IT

I

“It’s funny.“           

“What’s funny?”

“The word. It’s funny.“

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. What word?”

“The word “funny”, its just funny sounding don’t you think?”

“No. I don’t think it’s funny at all. It’s just a word.”

“Yeah, it is. But the spelling even. It just looks funny.  It’s got a funny swirl to it.”

“What do you mean it’s got a funny swirl to it? You’re on crack.“

“Um… no. I’m not. But  you’re missing my point. The “f” makes the text go up on the one side and the “y” makes it go down on the other side. So its just, well, it just looks funny. HA! Funny! Funny, funny, funny, funny, funny. Funny! HA! It’s great!”

“Ah…. yeah, it’s great. I swear to God, if you don’t stop doing hash I’m going to admit you to Fairfield.” 

“Aww…come on, lighten up. What’s your deal these days?  You’re like Debbi Downer on sleep medicine.  It’s not very becoming.”

“Yes, well, we can’t all be rays of fucking sunshine 24/7.  It takes energy to be as chipper as you are, and frankly, my dear, I don’t give a fuck.”

 “Don’t give a fuck? Wow, you must love waking up in the morning.” 

“I do actually. I love waking up and seeing the sun, the trees, the sky, the everything nature. What I don’t like is the stepping outside and being lambasted by the mediocre minds of our dear earth’s population.  It’s truly unfair for such miracles to be so stupid, benign, wretched, and the worst word of all ugly.”

“Ah, gee, thanks. You know, this may explain why you don’t have any friends.  You’re so superficial.”

“Funny, but no. Not in an appearance sort of way, but inside. I’m sorry I’m not a ray of sunshine, but it’s very hard to muster sunlight when I swear every person I meet is some craphead on an ego trip. I find that the population becomes more caring and giving when their egos are not in the way.  When they just are as they are, no more no less. Just being. But, it seems that the human mind has triumphed over the human soul, and now all I see are the wanderings of benign superegos everywhere.  Humanity on a power trip. It literally makes me ill.  And so, I’m sorry, once again, but I cannot express my happiness when I feel a growing ulcer in my side.”

“Wow. That’s all I have to say.  Wow. Do feel better now with that off your chest? Er, I mean side? Since that’s where your illness is growing out of. “

“Yeah, a little bit I guess. But the more I think about it the more it grows.  I think I can feel it up to my throat. Like someone seared me with a hot iron on the inside. It’s horrible.”  There was a real pain immediately after Lester uttered these words.  A burning pain, unlike any he had ever felt.

“You realize that’s hate right?” replied Jules,  “I mean, the idea of a burning hatred. You sound like you hate the entire human race.”

“No, it’s not hate, it’s disdain. There’s a difference. And seriously, it feels like my insides are on fire.”  The fire in Lester’s side began to ache and spread to his throat.

Laughingly and unaware. Jules asks his cynical friend, “Are you honestly okay?”

“Ah…yeah I think so.  Well, actually, I don’t know. I feel sick.”

In a good humored retort, Jules answered ,“Yes, you said that. You have an ‘ulcer’ from stupid, ugly people.  I’d recommend you not look in the mirror.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.  If my side didn’t hurt so bad I’d have a comeback for you. But son-of-a-bitch! This is just incredible!”  Another jab of pain entered into side as if a phantom being had skewered him with a hot metal stake.  Lester lifted his shirt quickly, looking for any sign of foul play. His side looked fine. He could see faint blemishes of redness as if someone had pinched his skin, but no cuts or gouges.

“You mean you’re serious about the pain?”  Jules saw the blemishes in his friend’s side, but also knew Lester liked to joke around. His uncertainty, however, was uncouth.

“Ahhhhh! It’s getting worse!” This time Lester grabbed his armrests and attempted to sit up straight. Maybe it’s a side ache?  He thought.  Or maybe it really is an ulcer. But then why would it be on my side? What the hell is going on?  He could no longer find words as the sears ripped through him.  He decided to try to control his breathing, which was not altogether working.  Any reserve he had had was quickly fleeing.

