Best Man - thanks to women!

Ø  Best Man – thanks to strong women and Girl Power–

I have a lot of women in my life. I am a very lucky man and a better man for it. Every one of them continues to impact my life and who I am every day, even those that have passed and are not physically with me, still have a great influence and spiritual presence that helps me. Women are great! Guys are great too, but this writing isn’t about them, it’s about women. I love women!

So that you keep reading and don’t start making stuff up about me and my love of women, understand that I am happily married to a beautiful lady for 25 years and counting. I have two beautiful teenage daughters. I have three beautiful sisters. A beautiful mother. A beautiful sister-in-law. We have beautiful God Mothers to our daughters. And so many more beautiful women in our extended family. They are pretty, and some are drop-dead gorgeous, but when I say beautiful, I mean in body, soul, spirit and heart, inner beauty and strength of character.

I grew up with three sisters, no brothers in our family, and since the age of eleven with a single mom. A mom who had been a stay-at-home mom, and who had to become a working single-mother of four in the early 1970s. The Age of Aquarius. It wasn’t easy for her, but she adapted and began a successful and respected career. She managed to raise my sisters and I through teen years when the term “latch-key kids” arose, we too had to adjust and learn and grow to be a bit more independent, and at the same time to be more dependent and supportive of one another. Trust me, I was no “father figure” or “man of the house”, I was a brother and son and a damned ornery one in my teens at that, so it wasn’t simple, minding my manners, doing my chores, behaving well, and what a good boy, time of my life. My mom and my sisters helped me get through all that, and I helped them.

I learned nuances of a female household, the “rules” not always spoken or spelled out but still clearly defined. I knew when to stay out of things and when to lend an ear or advice, more insight really. I learned to care and remember little things that were important to each of them. I learned what certain “looks” meant and became more in tune with unspoken communication.

Each of my sisters has their own story, their own tale of trials and tribulations, of challenges, obstacles, hurdles, mountains to climb, walls to break down, adventures had, lessons’ learned good and bad. I can tell you that each of them and I, made it through high school, into colleges, into various jobs, into and out of relationships. We all have children that are unique, intelligent, strong, individuals that seem to be following a good path. I trust my sisters and count them as my closest friends.

My grandmothers, and a great-grandmother, blessed my life, and yes I was privileged to get to talk, visit and learn things from a great-grandmother – her story alone is worthy of a book. My Aunts and Cousins, each of them truly had an impact on their immediate families and beyond to extended families and community.

As an only boy in this household, I needed a buddy and as irony might have it, I connected with a neighborhood schoolmate. He too was an only boy in family of four sisters! This family quickly became my second family as I spent as much time running in and out of that backdoor, kitchen and family room as my own. Here too I was surrounded and “adopted” into a family of intelligent, strong, independent, artistic women; sisters, mother, grandmothers. I couldn’t avoid the opposite sex even if I tried. Their influence was everywhere I turned. Thank God.

I met my love, friend, wife, when I was still a teen working a summer job. She too is a strong, independent, yet a very family centered woman. I soon had the privilege of meeting more amazing women in her family. Grandmother, Mother, Sister, and lots and lots and lots of Aunts, Cousins, Dod-Mothers; a big Catholic Hispanic family with family history and roots in Colorado and New Mexico extending back before those were even State’s, for that matter before America was America. These women were Matriarchs of generational families. I very quickly found I was embraced, quite literally, into this dynamic bunch of women, and I learned some more things of a cultural nature with respect to women, relationships, “rules”, and honored respect of traditions. Though we were from very different families and cultures, I believe we both knew we were meant for each other. We both had growing to do, life lessons to learn, adventures to be had, college and jobs to keep us going, so we didn’t marry for almost ten more years, but that entire time we remained very close, supportive of one another, in contact and communicating always, and we have boxes of letters to prove it. (I’ll interrupt for one second – kids, mine and yours reading this now, write letters and cards, and notes, to those you care for and love. You can save these and look back at them. Your phone, IPad, PC texts and messages on FaceBook most likely won’t be the same, if even there, in twenty years when you want to reminisce some. And never pass an opportunity to spend true, real, face-time with those you care for; friends, family, loves).

