The Eighteenth Post

This is more like the sequel to the Seventeenth Post, since I never got to finish it, but since that was yesterday, we'll call this eighteen. Let me cover why it ended so abruptly. You'll note that I commented that at any time, someone could come up behind me. Well, someone did. Thank God for speed keys. I hit Control-P to publish the entry just in case and closed my laptop.

This person politely asked that I accompany him out of the store. I politely declined. He began to insist. I ran out the fire exit. He chased me across the parking lot, where I couldn't help but note a couple other individuals who were waiting at the main entrance give chase as well.

I had two things in my favor at this point. First, my car has automatic door locks, so I was able to get it open before I got there. Second, I was so far out in the lot that no one was around me, so I could jump in, start, shift to drive, and go. No, they weren't dumb enough to get in front of me.

The downside is that now they know what my car looks like, and probably have the license plate. I would be willing to wager they've reported it stolen by now. After all, that will put my car on the radar, and once I'm in police custody, I'm sure it's no big deal for them to spring me. Can't make a commotion in the police station, and they wouldn't believe this story anyway.

So at this point, I'm not in Broken Arrow. I think I'll not say where I am for the moment. Granted, it'll be a case of me being gone before anyone gets here, but I don't want my current location known even generally. It took me so long to reply back because the hotel I ended up in didn't have internet, and I didn't know the Wi-fi hotspots in this area. But I found one, and I'm determined to go on. After all, I have a story to finish.

Tracking my parents was no easy task, but finding their names was actually very easy. I looked through my personal documentation and found my birth certificate. This is a piece of paper one totes round forever and never even glances at it, but on that day I looked and there they were: Mack and Cynthia Mulligan. Maybe it was too easy, but it was a start.

So I went to the next logical place: the phone book. I'm from Broken Arrow. Tara said my parents lived here as well, so it shouldn't be too difficult. And under Mulligan, we find...nothing. Unlisted. I checked Tulsa, and while there are Mulligans, no Mack or Cynthia. I expanded my search to Jenks and Bixby, but still nothing. I got on the Internet, and searched all of Oklahoma, but I still came up empty... and I pretty much expected that. If they have been in this organization since before I was born, then they're going to be quite secretive.

Then again, it's been almost 30 years. How long could one stay in such a position? Quite some time, I eventually learned, but for now, it was a question of where to go. What would my adoptive parents know? Anything? How would I approach it? Maybe I could find out the name of the agency. Maybe they could help.

This latter part was doubtful at best. First, movies have taught me that adoption records are quite secret, and they don't tend to reveal them to anyone. Add to this that they are a part of a secret, networking organization, so the adoption may have been done off the books entirely. There would be records on the part of my quite innocent adoptive parents, but likely nothing noted on my birth parents. Add even to that that the names on my birth certificate could have been pseudonyms. Who knows?

Since I found a couple Mulligans in the book, I decided to take an easy course of action, and call a few of them. I said I was looking for Mack and Cindy, I hadn't seen them in years, and wondered if they'd heard of them. Not so lucky. I completely struck out. Oh well.

I went to the adoption agency, and as expected, they refused to help. I could try my adopted parents to see, but right now, I don't want them to know where I am any more than anyone else, and I don't them involved in this mess I'm in. I knew as soon as I called, my father would be telling me to come home so they could help. No, that wasn't an option.

I had already gone through Tara's address book, and every paper she had left behind. There was nothing. Nothing that showed anything about The Mist. Then I remembered where I'd dropped her off that first date -- behind ELH. She walked down Hickory. Since Tara was one of them, maybe her parents (or whoever) would be able to tell me something.

I went back over everything she owned and realized I should just check her driver's license. Sure enough, the DMV has her on Hickory. I left immediately to see what was there -- maybe do my own stakeout. When I got there, I found...nothing.

The address didn't exist. It was on her dirver's license, but it doesn't exist. There was a house with the numbers on either side, but not the one I was looking for. I sat in my car for several minutes, trying to figure out what to do. I knew I'd seen Tara come down this road before. It's on her license. Something has to be here somewhere.

So I did the only logical thing for me to do: I sat in the car and watched the location until something happened -- and it did.

