Like Father, Like Daughter

I've blogged more than once about my dad, our tumultuous father-daughter relationship, and forgiveness. You can read those here and here if you so choose. I don't want to go back into it again, though, especially since one of these was fairly recent. Instead, I'm just going to share some of my favorite music and honor the memory of the man. I hope you'll find something on the list that inspires in some form or fashion because all of these inspire me in one way or another.

(all Red Fang vids are fucking hilarious)

(the entire album is one long jam...so it counts as one entry)

I think this barely scratches the surface but it's a good representation of the different styles sounds I love. Hope you find something you enjoy... As for me, I'll be fistpumping it over here just like my dad and jacking up the volume whenever the feeling strikes. 

Thanks for letting me play dj this afternoon. It's what I love best (even more than writing). 

j

As with every Sunday's post, this is another installment of Sunday Confessions with More Than Cheese and Beer. Hope you'll tune into all the other link ups on the blog which is being hosted by Sparkly Poetic Weirdo this Sunday. And check out the Facebook page for anonymous confessions. Today's prompt was "Father."

The Interview

“I knew something was wrong for a long time, but I couldn’t admit it. Not out loud anyway.” She sighed, picked up another cigarette out of the pack sitting on the table in front of her, lit it, and took a deep drag sighing again as she exhaled a thick plume of smoke. She’d been chain-smoking since she got into the fluorescently-lit, cold interview room, but those were the first words she’d spoken. She stared at the two-way mirror on the wall across from where she sat. She wanted her observers to know she realized they were there.

She pushed her honey blonde hair behind her ear and leaned back in her chair. She was too thin and haggard, dark quarter moons punctuating her sunken eyes. It was obvious that something had been weighing on her for quite some time, but it wasn’t impossible to see that she was beautiful—high cheek bones, oceanic eyes, a creamy complexion with a button nose and a smattering of freckles across it that kept her looking young even though she was pushing 40 despite how worn she looked in those harsh lights wrapped in a thick cloud of her own smoke.

The bulbous detective seated across from her gave her a long, silent, sterile stare. It was intended to make her talk, but she was tough. She returned the stare with an unrivaled iciness that told everyone behind the mirror that she wasn’t putting up with any shit. Not today. Not here. Not from them.

He was the one to break the silence first. “What do you mean you knew something was wrong?”

She shook her head seeming both absolutely exhausted with all of this and amused at the question all at once and barked a short laugh.

“I know why I’m here and why you’re the one that’s ‘interviewing’ me instead of some young, fresh-faced guy with half as many wrinkles that hasn’t seen as many tragedies and still has some warmth left to his eyes. If it were that guy, I’d be getting the sympathetic ear of someone who understands I had no involvement in what my husband has done. But, it’s you in here with your stony glares, all attitude and demands and a face hardened by too many long nights dealing with dead kids beaten lifeless by their own parents and rape victims thrown out of cars and left for dead in ditch somewhere like their mothers’ worst nightmares come true. You sitting right there with your arms crossed and that grimace slashed across your face tell me that you already suspect I might have known all along and helped that piece of shit with his handiwork. Am I right?”

“Ma’am…”

“I’m right. You don’t even have to say it.” She blew the smoke from the last drag of her cigarette out the corner of her mouth, stubbed it out into the too full ashtray sitting in front of her, and immediately lit another one. She tapped the lighter over and over again on the surface of the table staring straight ahead, gaze never wavering.

He huffed and shifted his considerable weight on the chair, but he didn’t say anything. He stared her down yet again attempting to wait out her explanation.

More or less, it was a Mexican Standoff.

A half hour later, the rest of her cigarettes gone, she asked for another pack.

He huffed again but this time he leaned forward tapping his finger onto the table gruffly and stated matter-of-factly, “You can fucking forget it until you talk.”

“Listen, Porky, you can get me those cigarettes or we can sit here all fucking night. The choice is yours. And, I’d recommend, if I were you, sending them in with someone who isn’t such a dickwad because as long as you have the attitude you came in here with, you’re not getting shit from me.”

He sat back, red-faced. She figured if she spit in his face right then, it would sizzle, steam rising into the air above him. He grumbled unintelligibly under his breath but pushed his considerable weight out of the chair. His knees nearly gave out on him but he straightened up and made the short walk to the door slamming it behind him.

She looked around the room bouncing one knee needing another cigarette. She rarely smoked anymore, but she could not take this pressure right now without a nicotine rush. It would take forever to get the smell out of her hair. There was nothing remarkable about the four walls. A few paint chips. A spider web in one corner. The tile needed buffing. But all in all it was pretty depressingly whitewashed and bland. She supposed it was intentional to keep people from getting distracted or from distracting themselves anyway. The feeling of being watched wouldn’t change though even if there were a mural of fluffy bunnies and rainbows painted on the walls.