All these women in my family, in my life past and present, and including girls/women who I’ve been in school with, had friendships with, dated, worked with, admired, they all continue to influence me positively and push me to keep learning to be the best man I can be and I thank them all for that gift. My hope for the World is that barriers for women will continue to be broken down, that those still oppressed and ruled-over by male dominated politics and religion, will rise up in their strength and independence, and that every man will come to respect and appreciate that we cannot be the “Best Men” we can be, until that time.

Peace and Girl Power to you all.

Roberta Belle Easter Roberts - at 94 years

R.I.P.

Look what I can do

Ø  Look what I can do –

Remember when you were a kid and you couldn’t wait to show your mom, or dad, or grandma, or anyone who would pay attention your new found skill? Like a cartwheel or summersault. “Mommy, look what I can do” and you’d launch yourself into an awkward, twisted, attempt at a cartwheel where two hands touched the ground with your butt hiked into the sky, legs bent and dangling from a half spin into the air. Sometimes you landed on your feet some times on your derriere.

You did it whole-heartedly with enthusiasm and determination, proud in the effort and outcome even if it was no Olympic standard performance. But you did it, well you pronounced loudly “look what I can do” and you went for it. And you kept on doing it and shouting at others to watch, over and over, and over. People would give advice, and praise, and instruction, and they’d laugh or tell you it was great or that it was awful. And you’d keep at it. Eventually you were doing a pretty damn good cartwheel, solid form, athletic, artistic, balanced, smooth, well executed.

“Daddy, look what I can do” as you climbed onto the oversized bike, barely reaching peddles and wobbling as you teetered in a coast down a small hill to topple over in a heap. Leaping to your feet with a smile and full of enthusiasm, “DADDY, I CAN RIDE A BIKE!”  You’d push it back up the hill and do it all over again, and again, and again. Soon you were peddling, not coasting downhill. Soon you were steering and controlling the bike down the hill and beyond. Soon you were not bruised, scratched, battered from crashes and wrecks, you were riding a bike, and you had the scars to show for it. And it took you to new places beyond your yard and immediate surroundings. It took you to fields and back roads, to hills and valleys, ups and downs, heavy effort in peddling up hills, or going as fast as you dared, or coasting along enjoying the ride and adventure, thinking “look what I can do, look where I can go”.

Remember that free spirit and “can do” that you felt as a kid, remember the excitement and enthusiasm and willingness to do new things, poorly and awkward at first, but repeated and practiced until you were able and capable and good at the thing. Remember as you grew you kept on doing new things, but maybe began telling those around you a little less often “look what I can do”. They were always still there, watching, seeing what you could do, what you did, what you accomplished, the most important of them being you.

Remember now, today, everyday, to say to yourself , “look what I can do”. DO those things and try new ones. Recall the joy and excitement of a new experience and the efforts along the way to keep at it and improve. Fall on your ass some, crash, wreck, topple over, and get back at it over, and over, and over again and say with a loud and proud voice “LOOK WHAT I CAN DO !”

> Note – this is dedicated to my lovely and inspiring wife Jacqueline. She took her desire and enthusiasm, her love for food, cooking and creating, and returned to full time school for Pastry Arts. She went beyond the minimum class work and participated in competitions, she helped classmates achieve more, she assisted a world renowned Chef prepare for International competition. She left her family and home for the summer to travel to another state to do her internship at a Five Start Hotel and Resort, and worked double the hours required for the programs base commitment. She drove the 1900 miles there and the 1900 miles home, and that first week home created and baked a three-tier birthday cake for our daughter's 16th Birthday party for 30 teenage girls. She then graduated, at 50 years young, and was awarded by her instructors for her Excellence in Commitment to Career, an honor along with her diploma and "Student of Term" pin. 

“Look what I can do” didn’t come from her lips, she is often reserved and modest about these things, even grand accomplishments. She is an inspiration and a very good example for me, for our daughters (who both have her determination, stuborness, and inate talent), and for all of us.

So here is her proclamation, on her behalf, from me,  “ Look what Y O U can do”!

Remember, you can do, then do it, and then start saying “Look what I can do” and say it with pride all along your way!

Old Man Down by The Sea

No opinion or commentary on this post, but perhaps some form of message or thought may come to mind - I hope so.

This is a short story, a very short story, that has been sirring in my head for a little while. Finally just banged it out and here it is for you to enjoy. Please feel free to share my blog with others!