“Oh my God. You’re serious.” Said an astonished Jules.

“Yes I’m serious you obtuse ass! Get me to a doctor or something! NOW!” Jesus! I thought Jules was intelligent! He’s worse than Uncle Bill! AGHH!!!!!  Just breathe! Look to the sky and breathe. Just inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Breathe! Oh my God this is unbearable!  

“SHIT! SHIT! Okay, okay, okay,…SHIT!  Can you walk?” asked Jules, trying to make up for his previous lack of judgment.

“Ahh..I don’t know.” Lester attempted to pry free his boney fingers that had latched onto the cold, metal armrests. His hands had seemed to tighten around them as the pain got worse. Now he was unsure if he could move a finger from his claw-like grip, let alone get up and walk. This is not good. Breathe! Not good! Breathe!

“I don’t think I can.”  He replied. The pain was now coursing through him in a familiar, beating pattern. I don’t have long. He thought. This is the end. Lester could feel the internal struggle of good and bad, the latter triumphing hastily, ready to conquer with all its might. I must have Jules write to Cara for me.  She must know. She MUST know how I truly feel. How I’ve always felt. She must know…

“Oh my God Lester, you’re turning red! You’re red all over! Les! Les! Do you hear me? Look at me, do you hear me?”

Yes, I hear you numbnuts!. Stop yelling!

“LES! Answer me! DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

“GOD! I hear you! Stop shouting in my face and get me a doctor!   Then write for me God-damnit! I need you to write for me! Fuck!”  A shot of pain ripped through his side. His breathing was becoming erratic as were his senses.  I don’t have long. I don’t have long.

Jules had whipped out his cell phone and was dialing 9-1-1.  His heart was racing too, but he could SEE the blood pulsating in his dear friends’ neck, it did not look good. His eyes were bulged and his knuckles white from squeezing the chair so hard. Lester was dying in front of him.

“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

“Hello? HELLO?! Hi, it’s my friend. He’s had some sort of attack. He says his side hurts but he looks like he’s going to drop now!  Get here immediately! Please! We’re at 390 Shorting Dr. The Grounds End coffee place. Please! NOW!”

He hung up on the lady as Lester convulsed his head backwards, cracking into the metal chair back. His eyes began to flutter and his mouth clench.

“I don’t have long, Jules.” Lester panted. His sweat now clinging to his skin. “I don’t have long, and you need to write for me. To Cara.”

“Sure, yes, sure. Just breathe okay? It’s going to be alright, I just called 9-1-1, they’re on their way. Just hold on. I’ll get a pen.”

“Cara. Write. Cara.” Every breath needed more support when there wasn’t any.  Lester tried to think of what to say, but the only thing that came to him was the pain.

“Cara, I love you.” He finally puffed. “I have always, always, loved you.” His eyes could no longer stay open, he could feel them squeezing shut, trying to keep out the pain. His hands still clenched around the armrests, his whole body began to convulse. Inside himself was a burning hell, the pain having traveled throughout his entire body.  I will not die in darkness! I will not die in hell!  Lester could feel the awaiting climax, he could feel the end. Outside him was the world he loved, even with people. He knew he only had moments and if there was one more thing he was to experience in life it was certainly not a hell of a death. With his head still on the chair back, Lester summoned all of his strength and forced his eyes open.

            The sky had never looked so beautiful! The light had never seemed so new! The brilliance of it was shocking to Lester, his mind and eyes squinted to see.  The world around him has perfect. The world around him was heaven.  I was wrong, thought Lester. I was completely wrong! My shell was all I could see and I was wrong! The people make the world, they groom it. Their benignity is what makes them superior! They can feel. They can think! They can be. They are equal to the world because they are in it. They are equal as I am equal. They are free and amazed to be so, love to be so! They are…they are….they are! They…

Lester’s eyes began to droop. His words disconnect. The happiness he had felt gone. The world and Cara ignorant of its existence. Lester had died.