The door opened and a female detective with auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun waltzed in and sat the pack of cigarettes on the table between them before taking a seat. The detective pulled the chair in close to the table and gave her a long look. There was nothing assuming or pretentious in that look though which put her at ease a little.

“Listen, Mrs. Parker, we’ve got to make progress here. We’ve been here for hours. You’re tired. We’re tired. Can you please explain what you meant by your earlier statement that you knew what was going on but couldn’t admit it?”

“First of all, get it right, okay? Let’s set the record straight right now. I said I knew something was wrong. I did not ever say that I knew what was going on. Get it down. Record it. Make sure all those motherfuckers back behind the glass have it written down because this goes nowhere. No. Where. Until that’s straight. Got it?”

“Does that mean I can record this and you’ll give your written permission for that?”

“Sure, if that ensures you’ll get the story straight instead of screwing the shit up the way you assholes always do. Bring it out. Tape recorder. Video recorder. I don’t care. Do what you need to do.”

The detective turned abruptly to the mirror told them to set it up and made a hand motion. A young uniformed cop brought in a sheet of paper and sat it on the table. She took it and looked it over. “Give me a pen…”

The female detective obliged pulling a plain black bic ballpoint pen out of a pocket inside her blazer.

She took the pen, signed the paper with a huge superfluous signature.

“Thanks, Mrs. Parker. Now, why don’t we start from the beginning? What exactly is it that you couldn’t admit?”

Of course, this has been another edition of Sunday Confessions with More Than Cheese and Beer. The prompt this week was admit and since I'm so fucking obscenely candid on this blog at times, I have no real admissions to make so here's some fiction. Hope you enjoy and as always let me know what you think! 

Beat It. Or Her. Or Those Guys.

This year has been filled with news stories to read about celebrities that have made mistakes, grievous ones.

War Machine’s domestic assault/attempted murder of his ex-girlfriend

Resurfaced accusations against Woody Allen for molesting of Dylan Farrow

Alleged sexual assaults, so many assaults, by Bill Cosby dating back decades

Adrian Peterson’s child abuse charges

Ray Rice knocking his then fiancé out cold

AC/DC’s drummer arrested for some kind of murder plot

The former drummer of Cake sentenced for child molestation

You can hardly go through a week without reading a story about a celebrity or politician who has or has potentially hurt others in some unimaginable way. But what do we do with this information once the heat has died and the sensationalism has passed on to the next story?

Not much, it seems.

Mark Wahlberg is one perfect example of our lack of concern for what celebrities have done in their pasts (and often in their presents). In his early life, he was in legal trouble at least 20-25 times. At 15 he was committing hate crimes against minority children including throwing rocks at kids on a field trip and calling them racial epithets. By 16 he graduated to attempted murder. In one day he beat a Vietnamese man with a wooden stick while yelling slurs at him then blinded another later that afternoon. For those two crimes, he served all of 45 days in prison despite the attempted murder charge. And that wasn’t the end of it. He got in trouble again years later for another unprovoked attack only this one wasn’t racially motivated like the others. In 2006 when these issues came to light, he stated publicly that he has done his time and has no guilt for his crimes. Even though he never even so much as apologized to the man he blinded for life, he recently applied for a full pardon for his crimes… A full pardon. Just let that sink in. In this country there are men serving life in prison for possession of marijuana in 3 strikes states, but Marky Mark wants his record to be wiped clean after serving basically no time in prison for a hate-driven, attempted murder, and let’s face it, it’ll happen because he has money and this country is addicted to celebrity-worship. He has acted in 44 roles and has been a producer 22 times since he nearly killed two men for being different. Currently, Wahlberg is worth approximately $200 million.

Perhaps the most ironic example comes from an expected place but not for the reason you’d guess. Audiophiles like myself can hardly conduct an internet search without seeing an ad for Beats