Old Man Down by The Sea –

I saw him alone, walking, down by the sea. Shorts, a T-shirt, no shoes, long grey hair and beard, windblown. He looked old, but of an undistinguishable age, worn but still fit enough with broad shoulders and strong legs and arms. He walked slowly, paused often, looking into the water and out to the sea. Others passed by without much glance or any acknowledgment from them, or from him. Truly alone even on a fairly crowded beach. On down the sand and shore he walked in that manner.

I saw him alone, fishing, with a short rod off the pier. He was deliberate in his rhythm of casting, reeling, waiting, and casting again. There were others fishing there too, but he was alone. He stood, or crouched or sat, but he didn’t move from his spot on the pier down by the sea. At times I saw him take pause setting aside his rod and reel sit back straight against the piers mooring post and he’d pack and light a pipe with the same deliberate motion of all he did. Smoke swirled up and around him, seeping out more than any exhale, draw in, and seep out, as he gazed out across the sea.

I saw him alone, washing the deck of a large and beautiful sail boat, down by the sea. Same old shorts, T-shirt, no shoes, long windblown beard and hair, hair spilling out from under a well worn and tatter Greek Fisherman’s cap. He was true to form, deliberate, careful and fluid in his motions of task at hand. He was familiar, comfortable and at home there on this vessel. It was laborious work he was accomplishing there alone, on the boat, down by the sea. When he had thoroughly finished and stored all his cleaning tools somewhere below in the pristine cabin, he stepped off the boat and sat, back straight against the piers mooring post, lit his pipe and looked out to sea. Shortly a very well dressed middle-aged man accompanied by three very beautiful, giggling, curvaceous, bikini-clad, young girls approached. He rose straight, tipped his cap in greeting and assisted all to board the vessel. He then took a handful of money from the gentleman, stowed it into his T-shirt pocket, tip his cap again and walked deliberately up the pier to shore, and proceeded down the beach.

I saw him alone, drinking from a bottle, nestled inside a brown-paper bag, down by the sea. He sat, back straight, there on the curb in the parking lot, across the street from the ocean boardwalk, at the small tavern and store. He drank and looked out over the traffic, people passing, bikes, strollers, skateboards, beyond all that toward the horizon there above the sea. When he stood and started off, he now wobbled some, but was still determined, stood tall and made his way off to the overpass.

I saw him alone, curled up and sleeping, under the overpass, down by the sea. There were several others there too, but he was alone down by the sea. By him was a shopping cart that held a few items of clothing, a small box, his fishing rod and reel, a crab trap, and assorted other nondescript things. He appeared still and peaceful sleeping like a child in a soft, warm, safe bed, in a home, with family. But he was alone there on the ground, on cardboard, covered by a light hooded sweatshirt, alone down by the sea, sleeping.

The next day I saw him again, alone, sitting on that same curb, in the parking lot, drinking from a bottle, in a brown-paper bag, as he looked out over all the moving things. He looked more disheveled, less strong and true, yet still determined in a bad way to press on in drink, to heal the pain, wash away the past, dull the present. He sat less straight, teetered more. He reached to his T-shirt pocket and pulled the last few bills from what was left of the previous wad he had gotten from the dapper gentleman a few days before, rose unsteadily, pitched the bottle toward the trash can and wobbled toward the door to go inside the establishment. Above the door was the sign “Down by The Sea – The Seafarers Tavern”, and I watched him go alone as he entered Down by The Sea.

A mariners wish, blessing and toast to your travels through life:

May the wind fill your sails now and for ever more.


Cheers!

Matters of Love

Matters of Love –

When most people associate Love with the Human body, the heart is the first and primary connection. Then they’ll tell you it is a feeling, a feeling mainly in terms of the emotion and the following physical sensations that come along with Love. People speak of the “nature of Love” and natural tendencies of attraction. Science explains the chemical, mental, physical responses of attraction but can’t fully explain “true Love”. Too often physical and emotional attraction, Love, procreation, even Marriage, are bundled into conversation and language in discussions of these topics. Debates can rage and many other factors, beliefs, opinions and mixed amounts of knowledge; fact or fiction, come into the dialog. Historical and social practices of various regions of the world come into play with expressions of what is right, wrong, good, bad, acceptable, shunned. Rules, manners and practices of courtship, engagement and relationships are explained by family and communities, even written into Laws of governments and religious doctrine.