II

The heat is unbearable! How can these people stand this place? The humidity is so stifling! The high noon sun beat down on Cara with a soft hum and harsh burn. Its irony did not sooth Cara, but only enraged her dehydrated state. She had been walking for two hours around Haifa and had not dressed for the exertion.  She could feel her jeans were damp but she could feel her shirt was soaked. Her cotton showed armpit stains from her pit to her hip and sweat beads on her forehead prepared to ruin her make-up. Embarrassed, she had thrown her shawl over herself in hopes of hiding her human characteristics. Yet having done so, she suffered an added layer of insulation. Her discomfort had become heightened with her irritation. Hours of wandering around the city and she still could not find the address! She had been so sure about the handwriting, but maybe she was mistaken? No, it’s his! I know it! Cara told herself over and over. Yet with each wrong turn her vexation grew with her uncertainty. But only HE would have written it like this, on this!  She could see the address was old, it had an Ottoman name and had been written in an odd form of Arabic.  It was even written on parchment, which was brittle and crinkled in her fingers as she ached for its meaning. Cara had only known one other person in her life who knew Arabic and had been to Ottoman Palestine. He had been dead for a month.

“Miss! Miss! Buy scarf? Ve-ery  pretty scarves! One every color! You like? You like?”

            The woman screaming at Cara looked crazed. Her face beat red from spending days upon days selling her scarves in he sun. Poor thing, thought Cara, but I don’t want a damn scarf. Silly woman, selling scarves in the desert!

“No thanks” she replied, attempting to keep her disdain under wraps, but failing miserably. The woman cringed away from Cara’s glare, obviously affected by the irritation in her voice. Cara glared a second longer at the scarf-woman then whipped her head around to check the street.

Usually Cara was a good natured human being. Kind, understanding, sensitive. But over the past month her patience had shortened to .05 seconds and her understanding to nothing past her own nose. In a word, Cara was grieving. Yet, grief was a feeling she had long chosen not to feel.  Now it consumed her without her realization of it. She simply was as she was. Angry at the world because it seemed the world was angry with her. 

Perhaps he meant Kasda not Kashda? That would mean I’m on the absolute opposite side of town! I’ll just walk a few cross streets further. If I can’t find it by then, I’ll turn back.

Cara pushed past a group of tourists discussing a map, not bothering to offer her expert knowledge of Haifa. She was on a mission, and nothing- no scarf lady, no idiot tourists, no beggar woman or lost child could impede. She had dropped all obligations to make this journey her top priority and was not about to be side tracked. 

“603 Kashda Road, you’ll find IT there.”  The note was vague, but all instincts told Cara that this cryptic message was mailed to her from no other than her once upon a time lover, Lester Everett Sanoi. The two had met while working on sabbatical in Palestine over 40 years ago. Of course, now it was no longer Palestine but Israel, and Cara was no longer an exotic beauty but a haggard mess, worn by time and stress.  Her looks that were once upon a time cherished by her and everyone who looked upon her had vanished under the waves of every year she breathed. Cara did not care of course. External beauty was something she knew was a fleeting lover. So instead of being the young woman who dwelled on her reflection and external projection, Cara focused on the things that she knew would last, such as her intellect and wisdom. It was these attributes that Lester had fallen in love with anyways and vice versa for Cara. Thus, as Cara stepped around groups of Jewish men and women and the occasional Arab so desperately out of place, she was strong in both mind and soul. She used her wits and her cunning to search without looking lost. Thereby saving herself any intrusions from curious observers, as well as any questions from police. Her appearance was not to be admired, yes, but it was her radiating will, smarts and strength that helped her with every step as she walked the stifling streets of Haifa. 

Just as she was about to give up on this eastern bazaar area of the city, she noticed something to her right. A glimpse of sparkling and a... fruited tree inside the doorway? How absolutely strange?! Cara's wits kicked in, and she ever so cooly glided over to the mysterious doorway. As she neared the portal, she read the inscription above it, "603 Kashda Road". And below it, on the actual door itself, Cara read the unmistakable old Arabic engraving, translated as: "We have It".