headphones by Dr. Dre. Did he pick this name because he beats women? I suppose Dee Barnes would agree with that statement. Barnes was a rapper in the hip-hop group Body & Soul going by the stage name D Zire. She also hosted a hip-hop themed show on Fox called Pump It Up! It was this hosting role that got her into hot water with the good Dr. She interviewed Ice Cube during the pinnacle of the financial issues between him and the other members of N.W.A. drawing Dre’s ire for making the group “look bad.” I suppose he didn’t understand they’d already made themselves look bad enough with no one’s help and decided the thing that would fix it all is to beat the ever-loving-fuck out of the woman while his bodyguard threatened anyone who tried to help her with his gun. I don’t mean that he simply punched her and was done not that it would make it any more excusable in if that were the case. He did, though, slam her head and body into a brick wall, attempt to throw her down a flight of stairs, kick her repeatedly in the ribs, then chase her down when she managed to run from him and proceed to punch her in the back of the head. His response and those of other N.W.A members was “bitch had it coming.” The court wasn’t too concerned either considering Dre spent no time in jail and had a petty fine and some probation time. Barnes sued but the case was settled out of court for an undisclosed amount. I can’t look at a pair of Beats headphones the same. $169 a pair at the cheapest to line a man’s pockets who “beats” women when he doesn’t like what they say. Since selling Beats to Apple, Dre will be pretty close to billionaire territory with many pegging his net worth at nearly 800 million. He’s the richest man in the hip hop industry which is already rife with misogyny and violence much the way the film industry is and any other music genre and television and apparently the NFL as well.

I get that people aren’t their pasts. If that were true, I’d still be an angsty weirdo with a penchant for black lipstick and mainstream metal. Instead I’m just a weirdo. But the thing is…neither of these men feel any remorse for what they did. Dre nor Wahlberg ever really apologized to the people they hurt and instead feel like the world fucking owes them just because they had tough lives as kids. And we continue to fall for that shit. It’s not like Jay-Z stabbing a record executive for bootlegging his albums. Because apologized and wrote candidly in his memoirs about never wanting to get back to that place, to be the kind of person who would do such a thing. That, I can get. But why do we still continue to laud people like Marky Mark and Dr. Dre? Why do people continue to defend Cosby no matter how many women come forward? Why is that when someone we’ve watched in movies that we don’t know personally, that we’ve never met outside watching the characters they play does or has done something heinous, we’re far more forgiving that we are for people in real fucking life? Where’s the logic?

I’m sick of seeing Ray Rice apologists claiming that everything is fine now that he told his wife he’s sorry. All abusers say they’re sorry. It’s part of the cycle. Would you say that if it was a stranger who punched your sister, your mom, your daughter, your niece? Would you accept that apology as the truth every time right up until he kills her in a murder-suicide like many of these relationships end? I’m sick of people thinking that just because a woman didn’t step forward when she was raped, that she is no longer credible. I’ve been there. It’s hard to admit, to talk about… It’s even harder when every single person who hears your story picks it apart and finds a way to put the blame on you instead of where it belongs. I don’t want to hear that leaving lashes on a child’s leg is just punishment for being a child. If your son or daughter came home with those marks on their legs given by a parent that no longer lives with you, I doubt it’d be so fucking kosher as it is when a coveted football player has done it. I don’t want to hear reasons why Mark Wahlberg is different. I want to see him apologize. I want to see Dre fucking crawl on his hands and knees and beg forgiveness from that woman for being such a cowardly piece of shit. Where’s the fucking accountability with these people? Why the hell are we so worried about violence on tv and film and in songs when real violence is being perpetrated by the players themselves while we continue to worship them like patron saints of misogyny, entitlement, greed, and criminality?

If we’re going to read these stories about celebrities and get caught up in the drama of it all and get angry over their bad behaviors, we need to stop sweeping them under the rug when it’s no longer an interest piece on Huffpo or in Rolling Stone or on Slate. When the story isn’t top news on CNN, it’s quickly forgotten while these assholes are left to make millions, to become beloved icons, to be memorialized and idolized…while we’re left wondering why our culture is so often depraved, greedy,and violent. At least part of the answer is right there in the "news" stories we read.

As always, thanks for reading another edition of Sunday Confessions with More Than Cheese and Beer. Be sure to check out the other contributions. And a special thinks to a very talented friend of mine who recommended I tackle the Dr. Dre issue in writing. When I really started thinking about this week's prompt, I knew this was the right time to put my thoughts about that situation in print.

And since that talented friend is an artist, please check out some of his work here: http://instagram.com/santosian  He's amazing at what he does and one of the coolest dudes I know. 

And There Will Be Peace...Or Maybe Not

Welcome to another installment of secret subject swap. This week, 12 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts. Links to all the blogs will be listed below. 

My “Secret Subject” is:

You have one opportunity to secure world peace. The only condition is it's based solely on what you're willing to sacrifice. If you make a big enough sacrifice, the world will have unending/eternal peace. Don't make a large enough sacrifice, things will continue as is. What sacrifice do you make? What sacrifice is just too big?

It was submitted by: http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/

______________________________________________________________________

My fellow Bloggers, I feel that if every single person on this planet just had better understanding of what it’s like to walk in each other’s shoes, if we all were capable of a little more empathy, we could resolve every conflict that plagues our global community. If we could just spend some time gaining perspective on what each of our lives is worth, we could finally begin to see those conflicts resolve. With just a little more effort in understanding each other’s plights, we could finally attain something that is forever sought but always manages to elude us—world peace.