But, it is still the “natural” and “instinctual” emotional and physical response of the person that manifests initial attraction and “Love”. Free from all else, with all other elements eliminated, Love in and of itself will manifest. It has since the dawn of time, as “natural selection”.  Here too we must be clear that “natural selection” with regard to procreation is a separate act and function, from the emotion and heartfelt connection of Love. What typically unites those two actions is a positive and pleasurable physical and emotional sensation. That said, history and science indicate that there are very, very few species that “mate for life”, and Humans are NOT one of them, and only about 3% of mammals (and that includes us Humans) are truly monogamous or “faithful”. On the Matter of Love regarding “natural selection” and attraction to another “mate” or partner, once again Nature demonstrates attractions, partnering, even the raising of offspring is not exclusive to opposite members of sex. The majority of Natural acts of procreation are indeed between opposite sexes, and most are no act of Love but just the tactical action of breeding for survival of the species.  Since we humans are the only mammal to create and attempt to abide by “laws” other than those laws of nature and physics, we as a society establish these man-made rules and laws revolving around “Love”. Here is then, where the departure from true natural Love is quite often separated from governmental and religious applications of “Love” or any other associated legal jargon they so choose to concoct.

People do fall in and out of Love. People do find attraction to many other people across the course of a lifetime. Some people choose to have physical relationships based on those attractions and “loves”. But no person “chooses” with whom they will “feel” the attraction or “Love” for. Just as we cannot choose whether we feel pain if physically injured, we cannot choose to feel an attraction. In both cases we may be able to choose our response to it and our actions to manage it, but either way the feeling is Natural, it is part of our Human reflex, in our genes and our DNA, we are wired for the attraction and manifestation of true Love. Whether you believe it is Creation from the Devine, or Darwinian in evolution, it exists – just as a “flight or fight” response is regarding harm to one’s self.

In Matters of Love, I believe we would all be much more loving, caring and nurturing, if we let each person “Love” as they feel by their own Natural calling, and that we show our love of the human being, the human spirit, by granting the respect of Devine Creation or Evolution to allow Love to grow and manifest in a natural way as intended. No rule or laws of “mankind” should ever contradict Matters of Love.

So live and let live, love and let love.

And let’s get this straight, Marriage as a recognized legal matter, is at its core an arrangement of choice, an agreement of bonding of formal law by two people, either civil and/or religious – legally two people who may hate each other, or not even really know one another, can get married in every state in the USA if it is a man and a woman. In fact and as a point of curiosity, in all US states we can marry our 2nd cousins, in 19 states we can marry our 1st cousin, and in most of these if you are under 18 years old but older than 14, you can marry with parents consent. So if you are 14 year olds and have your parents consent and want to marry your 1st cousin of the opposite sex in certain US states - game on! But  same sex couples can only legally marry  in 8 US states, and in 31 US states there are constitutional bans on same sex marriage -- call me old fashioned, but that is wrong, and as for Matters of the Heart, love rules all and is the strongest bond.

May peace, and equality, be with all of you.

Let Love rule!

Funny? Who's laughing now?

Funny - haha.  

Funny - odd.

Funny – unexpected.

Funny, how time slips away from you. Funny how I can feel creative one moment or for a certain amount of time, and then it stops all of a sudden. Funny, how there are just times where I don’t feel very funny, or times in my life I don’t find funny at all.

Writing a Blog that is most often, and has been funny, is rather hard to maintain to be honest.

I am one who can most always find some humor, or a funny moment, or funny twist on things even in difficult times and sad or troubled situations. But it doesn’t mean I want to write about them. For the most part I have written in this Blog in an attempt to provide humor, a funny insight or story, to be light-hearted and share in words things that will allow others to smile, maybe even laugh. I am generally a positive, upbeat, funny motherfucker! But not so much recently. And not enough to find a desire to retell in this Blog recently. For sure “funny” will return, but for now, not so much.

Life is that way. There are so many times where things in life are Funny–haha. People can laugh at the littlest thing, even in those difficult situations, even where others might deem it inappropriate to laugh, slapstick comedy was born of this, and consider America’s Funniest Videos – those people are often times hurt, but watching them is some funny shit!

