Tuesday, March 2, 2004

This Note Is Legal Tender

I stare into the eyes of this fiend, of this beast of beast. Stare him right in the face.

In the palm of my lined hand, in the fingers I feel its crisp edge. I run my hand along it, feel its texture, and it feels me to me. I bend it back and forth, back and forth. It makes the sound of crumping paper.

I put it in my mouth, on my lips; I feel it all over and bend and crumple and look at it.

I stare into the eyes of this fiend, of this beast of beast. Stare him right in the face.

George Washington, the wry fellow, the 1 in each corner. The green of trees of envy of leaves. The touch, the feel, and on the back, In God We Trust. In God We Trust indeed. Yes, sure as hell in him we trust.

On the back, too, E Pluribus, Unum. From Many, One. 1 in each corner. ONE written large in the center. An eagle in a circle on the right, a pyramid with an eye at its triangular top in a circle to the left. And, of course, THE GREAT SEAL OF THE UNITED STATES.

Eyes closed, money to side of head, nose breathing in, smelling. Hands to sides of the chair, light off, dim light of the doorway coming in, him speaking, speaking, speaking. Incessant, incessant, incessant. Like a chirping newborn bird in a nest, like a fly buzzing round the fleshly killed chicken, like a devastated widow at a funeral speaking a eulogy of melancholy determination.

I can hear him if I listen hard enough, can hear the dark shadow looming over me. I can hear him well if I want to, but the smell fills the nostrils, and I'd rather not. The smell of corruption. Ah the smell.

"—of course, sir—"

Of course sir? Huh, what was this? I can't hear you. Can't. Hear. You.

"In God We Trust," I said. Laughed. Went back to closing my eyes, smelling through nostrils, half-listening half-not and half-there.

Sudden movement. Shadow is coming over. Continue to smell through nostrils.

He grabs me by the shirt collar.

"—listen here, Sylivan—"

Listen here? Ah, I see you have me by the shirt. Eyes still closed, smile to my face, I wonder what I'll see with the open of my eyes. Ah do I wonder.

Open. Peek-a-boo, I see you.

"Yes?" I said. "Yes, what do you want from little Sy here, little Sylivan, hmmm? What is it?"

Ah. The face. I know the face.

Father?

Withheld the fear in deep. Gulped it inward and held it poised, a nice maneuver, like gymnastics, like doing a handstand on a narrow pole, and walking along. Feet upward, hands grasped to cold steel. Balance central, muscles working, hold it there, that's good. Yes.

Eye-to-eye. Reminds me of the pyramid eye on the 1.

He has a five o' clock shaving shadow on him. Deep in thickets and black. Eyes wild with power, with expectance, with control.

Withhold it. In it goes. No sudden anything. Yes. Going good.

"You know what you need to do." Sets me down. I move the green lovely through my hands, put it to my lips, feel its crispness.

"Father." Said it well. Good. "Father." Again. Yes. Still eye-to-eye. "Father, I don't know what to do."

"YOU GODDAMN WELL KNOW WHAT TO DO, BOY."

Had to hold back the smile wanting to go on my face. Cover it up with the green lovely. "I goddamn well don't know what to do." I breathe. Through clenched teeth. Oh, how nice it feels. Soon. Very soon. "I goddamn well don't know what to do, Father."

"YES YOU GODDAMN WELL DO KNOW WHAT TO DO, BOY."

"No I goddamn well don't." Ah, how he yells. Music to the ears. Like music to the ears.

"IF YOU WON'T DO IT, BOY, THEN GODDAMNIT, I'LL DO IT FOR YOU."

Set the green lovely on the bed, light, let it lie there, kiss the covers. Kiss them with its green of trees, of envy. Ah yes. Beautiful. Let it sit there. Then let Father do what he wants.

Still little light. I stand and peer to him. Wild eyes, oh yes, wild eyes. Concentrated eyes. "In God We Trust," I said again. Yes, sure as hell, In God We Trust.

His hands on me. Heavy. Soon I would act. But first, let him have his way. Oh yes. Let him have it. Savor it like a parched mouth being brought to water and drinking. Then, then it will be time. His hands feel good on me. I smile.

He smiles. That's right, smile you fucker. Could I scream to his face? No. No, not yet. Not yet, oh no not yet.

