THE BROKEN WINDOWS TO MY SOUL

“One day at a time, just like with any habit that’s got a grip on you.” … I never had much appreciation for advice from the wise. After all, no one, not even my father himself, could be wise about the only desires that made me feel alive, until I fulfilled them and realized they were nothing but absolute shit, like a disappointed child in his first and long-awaited cotton candy… And still, after two long years, that desire was just unbearable after Halloween night. I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist it for long when its pull got that strong; so strong that I couldn’t even sleep. So strong that I would peer out my window hoping to sight one alone and helpless at 3 a.m.

All the advice that had kept me in check for so long; the humanizing technique, made to see them as actual human beings with people relying on them to come home every night; the projection technique, made to let all that fury out on artificial samples, with full identities and personality traits bestowed on to them for extra-sharp focus on the reasons for strangling them with such passion, until I looked on to their beady eyes fading away with their final message for me: “Why??” , only to respond with my own look of uncertainty and guilt; thankful that I had not actually killed anyone, again.

It was different on that night. Those silicone dolls, those humanizing mantras, bestowing reincarnated female identities on to the cockroaches I would capture to set on ritualistic fire on Sunday nights; they were nothing against that night’s pull, especially after seeing so many on Halloween night, dressing up as their true selves just that one night a year, and acting for us every other day of their lives, repugnant hypocrites. Once again, I needed to feel the actual power of life ceasing to be because of my trailing, capture and execution. And knowing how awful I would feel once I was done was just the faintest of deterrents. I guess I would just do what I had done on the two previous occasions: expulse whatever was poking at me from the inside through my mouth, as if it were as simple as bulimia. Then I would spend the following 2 days convincing myself she deserved to die, only to spend the following 2 crying over what I have done to her and those who cared for her so, and eventually, on the fifth day, I would leave her looking beautiful, made up and dressed up lying on the side of the road as if sleeping peacefully forever.

It was almost time for the prowl. My ritualistic superstition demanded I step out 43 minutes after 7. Whenever I coincidentally looked at my night table clock and noticed it was the 43^rd minute, I knew it was my night. Everything would be aligned for me to have “my night”.

While I waited, I checked the Psychology Today article on renown therapies to overcome phobias. In the case of phobias of certain creatures, such as rats or big spiders, among others, there was the curious therapy consisting of actually keeping one in a fishbowl and taking care of it, making it depend on the sufferer for its life… Somehow it made sense to me, so I read it whole despite it being 9 pages long. It was so interesting that I went through it and finished only wanting to learn more. But … I glanced at my clock, and there it was, that message from that higher intelligence only people like us could comprehend: my beautiful number 43.

All I had to do was put on my best and finest tennis shoes, kiss the wall behind which my father lied, still talking to me at times from beyond, and telling him how much I loved him and how the guilt of his death would eat away at me forever; that I should have found another solution… He should have been with me. He, the man who loved me so unconditionally despite knowing what I was from the very beginning. He who stuck with me and never stopped believing in me, even after my mother abandoned me making sure I knew how much she hated me… But it was definitely not time for nostalgia; anything but, actually. That would come later, when there would be nothing but nostalgia for me.    

As I was stepping out I heard a voice…No, not one between my ears, but an actual auditory perception of a voice. And yes, it was my father’s voice: I couldn’t make his message out clearly from behind the wall. It sounded something like: “It’s ok, son. Tonight’s special.” … I wanted to ask him to say it again to hear him clearer, but all the neighbors knew I lived alone, and I didn’t want anyone to think there was something wrong with me, so I just kept going.

The Boulevard was always a great place to sniff out those I knew so well; those so seemingly held back and innocent, but who knew how desirable they were, and would use that as a weapon to humiliate and drain men psychologically, not to mention economically. She had to show up that night. I knew her routine as well as she did. She’d step out of the lingerie shop she managed strutting this week’s leather mini-skirt and thin red blouse that announced just how woman she was going to be that night, only not for anyone drooling over her passing by wondering what the experience would be like… I was never that high on sex. To me it was some weird mechanism tricking us into filling up the world with more people, and leave us feeling like idiots once we were done. The real and durable climax was that of holding and overpowering life itself in my hands. It was more than a desire now. It was a need! … That’s why my heart started rushing just knowing she was drawing near, even before my eyes caught her.. or perhaps it involved something else, something I wasn’t fully aware of at first. As the urban tracker I had become early on, I knew how to observe even what seemed distant and irrelevant at first… That guy sitting on that bench across the parking lot from Lime Lingerie, the way he seemed to have his hands in his jacket pocket so deep and firmly; he seemed to be overprotective of whatever was in there. I knew it because surely that was how I had looked on so many nights in which I stood and sat by watching potential prey go about their routines while I held guns and knives deep in my pockets, making sure they wouldn’t fall out accidentally. The guy was up to something, and though he did a good job of pretending to not be interested in anything in particular, his sight would stop most often through that large window and to her stunning figure getting ready for another weekend under her terms and conditions with whoever she was planning to meet up with. I knew that body language and that way of staring without actually staring. He was up to something that would feel good only to him, even if just for a while. 