Sound like bullshit? It kind of is.

"World Peace" is an abstract term that really has no true meaning. I’m not saying that the idea of wanting world peace is a negative, hokey thing. It’s not. But when you think about it on a deeper level, the entire idea of it creates more questions than anything. What would world peace actually entail? Settlements to all human arguments? Squashing all religious strife? Resolving all social inequality making every human no matter what race, belief, gender, or sexuality completely equal in every society across the globe? Tackling all social issues that lead to any sort of strife? Closing the gap on income inequality? Ending world hunger? Giving everyone fresh drinking water and access to education? Establishing democracy and free market capitalism across the globe leading to the bigger question of whether or not democracy and capitalism encourage war? What does peace look like and entail for other cultures? Would it be the same? Would it be morally reprehensible to force one idea of peace on every culture worldwide?

See, here’s the thing… You can’t simply end all wars to establish world peace. There’s a reason that so many conflicts pop up continuously across the world. It takes more than resolving the disputes already in progress in order to have any modicum of peace. Those clashes have longstanding histories that have created out of control social issues that a wave of a magic wand would never touch unless humanity itself were changed. What part of the human condition across the board would have to be altered or subtracted or added to in order to make eternal world peace possible? Would we have to become mindless zombies that are no longer able to stand up to our governments or even each other? Would the collective progress of the world be stopped because people can no longer take risks that would lead to change? Could change exist in a world that is blanketed by peace or does change inherently come with strife and disagreements which threaten to unravel the docility of the world?

As great as world peace is in thought, I don’t think I can live in a world where change can’t happen. Some of the biggest changes that have played out in humanity were revolutionary, rebellious. Bloodshed was an unfortunate by-product of those revolutionary actions, but where would we be without them? Where would be without riots and coups? Where would peaceful protests have gotten the American Revolutionaries when it came time for this country’s independence? As much as it sucks to think of casualties as a necessity to progress, sometimes that’s the bitter truth of it. And, I don’t want to live in a world where that can’t happen. I don’t want to lose the part of my humanity that pushes me to right a wrong no matter the consequences.

So, to answer the question, I wouldn’t sacrifice anything for world peace. I do want a more peaceful world. To be clear. I want a more socially conscientious world with equality, where people aren’t dying of starvation every 4 seconds, where people have access to water—clean drinking water, where people have access to education and aren’t stoned to death for being raped. I want a culture here in America where black men aren’t 21 times more likely to be killed by police and where rioting is an option but maybe the unheard voices are fewer and fewer. I would and will devote my life to being a catalyst of social change…for fighting the good fight and being an ally, but there’s no sacrifice that I, a sole person, could ever make that would be enough to establish a world peace that I couldn’t fully believe in to begin with…

_________________________________________________________________________________

Thanks for reading. I enjoyed the way this prompt made me think so I hope no one gets the feeling that I'm poking fun at it with my overanalyzed, non-answer to the question. This is simply the only answer I have for something I feel is such a highly complex discussion. Anyway, here are the links to the other blogs! Grab a cuppa and enjoy :)

http://www.BakingInATornado.com                          Baking In A Tornado

http://themomisodes.com                                       The Momisodes

http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/                          Spatulas on Parade

http://dinoheromommy.com/                            Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

 http://stacysewsandschools.blogspot.com/                        Stacy Sews and Schools

http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/             The Bergham’s Life Chronicles 

http://www.eviljoyspeaks.wordpress.com               Evil Joy Speaks

http://www.JuiceboxConfession.com                    Juicebox Confession

http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/                       Confessions of a part-time working mom

http://www.silenceofthemom.blogspot.com           Silence of the Mom

http://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/                         Sparkly Poetic Weirdo

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com                         Climaxed

Smoke and Mirrors (Like a Bunny Part 3)

It wasn’t until maybe a week after the power went out that things started getting really bad. A week of people being unable to shop for food and unsure of what would happen… A week of bipartisan bickering with each party blaming the other and neither accepting any responsibility… I mean, if you think about it, really think about it, a week of Starbucks junkies unable to get their caffeine fix is a disaster waiting to happen. A week without television for the majority of the U.S. is asking for riots.

Things were already tense before that. With a market crash far exceeding the recession and bank bailouts that rocked the country in 2008, unemployment skyrocketed, businesses closed, and the economy tanked leaving people fighting for minimum wage jobs and still unable to keep afloat. The government was forced to cut social benefits. No food stamps. No welfare. Social security was next. People were literally starving to death while Congress and the President continued to make full salaries and dine on caviar for breakfast (metaphorically and perhaps literally) every day. When a new budget approval bill stalled in Congress that both reinstated and increased these benefits and raised the debt ceiling, the government shut down cutting tens of thousands of more out of their jobs with no end in sight.