A Funny–odd, thing can happen anywhere any time. They are unusual, hence “odd”, in our perspective. Here’s an example, the other day I was driving home on the back roads in rural Amish farm country of Pennsylvania and I saw three goats, a big one, a medium one, and a small one all in a row, standing on the roof of a farm shed – “ha, what the hell, how did they get up there? and what the hell - big, medium, small all in a row, what the fuck? are they real? did someone put them up there,? dude, pay attention and watch the road you dummy!” , all this goes through my head as I drive along. It was Funny-odd.

Lately though I have had more of the Funny–unexpected. Funny how shit happens, Funny how life is, Funny that wasn't supposed to happen, Funny things don’t go the way we planned. Funny – not so much.

Life does happen. Plans and goals, and action on ideas, and precautions, and chances, choices whether educated or not are taken, even guesses at what is best and then a leap of faith. We do these things everyday and even routinely in many cases, yet there always come the inevitable, the unexpected and many times unexplainable. Accidents, cars break down, floods and storms, new territory and experiences, job loss, tragedies, failures, financial losses, set-backs, lightening strikes, stuff out of our control and unexpected. Funny, I didn’t see that coming. Funny, how that turned out. Funny, I didn’t expect that. Funny, I can’t explain it.

The funny thing is, those things aren’t funny and they happen a lot and they can happen to all of us at any time and often one after another, kicked when you're down, getting deeper into a rut, a whole you can't dig out of, quicksand. There are even cliches for it. Funny we've come up with cliches for those times. It can make us sad, angry, confused, even lost and alone. We usually aren’t in it alone or really lost, but we sure can feel sad and angry, and confused. Surely not happy or feeling there is anything “funny” about it. All these emotions need to be respected and there is not a damn thing wrong with being sad or angry. We are able to cry for a reason, and able to feel emotions like anger and fear and grief because they are as valid as happiness, excitement, and laughter.

So let me “feel” and have my emotions of sadness and anger. Respect them as you would any other emotion. Please don’t ask me why I am “acting” this way or that – I’m not ACTING. I’m “FEELING”. It is our human nature. It is a response to some stimulus. Poke me with a needle and it hurts, I’ll be in pain, and most likely feel angry that you stabbed me. Tickle me and I will laugh and feel happy.

Another funny thing is – we can cry when we are sad, or when we are elated and happy. And we can laugh when we are happy, or when we are frightened or nervous.

Hmmm, Funny our mind and body works that way ; Funny-odd.

And funny, how when you saw this post, at first you expected funny-haha, but got funny-unexpected.

Life is funny that way.

Trains

> Travel by Train

I consider myself very lucky to have close access to transportation by train. Real train, not light-rail or connected bus service, but Amtrak passenger train service. Now some will obviously want to debate about the term “service” and want to qualify it with their personal assessment of what “service” to them entails and how to rate the quality and delivery of said “service”, but not here and not now. (And I am a Service Manager with pretty much my entire working career in some manner of frontline customer focused, personally engaged, client-first, direct point-of-contact “service” position, so I know good and bad “service” – some other time I’ll get into this). Lucky to have Train service,  because of its nostalgia for me and for its differences in user “feel” and experience. Public transportation yes, but “travel” is at the heart of it. And to define “travel” in this context I don’t mean the act of going from point to point, a means solely of being transported, I mean “traveled”, as in “I traveled across the state”, “I traveled across the country”, “I traveled trough-out Europe”, the journey of travel. Also to clarify the point of public transportation and “travel”, because you can travel in your car, or on your motorcycle, or bicycle, or by motor-home, even in a private plane.

Consider this, in an airplane when you go from here to there, you “fly”, you “flew” from here the there. When you hop on the local bus or school bus, you were “bused”. In your own car you “drove”. Ah but a Train, see you don’t get “trained” to your destination, you “travel” by Train. Now don’t go looking all this up in a dictionary or decide to start the argument about other stuff and the whole English language crap, yada, yada, yada . . . I know you can “ride” on a Train, you can “ride” on a bike, you can “ride” in car or bus or taxi or Train, and even a plane too. This whole aspect of language could go on for a long time.