The Seventeenth Post

I didn't sleep at all last night. I couldn't. I was already a bit paranoid after my room at the other hotel was ransacked, but even after moving, I couldn't settle my head. It's just as well. Before long, I heard faint voices outside my room door. I check the time and it was 2am, so they probably assumed I was asleep.

I quietly moved to the door and wedged a chair under the knob. I figured the hotel owner was part of The Mist's network and ratted me out. That's why it's so hard to get away from these people. You never know who's in and who's not. This also means I'm marked if my picture has been put out to the network.

I grabbed my things and looked through the crack in the curtain. The parking lot was quiet. Of course, they weren't going to make a big dramatic scene just for me. The Mist doesn't work that way. No "sting" operations or anything. Just do it quietly when no one is looking. I glanced back at the door. A key was inserted in the lock. In moments, they would figure out I'd wedged the door, and the fuss might begin.

I opened the window and climbed out. There was some advantage to being on the first floor after all, since there was no drop. I didn't stick around to see what happened with the door. I'm not stupid. I ran straight to my car and took off. I parked in the far end of the Wal-Mart parking lot and tried to rest. I knew all alone in a 24 hour lot, I would at least not be recognized or noticed.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep well.

When I woke up, I came right into the McDonald's here in the Wal-Mart, and that's where I am now, trying to choke down breakfast. I'm in the back corner at this point, with my back to the entrance. Anyone could be part of their network. At any moment, someone could walk up behind me, and that would be it.

It may be high time to head over to Tulsa or Jenks or something to get away from their network entirely. I don't know whether they have a Mist in place in those cities, but Tara said they were primarily local and secret, so it's hard to say whether they communicate with each other or not.

Nevertheless, I think it's getting too

The Sixteenth Post

I changed hotels. I had to. When I went back after being at the library, I saw that someone had gone through it. Fortunately, I had nothing there except clothes, but that was enough to send me packing. The only thing of value I possess at this point is my laptop, and it goes with me everywhere. My new room isn't Wi-fi, but it has a free ethernet hi-speed connection, and that's enough for now. The main point is that they don't know where I am.

I don't know what I'm going to do if they find me. I don't know why they're going to do. Can they delete the blog? What kind of power do they have? I imagine the legal strings would be extensive. Maybe they'll hold me against my will and force me to delete it. I won't do it. I'll leave it up forever if I can. Maybe someone else can continue this work. I don't know what kind of work it is, but with the privilege of free speech, how can we be silenced over something as meager as a secret organization that keeps cities safer?

Perhaps it's the ideology of absolute power. After all, these people work under the radar and are protected so that even if they are caught, they were never there. I know that Tara killed herself. She took sleeping pills after I was asleep according to her note. She insisted it wasn't my fault, but she never said what she died over. I would have thought it didn't matter anymore. When you're gone, you're gone, but she let that secret die with her.

I stared at that Rubik's Cube charm for hours before I did anything else. This is what she had during our Olive Garden date. An item that she did not have at the conclusion of the evening. I can only assume the gentleman she spoke to in the midst of our dinner was handed this item and he possessed it for a time. I don't know when she got it back, or what it was used for, even. She had to know I would remember this trinket. She had to. She left it for me to find right next to her note.

Her note contained very little information. She explained nothing. It was more or less a token suicide note explaining to the authorities that she couldn't live anymore and that she died of her own volition. She actually used the word "volition." I knew she didn't write the note for me, with the exception of not blaming me.

Really, for The Mist, it was the perfect death. She died in her sleep of an overdose. A note was left explaining her choice. I was right there to let the police know about it. How convenient, right?

There's no paranoia this time. I did call the police. They came out and took her and the note. I was questioned briefly and I told them that she was severely depressed and I thought when she ate last night, she was getting better. No strings. No problems. I was free to live my life alone again. But Tara left another note.

I didn't find this one immediately. I don't know when she wrote either note, but this one was in the pocket of a shirt I wore fairly often. I had dressed for work and discovered it before leaving. While she didn't tell any more information, it was comforting to know she thought enough of me to write directly to me privately in a note I did not have to turn over to the police.

"Dear Atari (no, she didn't call me Atari),

I know you have a million questions, and I wish I could give you all the answers. You know how we ended up together, and that it wasn't a coincidence. You know who I work for. But I won't tell you what you so desperately want to know. I've tried, and I can't do that to you. Whatever I've put you through this last month, I want you to be able to live your life with a clear mind and conscience, so you can't know this. Please don't pursue it.