That’s when things went from bad to destroyed… sovereign citizen militias took advantage of this vulnerability and attacked the White House, the Pentagon, and Capitol Hill. No one had any idea the numbers these groups had, and the arms that had been amassed by them under lax gun control laws were staggering. Their targets were quietly and swiftly taken down in a matter of hours leaving a bare-bones government in place that still couldn’t tell its asshole from a hole in the ground, bumbled their way through managing the problem, and still, obviously, couldn’t get a budget approved much less get things back on track… Chaos is an understatement. The central government completely fell, and the states weren’t too far behind. Everything dissolved. Everything. So, people started taking care of themselves any way they could. No one was looking to rebuild. It was complete lawlessness and not in a feel –goody Libertarian utopia kind of way…in a cannabilistic, we’ll-rape-you-just-for-fun kind of way apparently.

Alyssa can’t help thinking about the past. About what has led to where she is now—camping with her partner in the middle of the woods with no tent, no supplies, and her badly injured father on the run from a group of Others. Others who wanted to rape and kill her. Others who tried to kill her father and may very well have succeeded.

Daniel moans in his sleep then pulling her out of her own head. She goes to him to check for fever careful not to wake him.

“He’s got to be quiet, Lys. He’ll attract people making noises like that.”

“And this fire won’t?”

“Point taken.”

She smirks at Jamie across the fire. Even in the most dire of situations, she can’t help that warm feeling she gets when he admits she’s right…mostly because she’s right pretty often, and he can’t stand it. It has been that way since they were kids.

“I hate that look you get.”

“The one when I’m right and you’re not?”

Jamie shakes his head but even in the shadowy, low light of the fire she can still see the smile on his face. Moments like this almost make her feel normal again. That feeling is gone in a flash, though, when she hears her dad moan again and she has to wonder once more if he’s going to make it. She has lost everything. She and Jamie both have. He still doesn’t have a clue what he will find when they finally make it back home. Will there even be a “home” or will Jasper be taken over by Others? For all she knows, their childhood homes may be demolished, burned to the ground perhaps. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve seen it during their travels. What she does know is that her mama is gone and her daddy may die, too. The wound in his shoulder needs treatment that she can’t give especially not without supplies. If he makes it through the night, they’ll have to scavenge somewhere for whatever first aid items they can find.

“Lys…?”

She shakes her head attempting to break loose the thoughts that seem to have rolled their way inside her mind threatening to take root and realizes that Jamie must have been speaking to her then entire time. She hasn’t heard a word of it.

“I….uh…what?”

“Did you hear anything I said?”

“No…I was lost in thought, I guess. What is it?”

“Nothing important except that we should get moving soon. The sun’s coming up, and I don’t want to stay in one place too long just in case we’re being followed.”

“I don’t think Daddy can move right now. He needs his rest.”

“And we need to move. If he’s going to come with us, he’s going to have to move, too.”

What they really need, she thinks, is for everything to be fine again, for the power to come back on, farmers to go back to work, for each other to no longer be seen as food and for some sort of manufacturing to take place to fix what has been destroyed and get things back on the mend … Order needs to be restored. People can’t continue to live like this. As it stands, there have been several groups that have tried to take over and create a functional government or so the rumors go. News travels slowly in these times, but it still gets around. The regular players attempted to step up with their ideas about how to make it work, radicals with extremely conservative goals took a shot, and of course, the militias, but nothing has been able to stick, nothing works. Nothing’s going to work as long as far gone as everyone is, not for the entire country anyway. If it were left up to her, being as she’s always right and all, maybe the best solution would be smaller governments based on region with a central government forming later if at all.

With the sun higher in the sky, Jamie begins to get edgy. He paces out of frustration. Daniel is still out cold. He hasn’t stirred except the occasional moan, but he’s still not feverish. Not yet anyway. It’s time to go. Jamie’s right--staying in one place isn’t a good idea. She shakes her dad calling to him softly at first to wake up, but he doesn’t respond until she’s nearly yelling at him. He stirs and blinks slowly at her groaning in pain.

“Daddy, it’s time to go. We need to get moving…the sun’s already up.”

He nods. He’s in too much pain, it seems, to actually form words, but he manages to get to his feet with her help. There’s nothing to pack, and the fire had already dwindled down to smoldering ash.

They have nothing but themselves and each other.