Travel by train allows you a certain freedom. Like a bus and some airlines, you generally get on a choose your seat, window, aisle, facing forward in the traveling direction to see where you are going, or facing backwards to see where you’ve just been. You see country side, and small towns, and big cities, and places in those locations you wouldn’t usually see. You go over bridges, through tunnels, some under rivers or through mountains, even under cities and through buildings. You can go through forests, over mountains, across prairies and plains and deserts. You can nap, or read, or chat or listen to your music, or watch your movie, or talk (quietly) on your phone – on some Amtrak cars they have designated at quiet zones – nice. You can work on a laptop, or fold down the table and eat, or play cards. You can get up and stretch, walk around, change seats pretty much when you want depending on how full the train is.

The seats are relatively spacious (a hell of a lot better than a plane), decent with regard to comfort and there not three and four and five across like some planes. The isle is fairly wide so two people can pass one another without lying across the back or lap of a seated occupant. Then there is that rocking motion and slight rhythmic sway, and the whirr of train on metal track, a melodic tick, click and clack, only the sound a train can make. It’s calming, loud enough to hear and notice, but not deafening or so loud to drown out normal conversation. A conductor, in uniform, with appropriate cap, comes to check and punch your ticket, or to sell you one if you got aboard without. That’s pretty much their job, no snacks or drink carts to push down the aisle, no oxygen or life preserver, or seatbelt seminar to give, no seatbelt light to monitor and scolding to give if one rises from their seat while said light is on. Just punch tickets, help with bags as needed, and announce the next stop.

Train stations and stops are all very unique too. From the massive and beautiful, to the small town depot, to the platform, to quite literally a stop at a trailhead. There is an Amtrak stop, not more than a sign and what looks almost like a couple wooden pallets laid down at the track, on the Appalachian Trail. Now how cool is that ? Google it. You can even plan a trip with your bike, roll it on and roll it off for some specific trips.

We have an Amtrak stop about five miles from our house in a small town named Mount Joy. That stop is only a low platform, outside and uncovered. Further on west we can get on at Elizabethtown where they recently rebuilt a small indoor station, or we can go about 12 miles into Lancaster to their station. Built in 1929 and listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It is pretty cool but doesn’t of course compare to Philly’s 30^th Street Station. That “Keystone” Amtrak train runs right past our house, across the street and just behind the old brick grain mill, one truck fire station, and other old early 1800 brick warehouses. It runs several times a day. We can hear the whistle blow over in Mount Joy as is passes a railroad crossing near the edge of town, then a few minutes later if you are outside you’ll hear the whhhiiirrrrrrrrr as the train zips past, usually just the engine and five passenger cars long.

I always get a good feeling and a slight smile when I hear it go by, and I wonder who is on it, where they’re going, where they’ve been where their travels and adventures carry them. I think about that track, originally traveled by the Pennsylvania Railroad, and how people since the mid 1800s have been traveling along that line, traveling by rail. Traveling on a train. Traveling.

A guest writer for the blog today

I'm posting this short story that my daughter Siena wrote. It pulls you in and is a good read. I enjoyed it a lot and hope you do to.

Medication

She looked at her feet as she walked up the long pathway to the main entrance of the building. Her new white shoes were flawless, not a single imperfection. She didn’t want to see the dismal, gray cement blocks all piled one on top of one another to form the 15 story, practically windowless monument but before she knew it, she arrived at the door. It was made from a dark, tinted glass, and she was able to see her reflection clearly. She paused to examine herself before pressing the buzzer to notify the front desk of her arrival.

Her white dress was crisp, ironed, not in the slightest bit disheveled, yet she smoothed it out against her leg, and gently moved the stiff collar to be symmetrical on both sides. She touched her hair to check for fly-aways, which were non-existent. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun and fashioned so it wouldn’t move even a millimeter throughout the day. Her thumb moved along the bottom of her lip, searching to wipe off any bright red lipstick that wasn’t perfectly applied. Having nothing more to check, she pressed the button on the side of the door. It opened and she walked in.

The heels of her shoes clicked methodically on the bright hallway floor. It was wide and long, empty except for the receptionist at her desk at the far end. The floors were white, the walls were white, the lights were white. It was blinding. She walked ahead and stopped at the desk. The receptionist didn’t look up until she cleared her throat a bit, and even then, it was just a glance over the top of her thick-rimmed glasses.

            “Are you the new nurse The Doctor told me about?” the receptionist asked in a nasally voice.