I had no greater happiness in my life than the time I spent with you. Never think that you caused my death in any way. It's just that circumstances changed, and I found out something that I could no longer live with.

There's so much I wish I could say, but before I write anything you will regret, I will leave you with this: if it were within my power, I would have spent the rest of my life with you. I never met anyone who fit with me as well as you did, and I never would have again. I wish you the best in your life as it moves forward, and I want you to move forward. I know it will take you time to get past what I've done today, but I pray you will do so quickly, because you have a long and happy life ahead of you.

I left my charm for you as something to remember me by. I know that is one of those things you have questions about, but only think of it as what I showed you on our second date. It is a symbol of a happy moment. It is a symbol of what we were.

Be happy. I love you.

Tara"

She said don't pursue this, but I can't do that. They did something to her, and she died for it. She did not deserve to die. She told me the path I need to take to find out the answers to all the questions. There are people who know. The people I've never pursued before.

I'm going to find my parents.

The Fifteenth Post

I slept very fitfully. I know they're really upset now. I heard people outside my room, but I didn't dare to look to see who it was. I checked out my hotel window, and thought I saw someone once, but I could be wrong. I'm probably jumping at shadows at this point.

All the same, I'm out of the room hiding out at the newer library at 91st & Memorial. As always, I'm not too concerned popping off my location since I tend to post right before I leave, and it gives me some measure of enjoyment to think they might run right over to try and nab me. Who knows? Maybe I'll sit somewhere close and watch as they raid the place. Ha!

This library (by name) used to be right behind Woodland Hills, but they moved it all over here for some reason. I've always wondered why. It's kind of hidden now. Anyway...

A couple just walked by me, and I remember Tara. No matter what our relationship was, I will always miss her. I wish things had turned out differently.

The day went as it usually does. I left in the morning to go to work without ever seeing her. I tried to check on her, but she didn't respond to my knocking. All day at work, I thought about her. Not a line of code went by that I didn't want to rush home and see if she was ok. She was supremely depressed and wouldn't tell me why. I considered talking about this to my co-workers, but I doubted any of them would begin to understand or even believe what I was going through. I also couldn't get far without revealing The Mist, and if I ever hoped to get through to Tara, I had to keep that to myself.

I left a little early in order to see if she was up and around. When I walked in, she was sitting on the couch. She stood up and smiled at me. She was very thin. Her face looked hollow. She walked up to me and gently put her arms around me. As I held her, I could feel how thin she'd gotten. I wanted to hold her tightly, but I was afraid I might break her, so I was very gentle with her.

"Can I at least take you to dinner," I asked her. She smiled and shook her head. She wiped a tear from her eye.

"I'm not hungry," she said.

"Not hungry?" I was trying to maintain my temper, not with her resistance, but because she was wasting away, and not helping me help her. "Look at you," I said, "there's almost nothing left."

"I know," she replied, "But you have to understand that I've done something terrible, and I can't live with that."

Then it hit me what she was doing. This was not happening.

"If you don't eat something with me, I'm taking you into the emergency room, and they'll make sure you have some kind of sustenance," I told her. I don't believe I've ever been so resolute with anyone.

She looked at me a long moment. Finally, she nodded. "All right, fine," she said. "If you insist, I'll eat something."

She wasn't interested in going out, so we ordered pizza (ironically from the place I would work for two days a few months later). She did eat. I ordered two mediums and she ate a full one by herself. This made me very happy.

I should have taken her in anyway. After we ate, she asked if I would go to sleep with her. Not "sleep with her," mind you, but share unconsciousness in the same bed. It was a start. so I was happy to oblidge. As we lay down that evening, she placed her frail head on my chest. I could feel her tears dampen my shirt.

Before we went to sleep, she leaned up and whispered softly to me, "I love you."

I smiled at her in the dark. "I love you, too," I replied.

She laid back down, and I fell asleep. My dreams that night were ripe with impossible imagery of anger, frustration, and sorrow. I saw blood everywhere and on everything. I saw the only family I ever had torn apart by some unspeakable creature. I saw Tara crucified (literally, as in Jesus). I saw her look at me and ask for forgiveness. She cried out to God, like Jesus did, saying "My God why have you forsaken me?"