The small group heads towards Jasper. Alyssa’s mind is on loss…losing her country, her home, her mama, everything she thought she needed. She lost her phone, her ipod, coffee…PIE…everything. Everything she thought was important in life, that was necessary for life is gone. She doesn’t even have tampons anymore. No gummy vitamins. No dresses or bags or shoes. No candy or chocolate. She doesn’t even have a fucking hair dryer or shampoo for fuck’s sake. Everything she ever knew about the way life works, about how to fucking live. It’s all gone. But, what she realizes now trudging through these woods to get back home with the sunlight in her face, hand in hand with Jamie and her arm around her dad for support, is that everything she ever really needed was inside her all along, and every day she continues to prove that. The things she thought were central to life were all just smoke and mirrors…illusions of necessity to fuel a broken system.

Of course this has been another installment of Sunday Confessions with More Than Cheese and Beer. I hadn't really planned to continue this story (again...ha), but when I saw the prompt this week was "power" I had to continue it at least once more. It's not all that action packed, but I enjoyed it all the same. Thanks for reading. Be sure to check out the other contributions on the MTCAB page and anonymous confessions on the Facebook page. 

Sign and Share Please!!

In April of this year, I read an article about a young man who had been tried and convicted in Florida under the Felony Murder Law. This law is something I’m familiar with and have been against for some time now because it doesn’t apply punishment that is proportionate to culpability in a crime, and I have seen plenty of cases where a person who wasn’t even present or couldn’t be proven to be present at the scene of a crime was given a life or even death sentence for whatever small part they may have played. This was something altogether different though. When I read this one, I was pretty enraged. This was the first time I’d ever read a case where the person affected by this heinous law had absolutely no involvement in the crime nor in criminal behavior at all.

The man in this case loaned his car. That’s what he did to get a life sentence without the possibility of parole. He was drunk at home with his roommate and his roommate’s friends. The roommate and friends decided to rob the house of a known drug dealer and asked to use his car. Ryan agreed. The roommate is on record saying that the only part Ryan played that night is giving permission to use the car. He did not help plan a burglary. He did not help plan a murder. He gave permission and fell into a drunken sleep. He was asleep when the crime was committed.

Plenty of people were outraged about this case. The comments section each time it was shared was quickly filled with people who were angry and who demanded justice for the man in question. I took it a step further though. I wrote him. I sat down and wrote a letter the very day I read about him.

That’s how I met Ryan.

Anyone can read the articles that I have or visit his website or even read the petition I created. Those are all important but can be found easily through Google. I’ll also include them here at the end because that petition is of utmost importance right now. But, what I want to really tell you about is Ryan himself because if you know what I know about him, if you can see what I see, you can’t help being angry and wanting to do more to help him.

Since first writing in early April, we’ve gotten up to 2 or 3 letters a week, and I’ve visited him twice. In that time, I’ve learned a lot about him and what he’s like. He wears the label “nerd” proudly and loves to talk about video games and comic books. Luckily, I have a whole lot of nerdery going on when it comes to video games so we both geek out on letters talking about the nostalgia of gaming classics and me writing about newer stuff I’ve played or watched being played. We talk about music. A lot. Music is really his salvation. A letter without mentioning a band or song is an anomaly. He loves comic book movies, Star Wars, and old cartoons.

Ryan grew up with a very strong woman as his mother. She’s his rock even though these last 11 years have impacted her in ways you could not imagine. She’s his champion and is always in his corner pushing for his freedom. In 11 years, she has only gotten more determined instead of jaded which shows just how incredible her strength really is. It’s her influence that has made him one of the most respectful and thoughtful men I have had the pleasure to meet. 11 years of prison hasn’t changed that or diminished it in any way. He would be mortified if anyone ever accused him of disrespecting a woman or anyone for that matter.

No matter how harsh the prison environment can be, he has never lost his humanity, his will to help others, to do good in the world, and to be something more than what he often sees around him. In fact, if his sentence were commuted, he wants to speak out against the felony murder law to work towards getting these laws changed across the country instead of just a few states. He also wants to use his experiences to help at-risk youth learn the perils of the company they keep.

Perhaps the biggest thing that amazes me about my newfound friend is the lack of bitterness he has. For 11 years, he has been behind bars for a crime he had no idea would be committed, that he played no part in, that he was asleep at home in bed during and yet… he has no anger, no bitterness. If anything, he is one of the most positive people I have ever met. Every now and then, he might have a complaint about the food (dry slices of turkey for Thanksgiving…blegh), but that’s it. How many other people can say that? The last time I visited him, there was also an art student visiting who is preparing to make a documentary about his case. When he asked Ryan how he can stay so positive and not be bitter about the circumstances of his life. Ryan answered that he’s still alive, he has family that support him and love him, and he has friends who provide unconditional and unexpected support. Most people I know have all that on top of their freedom and still can’t make it through a single day with even half the positivity. Knowing Ryan has been an inspiration.

