauntingly beautiful.
"Yeah, it looks like the whole, watching the sunset thing was a bust," I admit. I check my watch again and it's past seven. Already the darkness has moved in and the thunderheads are not too far off. I know our time on the beach is short.
"Looks like it's gonna pour," I say, in an attempt to continue our conversation and prolong our time together.
She nods, extinguishing the cigarette in the sand behind us.
"Thanks for the smoke. I really needed it."
"Not a problem," I say, bowing my head, "anytime."
Again we sit in silence.
The couple taking pictures has since dispersed. The boys have packed up their soccer ball and are gone as well. There is also no sign of the Asian couple. I peer down the beach, in both directions, and see no one. It is as if we are the only two people on Karon.
“How long are you in Thailad for?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“I leave tomorrow.”
“Ah,” is the only thing I can say.
“You?”
“Uh, I’ll be here until the month.”
"Ugh," she says suddenly, sticking her tongue out, "my boyfriend's going to know I had a cigarette."
"You have a boyfriend?" she can tell there's disappointment in my voice. Story of my life.
"Yeah, he's probably wondering where I'm at, actually." I could tell there was accompanying disappointment in her voice as well. "I better be getting back." She stands and I follow. Picking the towel up and shaking off the sand we both are quiet—then I remember.
“Oh, hey, here,” I reach into the pocket opposite the cigarettes and pull from it a roll of Mentos. I hold them up to her. “They’re the fresh maker,” I joke and pop one into my mouth giving a cheesy smile. I push a purple colored, grape flavored Mento to the top of the roll and extend the tube to her.
“Oh, perfect,” she says, jumping at the fruity breath freshener. “Yum, grape,” she smiles. She steps forward, and without any warning kisses me on the lips. I can taste a mixture of nicotine and grape Mento. “See?” she asks.
Throwing the towel over her shoulder she walks in the opposite direction from where I came, turning around after a few paces. “Nice to meet you, Skyler,” she shoots a smile in my direction and it is met by a simple smirk.
“Nice to meet you too.”
And then she is gone.
I walk back over to where I unknowingly wrote her name in the sand. It is since long gone.
Walking to the end of the concrete path that leads to the beach, I inhale deeply. The sea is calm tonight, the calmest I’ve seen it in the four days I’ve been here. I look south and find nothing but a horde of tourists. I look north and find much of the same. I elect to head north anyhow. The time is 6:40. Sunset is supposed to be 6:48—according to Google. I check my watch again. I can only assume Google can’t be wrong.
Expecting a spectacular sky, red as the sunsets into the Indian Ocean, I see nothing but horrific thunderheads journeying towards the island. The red sky will come, I know it.
A couple takes turns passing their camera off as they pose for pictures on the sand. An Asian man buries his girlfriend in the sand giving her exaggerated breasts. Two boys kick a soccer ball back and fourth. All look to be in a complete state of bliss. I take a moment to admire the woman posing for pictures. Her beautiful tan is accompanied by a perfect complexion and her solid black two-piece bikini only accentuates her beauty. One of the boys has kicked a ‘goal’ and, with his shirt pulled over his head, runs circles around the other boy with his arms extended like an airplane. The Asian man laughs hysterically, groping his girlfriends sand breasts.
Pulling my camera from my jeans pocket I snap a quick photo of the beachscape. After a few more paces down the beach I prop the camera up in the sand and take a self photo. I shove the camera back into my pocket a pull out a pack of Marlboro Cigarettes. I struggle in the whipping wind to get one lit, but persistence pays off. I take a deep drag off the newly lit cigarette and continue up the beach.
The tide seems to be coming in and the water feels cool on my feet. I stop and turn looking into the seemingly infinite ocean. I’ve always liked the ocean. It’s the thought that just on the other side is a world I know nothing about that gets me. You can never really grasp the enormity of the ocean until you fly over it. As the water retreats my feet sink into the sand—one my favorite sensations.
Without really thinking, I bend over and write her name in the sand with my finger. The waves come close to erasing the letters, but for now it's safe.
"How'd you know my name?" a voice asks curiously from behind me. Sitting on the sand no more than fifteen feet away is a gorgeous blonde, a blue towel is wrapped around her waist, her flip-flops sit to he right of her bare feet.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
"You just wrote my name in the sand. How'd you know my name?" she asks again. I don't notice an accent, she's either American or Canadian, I am unable to tell yet.
"That's your name?"
"That's my name, and you just wrote it in the sand. Is that your girlfriend's name?" a smile crosses her face as she wipes away an obvious tear.
"Ha, nope, it is not." I try to calculate the odds of what I've just done, but they're simply too astronomical.
She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. I can tell she's been crying. I can't believe I didn't notice her. I must have been too occupied with the ocean.
