untitled (piece 2)

A Story by KnightofCups

just another day in the heartland

My day always starts the same for me . With a fresh pot of coffee and a pack of smokes by my side , I sit at my desk and read the local newspaper. Being that I'm a news addict , I read the print off every page, front to back.

An article caught my eye this morning , touching me profoundly. I'll not recount the lurid details , as to preserve the dignity of the subjects of this essay, but appease your need with the scantest of required information.

Three people lost their lives this morning , out on the road. An older Mexican man , and two young Mexican women.Seems they were running late for work , missing their turn in the thick winter fog . They sped through a fence , across a set of railroad tracks where their car hit a guard rail , sending it airborne. Rather then come to rest in an empty field , they plunged into a rock quarry , the car sinking immediately into fifty feet of fridged ice water.

I don't know why this news affected me so deeplyI've never met these people, they were not even from here. But as i reread the article I knew their last moments on earth were ones of terror. An old man , two young women...

I felt a sense of loss, a remorse that crept over me . It threatened to drown me , but I couldn't say why.This seemingly unnatural bereavement followed me through the morning , accompanying me on my dog walk, normally a pleasent diversion for the pup and I, and into the late afternoon.

Being Friday , I thought I'de stop in at my favorite watering hole , get a beer , and see if I could work through why the deaths of three complete strangers saddened me so.

Once inside the smokey darkness I found myself in the company of many a dear friend. The thought "no better place for me to be" came into my mind.The TV behind the bar was recapping the story,sharing all those insipid details that newshounds are so proficient at providing. One young lady was pregnant, the other had two small children at home. Both had husbands in Mexico that as yet had not been notified of their deaths.My sadness was now turning from sorrow to mild depression.

The guy sitting to my left was saying something about three less illegals we have to support with our tax dollars. He pointed his stubby, fat finger at the TV screen , lowering his head in a rockers salute ,and took a drink. A bit of beer leaked out of his mouth and he wiped it away with his sleeve. This unfortunate was starting to disgust me and I spoke,"Just because there Mexicans doesnt mean they were illegals, and it appears to me that they needed nobodys support." Befor he could reply I added "There are people far from their homes and loved ones ,in a strange land,... i find this very brave."

He turned and eyed me with disdain, or most likely contempt. From his mouth spewed something to the effect that they were taking good jobs from needing americans , and that if they couldnt drive safely , they should have gone back from whereever they came. As I looked at him I saw his face transform to some lizard like thing, eyes drawing down to narrow slits , his grimaceing lips pulling back from his yellowed teeth to reveal a malicious smile. He puffed up like he had made some kind of witticism, making my blood boil.

I knew he was baiting me , wanting to drag me into some useless arguement on immigration reform , or maybe even a physical confrontation. Neither of these things I had a taste for at the moment. The first being that you can't argue with a sick mind, and the latter that my friends in company were all old brothers of the road I came up with in the bad old days. Ah the day, when all we needed was a dry blacktop, handful of speeders , and a full tank in the XLCH.

But dear readers I digress, they would never let anything happen , those loyal souls have always had my back as I theirs.

Just for a second I felt like feeding into his whim, and take his beer , busting the bottle across the bridge of his nose.Giving over control of my emotions to him would only bring me regret, as I knew he lacked the intellect, or deeper understanding to become more than what he was .I felt pity for him and left without saying a word.

Back home I sank into the sofa, cracked open a bottle of Jamesons, and took a long pull on the sweet Irish whisky.It burned going down,as this fine amber distillate began to calm me , and soon left me introspective.

I know now as a species we are doomed. Hate is the cherished commodity of the day. A heavy weight that shortens an already way to brief life. Yet it seems to be so common , and cultivated amongst men. To think that we could rise above this human affliction is an insult to our collective intelligence , or lack there of, and to suggest otherwise would make me appear unrealistic as a thinker to my peers, and the world at large.

As the hazy drunkness blankets me , soothing my pained soul, I remembered something Hemmingway said about one mans death deminishes us all. Just befor I nodded off I realized I had my answer. And in finding it, for now, I'll take my comfort in that.