A girl lost her life tragically in this case. No one denies that. But, the theft of Ryan’s freedom by the state is criminal itself. The governor of Florida has agreed to hear his plea for clemency before the Offender Review board on December 10. At that time, Ryan’s sentence could be commuted to time served. I beg each of you to sign the petition included below and share it. Every little bit of support we can give him can only help improve his chances of never spending another holiday season behind bars away from the family who loves him so much.

Petition:

https://www.change.org/p/florida-commission-on-offender-review-governor-rick-scott-grant-clemency-for-ryan-holle-who-was-sentenced-to-life-for-loaning-his-car

Articles:

http://www.thenation.com/article/178984/why-florida-man-facing-life-prison-lending-out-his-car-and-going-sleep

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/04/us/04felony.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0

Young Turks video:

http://andrescarrascoq.misitiopyme.com/watch/?v=Q-PLKwJX9-8

Eddie (Like a Bunny Part 2)

The two of them are sure, certain in fact, that they are going to be chased through town. They stick to the shadows moving quickly but stopping to listen if anyone is close on their heels. At no time do they hear footsteps echoing behind them, no mad laughter cackling over their shoulders. Backyards give them enough cover to make it out without ever having to go into a street or dealing with the guards on the road out of town.

One of the backyards leads them to a field they cross before coming to a wooded area, but that’s where Alyssa stops.

“I have to go back for my dad.”

“What? What the fuck, Alyssa. NO. No way. You saw what was going on back there. You heard what I heard!”

“What if he’s still alive and they’re just keeping him around for…for…” She cries then and not just a little…not just silent tears. Huge, racking sobs shake her entire body for a few moments before she is able to get them under control. “Jamie, family always, always comes first. You know that.”

“I do.”

“Then we have to go back for Daddy.”

“No. Even if we were to go back, that man back there isn’t your daddy anymore. That’s not the Daniel I’ve known since we were little. That’s not the Daniel that gave me a talk about how to treat a woman when you and I finally started dating. That Daniel is gone. That man back there isn’t family anymore.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. If that were true, we’d still be back there tied up and probably missing a leg right now and smelling ourselves roasting on an open fucking fire.”

Jamie sighs. She’s right. She knows she’s right. He knows she’s right. Her dad couldn’t have revealed who they are without looking weak, without revealing a vulnerability that would later be used against him. But he still risked himself to get them out of there…

“Okay, I’ll compromise. We can wait for him like he asked on the outside of town. In hiding. The first hint that anyone else is coming for us, that anyone else is out there and we’re gone. If he doesn’t show, we have to leave it. We don’t have anything. The few things we did have are back there. We can’t take on that whole camp of Others to get your dad and you know that. If we try, then we all lose. We all die and get eaten. Your dad took that risk to see you live so why make his sacrifice worth nothing?”

“If my daddy doesn’t show up, you’re not stopping me from going for him. I’m not leaving here without him.”

“Let’s just move back to the edge of town. We’ll cross that bridge when it comes. There’s no use standing here arguing when we don’t even know what’s going to happen.”

“Fine.” She crosses her arms signaling her discontent that he’s even fighting her on this. This is her DAD. This isn’t really some stranger. How could she not go back for her dad whether it was stupid or not? How could she live with herself if she didn’t?

The sun is setting in a blaze of blue and pink hues as they make it back and find a hiding spot to wait for Daniel. Dan. Whatever. There are plenty of bushes and trees to keep them safely hidden, and if nothing else, they can crawl back into the thicker parts of the woods from where they are if they hear anyone coming. It’s as good as it’s going to get.

Time passes slowly as the two sit at the base of an old Live Oak peppered with Spanish Moss giving it the distinguished aesthetic of a gentleman with graying temples. There’s no comfort there despite Alyssa loving these old oaks. It’s the thing she’s missed most about her Southern home, but right now, there’s nothing that could put her mind at ease except seeing her dad and knowing he’s going to be okay. And if he is, she’s going to throw on that pouty, wide-eyed look of hers that has always gotten her what she wants. The phrase “daddy’s girl” is an understatement. Jamie knows that. He also knows she’s not going to give up on this if Daniel doesn’t show…

Jamie grabs her arm in mid-thought almost causing her to scream out loud until she remembers where she is and what’s going on. She clamps her mouth shut tight breathing in sharply. She turns to him with a “what the fuck?!?” look on her face as he reaches one finger up to his lips telling her to keep it quiet.