Shirt off. Hold the arms up like a good boy, like holding on a thin wire. Enjoy it. Enjoy it while you still can. Oh yes.

Time to play. Just a bit.

I fight. He tries to get off my pants. Fight, fight, fight. You like the fight, don't you?

Don't you Father? Yes. Yes you do. I can feel it hardening in you. Rocks are hard, so are fists. Like an ear of corn being unveiled it feels. Doesn't it? The struggle. It's the struggle. It's working wonders, isn't it, father? Ah, the smell of the corruption. Wish I could smell the green lovely to my nostrils. He wouldn't let me.

Homo Erectus, Father, isn't that right? Turned to my back, the struggle is won. The pants come off. Striptease. A strip tease indeed. Oh yes.

Next the underwear come off. He feels my back, the sensations. Oh the sensations. It feels good. Homo Erectus. Yes. Homo Erectus Father. In God We Trust. From Many, One. United States.

He feels me all over. It feels good. He grabs me hard. Heavy breaths. On my back. He goes in. Don't be so anal, right Father? Don't be so anal. I sneer. Don't be so anal.

He's riding a merry-go-round, and oh is it merry. And Holy Mary Mother of God. And Mary had a little lamb, whose fleece was white as snow. And everywhere Mary went the sheep was sure to go. Oh yes, Father. You know it well. More well than them all.

The Virgin. The Virgin Mary. Yes Father. I can imagine your face. Pleasure. There is for me. Yes.

Then, in mid stride. In mid ride. "Tell me." He said. "Tell me." Again. "Tell me. Tell me now."

I'm up for game Father. Yes I am. "I love you," I said. "Fuck me harder. Harder. Harder. Yes, yes. Harder. Fuck me."

Harder. He goes harder. Harder. It will end soon. Time to act. Soon. Time to act. Act. Yes. Time to act.

I'm rocked back and forth like a baby in a cradle. Rock-a-bye baby in the treetop, when the wind blows it will stop. Rock-a-bye baby in the treetop, I'm just giving you a little fuck.

I lick my tongue between my teeth. Smile. Feel some pleasure inside. Push it away. Grope under the bed from where we lie. Bring the metal to my hands. Oh yes. The metal. How nice. It's just for you, Father.

Click-click. The hammer coming up. The trigger in my hand, the best feeling in my hand. I turn quick. You're too caught up in the moment, Father.

And aim. And fire. Bang! Fourth of July, for fuckers to buy.

The shot bounces off the lamp. Misses the royal jewels by a miniscule miscalculation. Oh, but there's more Father. Click-click. Hammer goes up. Trigger gets pulled. Aim. And fire. Bang! Fourth of July, for fuckers to buy. Coming back again.

The slug. In his Homo Erectus. Right Father? It bleeds. Blood comes out. Thick. Engorged. Oh yes. I smile to you, smile the largest smile I could smile. Do you like it?

I hold the gun to your head. Hammer goes up. Hand on trigger. "Tell me," I said. "Tell me." Your eyes rack in pain. You stare. Father, tell me. "TELL ME." I said. I shot the gun to the ceiling, heard the slug puncture and go up. Gun to the head again. "You better tell me."

"I. . .I. . ." You shake. It's beautiful Father. Where's High and Mighty Father now? No more Homo Erectus for you, right Father? "I love. . .you. . ." But Father, you don't mean it. There is no remorse in those words. Nothing that can give it back. I smile. Look what you've created, right Father? "I love you Sylivan." He doesn't even mean it. Doesn't mean it. You'll die soon enough, fucker. Soon enough. "I love you Sylivan."

Click-click. Hammer goes up, Homo Erectus. "Hammer goes up, Father." Goes up like an elevator. "Like a Homo Erectus, Father. Right Father?" He shakes. The pain. I read it on his face. "RIGHT FATHER?"

"Yes. . ." That's right. Yes is right, fucker. Father. Yes is right.

"Mary had a little lamb." I push the gun close to your head. Hard. Feel it seep in. Feel it get to you. For real. Feel you shake. Feel you shake even more. Oh. It feels so good. "Mary had a little lamb, Father." I pushed it harder. "Go on with it." Harder. He isn't responding. "GO ON WITH IT."