My eyes snapped open and I was dripping with sweat. I looked around. Tara was next to me. I leaned up next to her and looked at her. I knew in an instant.

She was dead. Sitting on the nightstand next to the bed was a charm...of a Rubik's cube.

The Fourteenth Post

I imagine it won't take much time for The Mist to want to track me down now that I've used their name. I know they've been reading this blog, and I know they've been waiting for me to utter their name so they can move in. Nothing yet, but we'll see. I don't know if they've found my hotel yet or not, but I'm in another McDonald's, and if nothing else, they'll never find me in here.

I'm making sure I move around a lot between places. I'm all the way down at the one in the Wal-Mart at 121st and Elm. We call this one the "South" Wal-Mart since we have two in Broken Arrow. The other one is fairly North.

When she told me their name, I didn't know what to think. After all, I had only become involved after meeting her, as long as you don't count that I've somehow always been involved but never knew it. As complicated as it seemed, it had a very simple explanation. Someone paid to have a local intelligence service keep the town safe. What they do behind the scenes is complicated, but the concept is simple. It explained the relative secrecy.

"But no one nows about it," she said. "It's not publicized. There's no web site. It's kept from city officials. The police aren't informed about anything. We have people working other jobs that act as informants, and only a few who are fully employed by the service. The informants deliver what they know that maybe should be kept quiet or off the books. The full time agents handle it."

"What does this have to do with me," I asked. I had to know. I was getting impatient all of a sudden. For some reason, I'd been dragged into this, and I wanted to know why.

"Because of your birth parents," she said. "They had you while in the service. They kept you in this town, and continually assigned someone to keep an eye on you your entire life. You've seen them; you just don't know it."

I had to think on this. Everyone sees hundreds of people every day, but we don't acknowledge most of them. People passing by in stores and on the street. We see them in cars, out windows, on sidewalks, getting the mail, and any number of other places and activities. With so many people in the world, we can't help but see and be seen by these same hundreds.

As I've been sitting in this McDonald's in this Wal-Mart, in fact, easily two or three hundred people have passed by the glass walls separating the McDonald's from the Wal-Mart entrance. I've even glanced up once or twice to see them. I won't remember any of their faces, though. None of them even begin to stand out to me.

Someone could check on me weekly and unless I notice them looking at me, I won't even remember them. It's the kind of idea that brings one's paranoia to a frenzy. How many people are watching me even now? Looking around, I'd never know.

But then, it hit me. Call me slow.

"So Chanda was an agent from another city? Colorado Springs," I asked.

"Yes," she said. "She and I broke the same rule. Never get involved. She knew why she was watching you, but she got involved with you anyway. I guess they figured I would be more responsible." She stopped and chuckled, fighting back a tear. She looked down, sighed and shook her head. "But I wasn't. In fact, I concealed the fact that I was dating you. I concealed the fact that we moved in together. I lied about most of your movements and mine too. Chanda spilled the beans about us to them, and when I learned you told her my name, I had to go in and tell them. That's when they told me..."

She shook her head again and then her body shook as she cried. I put my arms around her to comfort her. She leaned into my chest and we sat there for a long while. But this still didn't make sense to me. So they know. So what? So she gets reassigned or something. I didn't understand the problem. I asked her. She shook her head.

"I can't tell you," she said. "I don't want you to go through what I'm going through. I love you in the worst way possible, and I just can't do that to you."

She pulled away from me and walked back inside the apartment. I heard the bedroom door close and lock behind her. I was on the couch again. I still didn't understand. What was the big secret? What had affected her so dramatically that our relationship was so destroyed?


I was determined at this point to let this play out. If she wasn't going to tell that day, I hoped she might come around later. It had been three weeks before I got this far, but I continued hoping. She stopped eating altogether. I don't know if she slept or not. I couldn't get her out of her room.

After that last week, there was no more hoping that she'd tell me.

The Thirteenth Post

Wow. Post 13. I don't believe in luck, so I'm not the least bit superstitious about this being the thirteenth post, or that anything would come of it. I don't have any problem mentioning it, though. Heh.