"Then why did you write it?" I catch the hint of a slight laughter in her voice. I seem to have brought her some sort of humor. After all, I'm still blown away by the odds the act.
I can't help but laugh. "I really don't know." I look down again at my feet in the sand, embarrassed. Why did I write her name?
"Can I bum one of those?" she points to the cigarette in between my fingers. I've nearly forgotten about it and it has burnt nearly to the filter.
"Sure," I answer, pulling the pack from my pocket. "You know, I don't usually smoke," and it's true, I don't, aside from the occasional marijuana and hookah.
"Me neither," she says, again laughing, "but what a better time to start?" she jokes. I hand her a cigarette which she immediately places between her lips. I shove the pack back into my pocket, next removing the lighter. She leans forward, motioning for me to light it. Again the wind wreaks havoc on the process. I cup one hand around the cigarette in an attempt to block out the wind. It's no success, however that is until she places her hand against mine, creating an even bigger wind-block. The touch is innocent, but I feel there's something more to it.
"So, you know my name," she scoots in the direction of her flip-flops and spreads out her towel in an inviting manner, finishing her sentence at that.
"I'm Skyler," I extend my hand towards her.
She places the cigarette in her mouth and brushes the sand from her hand off on her bare thigh. I can't tell if she's wearing a bikini bottom or simply short shorts.
"Nice to meet you, Skyler," again she laughs. "Where are you from? Sit down, sit down," she motions to the towel.
"Oregon, USA." I find that although everyone is familiar with the United States, very few people are familiar with the beautiful state of Oregon.
She nods in excitement, taking a drag. "I'm from Seattle," she says exhaling the smoke. It appears as if she has smoked before.
"I was just there a couple months ago!" I tell her enthusiastically, "I caught an M's game!"
"Don't get me started on the Mariners." There's a quite serious tone to her voice. "Who'd they play?"
"Texas, if I remember right."
"That wasn't the one they lost in twelve was it?"
I bow my head, about to recount the worst sporting event I've ever been to. "They had the bases loaded with no outs in the bottom of the tenth AND eleventh and lost by two in the top of the twelfth. Frustrating. And," I continue, "I had to drive five hours back to Oregon after it finally ended. Don't get ME started on the Mariners."
She just stares at me.
"What?" I ask concerned.
"I was at the game."
"No shit?"
"Yes shit!" She shakes her head as if she's trying to wake from a dream. "Man, how crazy is this?" She too appears to be baffled by our chance encounter.
"I know, right?" It is hard to believe. I want to ask her why she was crying, but it doesn't seem necessary.
We sit in silence, both awaiting something colorful from the setting sun.
"It's like the sun never sets here, it just becomes dark suddenly." Her words are hauntingly beautiful.
"Yeah, it looks like the whole, watching the sunset thing was a bust," I admit. I check my watch again and it's past seven. Already the darkness has moved in and the thunderheads are not too far off. I know our time on the beach is short.
"Looks like it's gonna pour," I say, in an attempt to continue our conversation and prolong our time together.
She nods, extinguishing the cigarette in the sand behind us.
"Thanks for the smoke. I really needed it."
"Not a problem," I say, bowing my head, "anytime."
Again we sit in silence.
The couple taking pictures has since dispersed. The boys have packed up their soccer ball and are gone as well. There is also no sign of the Asian couple. I peer down the beach, in both directions, and see no one. It is as if we are the only two people on Karon.
“How long are you in Thailad for?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“I leave tomorrow.”
“Ah,” is the only thing I can say.
“You?”
“Uh, I’ll be here until the month.”
"Ugh," she says suddenly, sticking her tongue out, "my boyfriend's going to know I had a cigarette."
"You have a boyfriend?" she can tell there's disappointment in my voice. Story of my life.
"Yeah, he's probably wondering where I'm at, actually." I could tell there was accompanying disappointment in her voice as well. "I better be getting back." She stands and I follow. Picking the towel up and shaking off the sand we both are quiet—then I remember.
“Oh, hey, here,” I reach into the pocket opposite the cigarettes and pull from it a roll of Mentos. I hold them up to her. “They’re the fresh maker,” I joke and pop one into my mouth giving a cheesy smile. I push a purple colored, grape flavored Mento to the top of the roll and extend the tube to her.
“Oh, perfect,” she says, jumping at the fruity breath freshener. “Yum, grape,” she smiles. She steps forward, and without any warning kisses me on the lips. I can taste a mixture of nicotine and grape Mento. “See?” she asks.
Throwing the towel over her shoulder she walks in the opposite direction from where I came, turning around after a few paces. “Nice to meet you, Skyler,” she shoots a smile in my direction and it is met by a simple smirk.
“Nice to meet you too.”
And then she is gone.
I walk back over to where I unknowingly wrote her name in the sand. It is since long gone.
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