"Whose fleece. . .was white. . .as sn. .ow." Yes. Good job. Good show.

"You're not done yet, Father. The rest?" Gun in harder. Trigger in my hand. I have control Father. I have it. Listen to me. "THE REST?"

"And. . .and everywhere that Mary went. . .the lamb was sure to go. . ." Perfect. Bravo you fucker.

"That's right." I take the gun from his head. Survey his Homo Erectus. Then come back. Put the gun to his head. Oh yes. Time to play. "Now, do me an Our Father, would you?" He just shakes. Again. I kick him in the stomach. Hard. "Go on. Go on or else."

"Our Father. . .who art in Heaven. . ." Pauses. Collects himself. Racks in pain. "Hallowed by thy name. By kingdom come. . .thy will be done. . .on Earth. . .as it is. . .is in Heaven. . ."

I came in. "And give us this day, our daily bread. Our daily trespasses. And forgive those who come against us."

Nudged him. Seeped the gun in harder. On the head. "And lead us not into temptation. . .but deliver. . .but deliver. . .deliver us from evil."

Evil. I looked at him. "Evil, Father. Evil." I sneered. "Evil." Silence. "You're my Father, you know, Father. Art thou in heaven, hmmm? ART THOU IN HEAVEN?"

Pain on his face. "I. . .are. . .can you just. . .kill me already?" Kill you, Father? Kill you? How can I do that? I am your son.

"Father, Father, art thou in Heaven? Is this the way you would treat your son? Is it the way? IS IT THE FUCKING WAY?"

Silence.

"ANSWER ME YOU FUCKER." I push the gun hard. Hard. Yes so fucking hard. Feel it you fucker. Hard. Hard. Yes. I hope it leaves a bruise. Tell me what I want to hear.

Silence.

Silence silence silence. "I grow impatient Father. I grow impatient. Father, why have you forsaken me so?"

". . .For. . .sake. . en?"

"Yes. Forsaken." I sneered again. It was fun fucking with him. Soon it would be over. I had the control. Any time now. Any time and it would end. Yes. Oh yes. "Father. Quid pro quo. Quid pro quo Father. ANSWER. ANSWER ME. ANSWER ME, FATHER. QUID PRO QUO."

No answer.

Silence.

Nothing.

Not a word.

Not an answer.

I slash the gun across his face. Leave a large gash. Smile. "Father, oh Father. HOW I LOVE YOU. HOW I FUCKING LOVE YOU." I hit him across the face again. He still sat slumped, unable to stand, and I smiled more. "Father, Cowards, they die many deaths before they die. And the valiant, they taste of death but once. Only once, Father. Only once. And that's all. I've died many times, Father. Many times. And it all screams at me, Father. And it all screams at me." I paused. "Father, why have you forsaken me? WHY MUST I FUCKING SUFFER? Why Father? Why? Ah, but you do not have the answer, do you? Hmmm, no you do not. NO YOU DO NOT.

"You don't have the answer at all. You violated me because you could. You've made me what I am. Do you like what you see? DO YOU FUCKING LIKE WHAT YOU SEE? Father. do you like it?" His head was down, ignoring me. I pushed it up. Made him look me over. I am still naked. "Father, tell me I'm sexy. Tell me I'm your fucking son. Tell me you like what I am.

"Tell me Father. TELL ME NOW OR YOU DIE. YOU FUCKING DIE NOW. YOU BECOME A FUCKING HOLE."

"I. . .I. . ." Just say it Father. JUST SAY IT. Say it Father. Yes. Oh yes. Say it. "You're. . .sexy. You're my son. I like. . .I like what you are." Lies, lies, lies.

"You're such a fucking liar. Such a liar. You DESERVE to die. You deserve it, Father. You do not deserve to live. You're trash, Father. You're FUCKING TRASH." I kicked him in the gut harder than I had before. He began to cough. How beautiful. "There came a rapping, Father, a rapping at my chamber door. And there was the Raven, Father. The Raven. It screamed, 'Evermore.' And Father. Father. Do you know, do you know I'm going to be like this the rest of my life? LOOK WHAT YOU'VE FUCKING MADE ME. DON'T YOU REGRET IT. DON'T YOU FEEL ANYTHING FOR ME AT ALL? DO I EVEN HAVE A NAME TO YOU? Ah, ah, but what's in a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet? Right Father? Right? AM I FUCKING ROSE? Every rose has its thorn. Yes. Every rose has its thorn.