Yesterday, I left the hotel and went to Rhema to walk through the Christmas light display. As I understand it, the Rhema display (which those of us in Broken Arrow take mostly for granted) attracts people from all over the place because of its size and....yeah, size. I walked across the light covered bridge into Rhema park to view the light covered trees and light people, animals, and vehicles even. There was a steamboat of lights and that sort of thing. I walked to the pond in the middle of the park, the railing around which was wrapped with lights, and stared at the fountain in the center.

I walked to the gazebo and noticed that they had done pictures with Santa, but along with the 5 dollar price tag was the note, "our camera or yours." Apparently, they must have had a problem losing money from people who didn't want to buy their pictures, so they'll just charge anyone. Santa wasn't there, of course. Christmas was over by then, and "Santa" was probably drunk on liquor or (given the location) fervent prayer...

After that discussion wthe Tara that evening, I wasn't waking up with a hangover, but I did have a bit of a headache. When I came to, I looked around the apartment and found her sitting on the balcony, staring across the common area between the four buildings. Our part of the complex was laid out so that four buildings formed a square between them that was referred to as a "common area" where people could mingle, but generally avoid each other as they cut across the complex between parking lots.

I walked up behind her and apologized. She shook her head and told me not to worry about it. I started to say something else, but she stopped me. She asked if I knew my parents. She knew by this time that I had been adopted, so I asked her which ones. She wanted to know about my birth parents. I told her I had never known them at all, and never worried myself to look for them. I knew they had their reasons. I asked her why she wanted to know.

She looked at me, and I noticed she had been crying. Her face was blotched and red. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wet, and tear lines streaked her face. It will be easier to me to relate this as a conversation. I remember it well (though you'll have to forgive if she sounds a bit like me in all this; it has been awhile).

"I learned something," she said. Before I could say anything, she quickly added, "don't ask me what it is. I don't want to tell you. Well, I do but I don't, you know?"

I really didn't, but knowing now what that was, and knowing how hard it has been for me to tell all to perfect strangers in complete anonymity, I can kind of understand her now. She had a secret. She had lots of secrets, but this one was new to her. She went on.

"When you told me about Chanda's email, I was a little upset, but there is more to her than you know. I went away to find out why she might be trying to communicate with you, and learned... Do you know why I sat with you that night?"

I was taken aback. I always held that our sitting together was an accident, but with all her secrecy, maybe there was more to it.

"No," I said. "Why?" I'm nothing if not talkative.

She sighed. "I was told to. I was told to keep an eye on you. You've had someone keep tabs on you your entire life, and you have no idea who or why. Your adoptive parents don't know about this either, so don't ask them."

"Why," I asked. "Why would anyone want to watch me? I'm no one."

She smiled. "You're wrong. I didn't know why I was keeping an eye on you at the time, but I do now. Oh God, how I know now." She stopped for a moment and sniffled. I could tell she was struggling to get this out, whatever it was, but like me and this blog, she was trying to will herself to go on. "It's the reason Chanda wanted to know my name. She knew the reason. She knew because it wasn't the same to her. They never told me."

"Who is they," I finally asked. I had to know this who "they" bit. I thought it might answer a few things. Yeah, no.

She laughed again and shook her head. "There are secrets everywhere, you know."

I shrugged. "Sure," I said.

She sighed. "There is an organization within some cities that serve as a sort of intelligence group. Their- Our purpose is to basically keep an eye on the city and act if the need arises. The bigger agencies call it a glorified neighborhood watch because each group is local to the town. They're funded 50/50 by a private donor and the federal & state governments."

I shook my head. This time it was my turn to laugh a little. "That's crazy," I told her. "Why would anyone want to do something like that. Especially in a little place like Broken Arrow?"

"Broken Arrow is not a little place," she corrected. "It's supposed to be up over 90,000 people now. That's not little. Someone has to keep it running behind the scenes. The police do their bit in public and we do ours in private. The safest cities in the U.S. have this group."

"Who are they," I asked.

"We've always had one name," she said. "We are called The Mist."

The Twelfth Post

I can’t help but notice that the number two seems to recur a lot in my life. It’s not something I’m superstitious about by any means, but my life keeps recurring in twos. Or at least the life I led with her did. Two months between meeting and moving in together. Two months between moving in and the email. And she was gone for two days. Weird. I won’t dwell on it.

