Sometimes exercising your right to an attorney doesn’t work out. Especially when your attorney needs to respray his Mohawk.
I laugh at the idea of making the present the same as the glorious past. To hear some people talk, their past was lived in Nirvana. Idyllic and almost heaven. Yet I remember their ragged clothes, their snotty noses, using socks for mittens in the middle of winter. The past has different rules.
The governor was often in foul mood, for he was ruled by his wife Lady Frances. She was frequently absent, sharing her charms with various others including the king’s son, Prince William. I was a broken man without hope, but for the sake of the children who I instructed, I continued at my teacher’s post.
It was the summer of 1796 when we arrived in Nova Scotia and we counted ourselves fortunate to have made our advent during the warm season. In actual fact, most of us were experiencing colder temperatures than we had ever before encountered.
One morning I awoke, and noticed the absence of the rocking movement of the vessel to which I’d grown accustomed. Shouts and cries assailed my ears and strange smells penetrated even through the miasma of our hold. The hatch opened and we blinked at the bright light, then staggered out of the vessel. With its hot sun and its palm trees, Jamaica was in some ways much like home.
Slimy with cold sweat and fear, I knew I was in trouble, serious like a heart attack trouble. There was a pain in my chest that wasn’t just bad coke; it was too much of nothing for way too long. The Reaper was finally playing his hand, I could feel him right there, right now, I needed to get out.
Sometimes life can be hard, especially if you’re a little girl living with an abusive step-father. Sometimes, your dog is your best friend. Sometimes, the witch next door saves your life.
The last of the dog walkers hurries out of the park. Slick tells me there are a lot of guys like this guy. That one always makes it a point to talk to Slick, he says. “These guys think that a couple bucks and some hipster shit make them part of the scene. They don’t have a fuckin’ clue.”
In 1905, a relatively unknown PhD candidate had a handful of scientific papers published in the Annals of Physics that forever changed our understanding of the world. Max Planck, who later would edit the journal, was among the first to recognize the genius of these papers.
It’s Tuesday and my sister, Lilly, will be here any minute. I seat myself at the table for a long, deep look at my kitchen. I’m trying to drink it in, commit it to memory; the kitchen, as it looks to me now; me, as I am now.