"Your thorn, Father. Your thorn is despicable. Despicable." I spit on him. "Father, I see other people at school. I see them. And they aren't like me at all, Father. They aren't like your little Sy. They aren't like me. I've grown up, Father. But because of you, because of you I enjoy. I enjoy what you do to me. I enjoy it. And I enjoy raping other girls, and other men. I enjoy it just like you do. And I like killing them, Father. I like killing them just like I like killing you right now." I pushed the gun in a shove at him again. "I like killing you right now, Father. I want to see you suffer. I WANT YOU TO SUFFER FOR YOUR FUCKING SINS. I WANT YOU TO FUCKING SUFFER FOR WHAT I'M GOING TO BE MY WHOLE LIFE. Father, why can't this world just accept me? Hmmm, why can't it accept me for who I am? Why not, Father? Father, you know why. It's because they don't give a fuck about me. They don't care. They could care less, Father. They don't understand.

"They don't understand at all. To them what I do and what you do is totally wrong, Father. To them it's inhumane. And why did you have to make me like this? Why did. Why did you rape Mother and make her have me, then kill her, and get away with it? WHY? WHY COULDN'T THEY HAVE GOTTEN YOU THEN? WHY COULDN'T YOU HAVE JUST BEEN PUT AWAY THEN? Why father? WHY? WHY WHY WHY WHY?" I began to cry and I smiled. "Father, when I think about it, I like what I am. I'm going to accept what I am. But this is how I feel sometimes, Father. This is how I feel sometimes. I feel like if things could've gone different, I'd be a different person, and I would be off fine. But I love what I am, Father. I love it. But others won't love it. And for that I hate you. I hate you for making me what I am when others won't love me. I FUCKING HATE YOU FOR IT." Angry. Melancholy. Happy. So many emotions. It was beyond belief. It felt so fucking good. Yes. Oh yes.

I told him everything before I killed him. Before I shot him. And that felt good, too. It all felt right. All felt good. Yes. Oh yes.

I am done explaining. I told him a few last words. "Father, you should've read a book. It's a genius book, Father. Silence of the Lambs. And that's what I want. Father, I want a Silence of the Lambs. Mary Mary Mary had a little Lamb, whose fleece was white as snow. And everywhere that Mary went the Lamb was sure to go. Father, you would've liked to fuck Clarice Starling. Just like Hannibal wanted to. You would've loved it Father. Just like I would love it. There's Clarice Starlings out there, Father. I know there is And you know what, Father? I want to hear a Silence of the Lambs.

"I want to hear them quiet down. Mary's Lamb needs to shut the fuck up. Fucking Mary's Lamb needs to shut up. Doesn't it, Father? Oh yes, it does Father. Yes it does. I've had enough of being your fucking Lamb. Your fucking virgin. I've had enough of following you around. I've had enough of being your fucking toy. I hope, wherever you go, you're fucking killed ten times over.

"I want to hear a Silence of the Lambs, Clarice. That's what I want, Dad. That's what I want." And then I shot him. I shot him. Pressing the trigger felt like putting it all into one final press. One final suplex, one final swing. Like a homerun, or a power play. It felt so right. Oh yes. Felt so right.

He did not scream when he died. He just died.

After he died, I found the green lovely on the ground. Yes. The green lovely. I put it face-up, crumpled, in the bullet hole of his head. I made sure one part stuck out. On the upper left, I circled it. It is all that read clearly from his head..

THIS NOTE IS LEGAL TENDER, it said. FOR ALL DEBTS, PUBLIC AND PRIVATE. And this debt, it was a private one.

I began to walk out. I turned. My head over my shoulder, still naked, I eyed him. The green lovely in his mouth.

"Now you can't say I didn't give you anything, Father. Now you can't at all."

2
The man slapped me awake. What was this? Where was I?

"Sir," he said. "Sir."

I looked over at him. He had a strange look on his face. "Yeah?"

He took his hands from the bars. Whistled a tune.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

And he went and left.

I sat on my bunk. I sat and did nothing else.
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