It’s still Christmas day, so there’s no where for me to go, so I am staying in my room using the hotel’s wi-fi network. It’s been rather quiet over here, and I tried watching TV for awhile to clear my head. It’s not doing any good.

I didn’t know what happened to her when she left. I didn’t know who she spoke with. I didn’t know what kind of conversation she had. I didn’t know anything when she returned, and she wasn’t volunteering anything. I don’t know about you, but when someone clearly needs to talk, and they refuse, it drives me up the wall. Whatever was affecting her, she needed to tell me much like I need to tell everything to you, but much in the same way, it was information too difficult to just come out and say.

She never left the apartment after that. I went to work, but she stayed home. We never slept together again. When I tried to get close to her, she pulled away. When I tried to just be in the same bed with her, she left the room and slept on the couch. I wasn’t happy with what was going on, but I cared too much about her to just leave. I had to find out what was so distressing about my talking to an ex that she would respond like this.

After three (not two, this time) weeks of this, I finally cornered her and asked why Chanda’s email bothered her so much that she would ruin our relationship over it. She looked at me a long moment, confusion etching her face. She said, “Chanda? Email?” Then it dawned on her what I was talking about (which clearly indicated something else was plaguing her, and I clearly misjudged it). She just laughed for a moment, but not an amused laugh or a happy laugh. No, she gave me a pained laugh that said to me, “You’re a total idiot.”

She said if that were all there was to this, then she would not have any problems in the world. She said she is not so petty that she would get so wrapped up in something so infantile as a lover’s quarrel over some old girlfriend. She said she thought I knew her better, and to be honest, I did. I told her I was surprised and didn’t know why she was so upset, so I guessed.

She shook her head. She asked if I thought it was weird how well we got along. Or how well we seemed to relate to each other. I honestly didn’t, and I said as much. She laughed again, fighting back more tears. She called me stupid under her breath, and that might have set me off if I didn’t hear her call herself stupid in the same breath. She mumbled that it explained everything. That all of the nonsense they put her through made sense now, and she should have listened.

I asked her for the first time who “they” is. She looked at me. She looked for a very long moment, as if looking right through me. Finally, she walked up to me and asked if I thought I could begin to handle the truth. I have to confess that visions of Jack Nicholson in “A Few Good Men” rushed through my head at that very moment. God help me for being so into movies. It was all I could do not to bust up laughing.

She saw my struggle. Her eyes narrowed, and I saw the devil behind the woman I loved. She didn’t speak. Not a word. I saw her eyes dilate in anger. Tears were coming out of my eyes. Her face contorted into a visage I hope no one ever sees on anyone ever again. I have never in my life seen rage of that magnitude on anyone. Needless to say, my sudden amusement over something so serious (and believe it was extremely serious), was not taken well.

My mind got so far as to think “Oh, sh-“ before her fist slammed into my face, and I don’t remember anything else that evening.

The Eleventh Post

Well, Merry Christmas out there. I really don't know what I was thinking. While I enjoyed the interaction with others during my short tenure as a pizza delivery guy (as well as the substantial tips), I realized having a job of any kind is pointless for me. I don't know when it will happen, but my life will soon be over.

Part of me feels like I should continue the job as a distraction, but when a certain Toyota Corolla parked near the pizza joint with someone inside for the entire duration of my shift, I felt for the sake of my own safety and anonymity, I should bow out. It didn't take them long to find me. I suspect their network is quite large and someone in it recognized me. Whether I like it or not, they know who I am. Fortunately, no one has shown up in this hotel yet (the guy standing outside a few days ago hasn't returned as far as I can tell).

So that position was far too public for my sake. I need to finish this story so it's out there. That way, at least someone will know what happened to Tara and what happened to me when I'm gone.

Things were quiet for us after we moved in together. She did her thing, and I did mine. The only thing she ever asked of me was whether I could crack a website's user name and password list. I won't say the site, but it turned out to be fairly easy. I went through a couple of anonymous proxies and it was no more than an SQL injection to get what she wanted. No one was any the wiser (except her, who now had their entire user name/password list). I did ask why she wanted me to do this instead of whoever she might have on their end that would be able to. All she told me was that she trusted me. At the time and even now, I can't help but wonder how true that statement was.