…And there she was, telling us all to eat our hearts out with her stride. And that made me want to reach to her heart and show it to her, but I was getting too uncomfortable. Some freako was in the way of our time together, and I was resenting it. I wasn’t sure just what to do as the guy got up as soon as she stepped out heading in the opposite direction towards the street in which her Uber ride was to pick her up like usual. I don’t know if I was left lethargic for a moment with the way the whole scenario had suddenly changed so unexpectedly, but he actually had all his senses in sync to approach her stealthily like a jaguar in the night, get right next to her and greet her with a warm hug with the right arm, and a cold pistol muzzle in his left hand poking at her ribs, just so she would have no doubt as to what it was.

They were just twenty-plus feet ahead of me. I heard him say: “It’s so good to see you again, babe.” Then lower his voice to say something like: “Keep things calm and quiet now. We’re just going on a little date. Don’t mess with my little chaperone now. He gets a bit hot under the collar. All right?”

The silent panic in her eyes. The helplessness. The desperation and eagerness to see if anyone were noticing anything; that detestable femme was no longer there in that body, man. The only soul left there was of a little girl she thought she had left behind, alone in a dark place, at the mercy of demonic forces… It wasn’t right. There was nothing right about it. This guy; he was just evil!

I knew I wouldn’t have much time before he noticed I was following them. Whatever I was to do, it had to come out right, and in the following ten seconds. So I got close enough to them and called out as calmly as possible: “Shelly, Shelly… Look, you forgot your phone.”

They turned around slowly, trying hard not to look so reluctant. I walked up to her with my folded-up metal chain with 3-pound led spheres on its tips.  I knew my window of action would be just a blink. I also knew his left hand would be restrained holding the pistol even tighter against her ribs behind his own sweat jacket, for which I just gripped one of the led balls, thrusted the whole chain straight up in a circular motion making sure the other ball hit him on top of his head knocking him and his pistol down for an instant. He was hurting, and bleeding, but not defenseless, for which I hit him again on his parietal, knocking him out cold. Suddenly I heard a couple of guys yelling from a nearby car:

-Hey, asshole!! What the hell did you just do?!

I thought it was obvious they thought we were the assailants at first, so we told them the guy was trying to kidnap her, and the pistol was there to prove it. Things got scary when it was clear they didn’t care, and approached us making sure what was in their pockets would remain there. We weren’t that far from the outdoor mall, so we dared to run back there. I told her I had a motorcycle. Considering how many people were around, it was clear they had given up on chasing us. Since she did look pretty shaken up, I insisted we get out of there before calling anyone. It turned out to be a smart decision because as we were riding away, we happened to see their car passing by on the opposite side of the street. And the occupants seemed to be looking for someone. Fortunately, our crash helmets helped us go unnoticed.

Eventually, we stopped at a mall across town, called the cops, gave our accounts of what had happened, the best descriptions of the perpetrators, and followed their advice of going somewhere new that night. She did have a date that night, but told me she just had to cancel it out of gratitude for me, who had probably saved her very life, and definitely from an experience that would put a huge blot on her life-experiences memory chest. So she casually texted the guy telling him she had run into some trouble and wasn’t going to make it. And so we went out to have a few beers to wind down a bit, followed by some grateful hugs and kisses, and then a proposal to “wind down some more” at my place. She didn’t feel like going to her own place that night. She was rightfully paranoid about those guys knowing where she lived.

I was nervous. I hadn’t had a normal sexual experience since my late teens. And to top it off, I was somewhat “under the influence”, so my performance anxiety was through the ceiling. That’s why I activated my coolness and patience, offered her some coffee, played some music, and took it slowly. It felt so good, so much better to take care of a lady instead of overpowering her life. Taking care of her empowered me even more. And as we talked about the night’s experience and then more personal matters, I took the time to see her true self through those captivating eyes, the windows to her soul, and boy it was a beautiful soul. Somewhat tormented. Somewhat traumatized and left insecure about people considering so many awful things happening out there. But she was safe with me. There was no bigger honor than that of taking care of her doing what I could to mend her soul back to that of the little girl she would never leave behind.

After a few cups of coffee, I was feeling a bit more confident as a man who could please. She noticed it through the windows to my soul… We slipped into a tense silence looking at each other…Suddenly, I began to feel strange; dizzy yet numb, especially in my limbs, which made me drop my cup of coffee on the floor, breaking to multiple pieces. It was then she felt confident enough to slide her hand into my pocket, taking my chain out and showing it to me.

-You know -she began eloquently- You would have had the nicest of nights, but there’s something that made it impossible. You see, not too long ago, we noticed you hanging around the shop, and staring from a distance in creepy ways. Really, we didn’t notice you tonight, and you turned out to save me, yes. I don’t know why, but damn, I noticed the stench of a big dead body the moment I stepped in this house, and the look in your eyes; it’s tormented, man. You’ve put yourself and others through some serious hell. So as a token of my gratitude, I’m going to do this quickly and painlessly. -as she showed him his own chain-

Just then he noticed it still had a speck of blood left on one of the led balls. She took her time wrapping it around his neck, almost feeling sad and guilty about it. She took a couple of seconds before squeezing, tight, tighter, and then her tightest. The last words he heard were: “Why do I have the impression you were going to use it on me?” … His eyes faded to absolute darkness, then absolute unconsciousness, then some strange kind of new conscience he couldn’t understand, in which the first words he heard were his father’s: “It’s ok, son. Here we go.”