            “Yes,” she replied. “I’m Alice.”

“Alright then,” said the receptionist, obviously bored. “The Doctor will be here in a few minutes to take you upstairs.”

The receptionist waved her off in the direction of a single chair against the wall. Alice walked slowly over to the chair and waited. She thought about why she was there. It had been on her mind all week, all month even- ever since her sister was taken to this very hospital. The memories were painful, but she couldn’t keep them away.

There was an envelope on the door. It had a logo she didn’t recognize- “TH”- she grabbed it and went into the house, calling for Scarlett as she opened the letter. It told her in medical terms that she barely understood, that her sister had been reported to the government and admitted. They took Scarlett away to The Hospital. Alice panicked. She went as fast as she could and found her sister in a room all by herself sitting in a chair with an I.V. in her arm. She was staring at the wall, not looking at anything in particular, just staring. She slowly turned to look at Alice.

“Oh,” she whispered, “you’re here.”

She was quiet, her words almost slurring together. “This isn’t my sister,” Alice thought. It looked like her, but the medication they had given her made her something else. The nurses said that she was under control now.

Scarlett was just as emotionless as she was in The Hospital when Alice took her home. She kept saying she was sorry she was a bother, but was better now and not to worry. There had been nothing wrong before. They had destroyed her with their medications. Alice tried keeping her attention on Scarlett. She was scared about how she was acting. The next night, Alice’s fear was reality. Scarlett was lying on her bed, unmoving, the blankets near her arms crimson with blood. She had a blade in her right hand and a note in her left. It was covered in her blood too and Alice could barely read it.

“Sissy- I’m sorry I was a problem. I never want to be a bother for you again.  Bothersome people are bad, and they don’t belong here-”

Alice was shocked. “What did they do to my sister at The Hospital?”

“They fixed me with the medication, but I am a bother again, and I can do away with myself like they said. I can make myself disappear-”

Alice’s eyes welled up with tears so overwhelming, she couldn’t read the paper.

 “I love you, my sister, but I have to go so they will be happy. Goodbye. ~Love, Scarlett”

 “She was put on medicine and wasn’t herself. The Doctor made her think she wasn’t worth anything, and she took her own life. Now he deserved to die,” she vowed to herself.

Alice came back to the present. She looked up when she heard someone walking towards her- he was tall, clean shaven with dark hair and a strong jaw bone. He was rather charismatic and attractive. She guessed he must have been around 45- The Doctor. She stood as he approached to shake her hand.

“You must be Alice,” he said.

She nodded as he motioned for her to follow him back up the stairs. She lagged behind only a little. She needed to get close to him - know how he worked - only then could she destroy him. She decided to start by asking the history of The Hospital; she needed to know his motives.

“I started this program of repairing broken people 20 years ago,” he began, “when I finally realized how terrible everyone is. All of their many imperfections….flaws….”

He starred almost hypnotically as he spoke. Alice listened and nodded, and pretending to agree with every word.

“My father was one of the developers of the uniformity codes – you know, the homes, people’s appearances - well, I thought that wasn’t good enough. People still didn’t comply, and when nothing is in order, it looks terrible.” He smiled. “You, however, are a perfect example of order,” he said, commenting on her uniform.

She smiled and looked away from him modestly as he began walking again. They turned a corner and came to a door with a window that overlooked a large room with rows and rows of people lying in beds, all exactly the same.

“This is the sub-1 ward for people who are not yet hopeless. They are not put on The Medication, but they are given lectures to inform them of the right way to be. I call it “SBP”, or ‘Selective Brain Patterning.’ We put what we want into their minds.”

Alice was shocked. She looked into the room, seeing people of all ages, lying motionless, all with their eyes glued to the small screens in front of them. The Doctor entered the room and walked to the nurse on duty who was hitting a button to control the screens. He paused to change the screen before nodding his head.

“Very good,” he said before turning back to Alice. “Shall we move on?” He led her out into the hallway. “I’ve told you about The Hospital and my goals,” he said, and stopped walking. “What are yours?”

Alice leaned against the wall and looked down at her feet for a moment before looking up at him.

“Doctor,” she said in a quiet voice, “all of your goals are inspiring.”  She shook her head and looked back down. “It sounds silly, but the reason I came to work here is because I admire your work. Not enough people understand the level of perfection that is needed.”