The real change came in when I got an email from an ex. This was someone I knew back in my military days, and I'd dated for a little while before I left the Army and she stayed in Colorado Springs, where I was stationed at the time. It wasn't an in-depth relationship by any means. We both acknowledged it as something we had fun with at the time, but wouldn't last if either one of us had to move around to make it work. So I returned to Broken Arrow, and she seemed glad to be rid of me. Not that I was a bad guy, but after being spoiled by the military, I didn't really know how to take care of myself, so I returned home to live with my parents for awhile.

Adopted parents, actually. They told me when I was sixteen that I was adopted, and that my birth parents were too young to care for me when they gave me up. I wasn't the type to go digging, so I just let it go. After all, my adopted parents are the only parents I know, and they are very good to me. I sent them the address to this blog, and I know they read it daily. I want them to know that I do love them very much, but this time, I'm in way over my head. There's no saving me, and there's no coming home. Nothing is now or will ever be the same. But above all, it isn't your fault. My mother will blame herself forever, but mom, it isn't your fault. There is nothing you or dad could have possibly done to prevent this. They kept you out as much as they kept everyone else out.

This girl I knew, though, her name was Chanda, and she has periodically emailed me now and then to see how I've been and it was about 2 months after Tara and I moved in together that she emailed again. I casually responded to her that I'd met this great girl, etc., and that we were living together. I mentioned that I was hopeful that we might even marry at some point, and that was about it. I never even hinted about hooking up or anything, and she made no mention of visiting me for any reason. We were friends at that point at that was that.

But before I got off, Chanda emailed me back. She asked what Tara's name was. It was a very short email and really only had that question, but I answered all the same. I did ask why she wanted to know. I didn't get an immediate answer, but about that time, Tara came home.

We talked for a little while about nonsense, and then I mentioned the email from Chanda. Somemay think this was crazy, but I had no secrets from Tara, and since it was nothing to me, it would be nothing to her. Oh, how I was wrong.

She listened intently to what I told her right down to the end about asking the name. Tara went off. I'm not honestly sure what the bigger issue was: my talking to an ex or her name being told. he was heavy in on the possibility of what she called "emotional cheating," but the conversation occasionally strayed to telling someone else "our business." She said her name was none of this "Chanda person's" business.

Yeah, I didn't see what the big deal was, but I apologized all the same, admitted that I didn't know she would react this way. She chastised me for my lack of emoitonal understanding, and stormed out, leaving me wondering what the heck just happened. The whole conversation lasted maybe three minutes. It took me longer to tell about it than it did for her to give her speech.

She was gone for two days. When she returned, she wasn't ever the same.

The Tenth Post

You may be wondering why, after posting twice a day for that last few days, I suddenly failed to post at all. Well, the reason is simple: I was getting acclimated to that pizza delivery job. Yes, I went in and have since been driving around town (last night in the driving sleet then snow) delivering for minimum wage and tips. I offered to work as much as he's let me, so I was there all day collecting away and since it started snowing, I made a killing in tips...

Well, I'm sure all this will be short-lived, however, since once I get done with this long narrative I've begun, it will all be over for me. Knowing what I know now, it won't likely be by my hand, but when it's over, you'll feel a particular ominence when I tell you that I'll probably fade into the mist.

Talking about Tara and I moving in together brings a certain turning
of my stomach after all that went down. Neither one of us had any
idea what would come of this, and given how far she was into that
other world, that's really saying something. At the time, however, it
was practically paradise.

Pretty simple setup here. Boy meets girl. Girl tries to avoid boy. Girl falls for boy. Girl moves in with boy. Not the other way around, and I'm sure by now, you probably saw that coming. It came as no surprise that she came my way, but the request was a bit of a shocker. We'd been going out irregularly for almost two months, and one evening, she just springs it on me.

"Do you want to move in together?"

Well, needless to say, the horny male in me jumped for joy, though there goes my stomach again. How much should I say about that? Well, the horny male was in no shortage of disappointment, and how about we leave it at that?

She continued her odd and perplexing job that she had before, and she refused to tell me anything about it. I asked a lot, of course, but she was very resolute in that point. She said to never ask her about what she did because she could never tell me. And there I had to leave it. I didn't know what to make of it, but I knew I couldn't ask about it further.

I can't help but wonder, however, if things would have changed had I pressed at the time. After all, she ended up telling me eventually...but by then, it was too late.