They were all lies, and they were making her nauseous. She hated what The Doctor did, but she kept on with the flattery. She needed to gain his trust. And it seemed to work.

“You are a unique person, Alice. Not many truly understand.”

“Oh, but I do,” she said quickly. “I would love for you to teach me everything. I came to learn it all.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do. For now, let’s see the sub-2 ward. The patients here are more desperate.”

Alice trailed along behind The Doctor. They reached the ward in only a minute, and he stopped before they walked in.

“These people are very ill. They are thinking differently than the laws allow-blasphemy, heretics, etcetera- overall, they are non-compliant with the government in one way or another. They are, to be frank, insane. They are sedated, as well as medicated.”

Alice recognized this area as the one where her sister was kept, but she didn’t say a word as The Doctor led her over to a young man, no more than 25, who was sitting in a chair and staring out a window. The Doctor picked up the chart.

“Patient number 2647758, ah, we can give him The Medication now,” he said as he went to a cabinet and got a bottle of small white pills. “This will help calm his anger.”

Alice was disgusted with how freely The Doctor gave out The Medication as she watched him put four little pills into the man’s hand. The man took them without thinking. She dug her nails into her hands and bit her lip.

“There,” said The Doctor, “all better.” He looked at his patient with a calm and assuring gaze before turning back to Alice. She kept her face motionless. Any hint of anger was disguised as admiration. He moved on to the other patients in the room, one by one giving them up to six or seven pills each, adding different drugs to their I.V.’s or telling other nurses to move them to the screens in the other ward. The entire time, Alice’s mind was whirling. She was overwhelmed and needed a plan. She couldn’t stand to watch any more people being hurt.

When he had finished, he came back over to Alice and took her out to the hallway. As they were walking, she stopped suddenly and looked at him, grabbing onto his arms. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do.

“Doctor,” she said suddenly, “I think I may be in love with you.”

He stared at her blankly, his mouth falling open.

“What in the world do you mean?” he asked.

“I love you and everything you do. Please, come with me,” she said as she pulled him into the closet in the hallway.

He said nothing, but didn’t resist. He went with her into the closet. She pushed him against the closed door with her hands on either side of him pinning him in place.

“I shouldn’t do this,” he said quietly as he leaned close to her.

“Trust me, no one will have to know,” she whispered. She smiled a bit and let him kiss her. As he did, she pulled a needle out of her pocket and injected him in the side of the neck. He gasped and opened his eyes, putting his hand up to where she took the needle out.

“Alice! What the hell was that?!” he yelled.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said through clenched teeth.

He was getting dizzy from the injection and leaned on the wall for support.

“Whoopsie,” she said as she steadied him, “be careful there, love. I don’t want you to fall now. Let’s sit you down.” She pushed him in the direction of a small chair in the closet. She closed his eyes, and he passed out. She dragged the chair to the next room which was empty and set him up in the medical chair. She injected an I.V. and gave him a high dose of The Medication. She strapped his wrists and ankles to the chair and waited for him to wake up. When he did, he was still only half conscious.

“Whas goinon?” he slurred. “Whadju do?”

“Oh, nothing Doctor, just a dose of your own medicine. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

He looked confused. She walked around the chair so she was behind him. She leaned down and whispered into his ear, “Then again, I’ve known this medication to make people do some crazy things. Kill themselves even?”

He didn’t say anything, and didn’t try to move his head. She stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers and ran her hand through his hair.

“That would be an excellent plan for you. You are horrible, and you don’t deserve to live and make anyone else’s life miserable. I’m helping everyone else by doing this, trust me on that. Shall I make it short and sweet?”

There was no reply.

 “Mmmm, no preference? Alright then. Goodbye, Doctor. I’m glad to have had the honor of meeting you, and the even bigger honor of killing you.”

She kissed his cheek, leaving bright red lipstick in a perfect mark. Alice took a scalpel and made a clean cut across his throat. She watched the bright liquid cascade down his crisp white coat and onto the floor. She walked out of the room, trying to avoid the growing puddle at his feet but stepped in it with the heel of her left shoe. She walked out of The Hospital quickly, leaving nothing but a few bloody footprints and a dead man with a lipstick kiss on his cheek.