“Listen,” he mouths without making a sound and points to their left in the direction of the town.

She cocks her head to the right listening, breathing slowed and eyes looking around at nothing in particular as if this somehow amplifies her ability to hear whatever it is she’s supposed to be hearing. That’s when she hears the underbrush moving. It’s faint but it’s there, and it doesn’t sound like whatever or whoever it is wants to sneak up on them. She starts to move but Jamie’s hand tightens on her arm. She glares at him, but he only shakes his head solemnly and holds up his finger telling her to wait.

Alyssa settles back down into her spot and cocks her head again… Did she hear what she thinks she just heard? Was that a whistle? She leans forward some straining to hear better and recognizes the sound instantly when it winds through the trees again. It’s what her father passes as a bird call. He’d use it whenever he was looking for her when she was a kid. He couldn’t stand the way her mom would stand at the backdoor and scream her name. It would piss him off every single time. So, he came up with whatever this is. He says it sounds like some kind of bird native to the area, but she’s never heard a bird that sounds as pathetic and constipated as that whistle makes it out to be. Naturally she returns the whistle. It’s what she has always done.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO?!!” Jamie hisses at her.

“That’s my dad. That’s his whistle. You know that!”

“And what if he’s taught that whistle to every single one of the Others in this camp? What if it’s one of them? What if one of them is with him?”

All she can do was look at him. He was right. She should have waited. The thought of her dad being out there was too much for her though and she had gotten ahead of herself.

“We have to wait, Alyssa. We have to wait and see just exactly who is out here with us. We can’t stop being smart about things just because family is involved. If we’re not, none of us are going to make it. Don’t you get that??”

“Sure,” she answers. And that’s all she can manage beyond the tears in her eyes. It sounds sulky and in a way it is. She’s mad at herself for not thinking more than she’s mad at Jamie for calling her out about it, but he rolls his eyes and grits his teeth in that way he does anyway.

“Look, why don’t you wait here and keep your whistler zipped. I’m going to go around behind where they are and try to see what’s going on and who exactly it is. Don’t move. Don’t talk. And especially don’t whistle again.”

He doesn’t even wait to see her nod in agreement before he’s silently moving through the trees. Their only flashlight is back in that building with the rest of their stuff, so she doesn’t know how he expects to see with the light nearly dead on the horizon and the moon just a smear behind the clouds in the sky. She suspects he has to get away from her for a bit before he loses his cool and gives them away himself, but she doesn’t feel good about being left alone no matter the circumstances.

The whistling sounds more fervent now that she’s returned a call of her own, but it doesn’t sound much closer. Whoever is making the call is still pushing through the brush but it’s hard to get a fix on how far away the person is or which direction they’re headed. She leans her head back and closes her eyes listening and waiting.

“Well, lookit what we found, Dan! Sleeping Beauty! I thought you said that girl of yours was long gone by now. Another lie!”

Alyssa snaps her eyes open and is immediately blinded by a glaring flashlight. She scuttles around the tree, but a hand reaches out lightening fast and grabs a handful of her hair pulling her towards him.

“OWWW… let the fuck go of me!”

“This daughter of yours sure does have a filthy mouth on her, Dan.”

“Daddy…? What’s going on?”

“Zip it, Alyssa.”

“That’s right, sweetie, you better do as your ‘daddy’ says . The two of you’s in a whole heap of trouble after that business in the Hall today. We got a man dead and all his fresh meat lost just because your dear ol’ man got a bit sentimental. And we ain’t having that. We cain’t even justify Beau’s death since we cain’t keep the meat fresh. Such a waste, too. We coulda had a half a dozen meals off that carcass instead of just one good meal tonight. So now your daddy’s gotta make up for that with you and that other one. Where’s he?”

“How am I supposed to know? He took off when I wouldn’t leave without my dad.” She’s lying but she hopes that lie will save them from looking for Jamie. At least one of them should make it out of this mess alive.

“Bullshit!” the hand yanks on her hair a little harder until she has tears in her eyes.

“It’s the truth!”

“Let her go, Eddie. You don’t see the boy do you?”

The hand tightens on her hair again, and she hears a meaty sound that makes her want to puke. Dan moans softly sounding not quite there but she can’t see anything that’s going on. Her head is bent unnaturally from the vise on hair. She’s clueless.

“That wound looks pretty painful there, Dan. You want me to dig my fingers around in it one more again? Ol’ Beau at least managed to get a shot off, didn’t he? Right into that shoulder, huh?’ She hears that sound again, hears her dad begging.

“Please… just please let the girl go. She ain’t got nothin’ to do with this. It was all me. “

“And? What is that going to do for our food count, Dan? Can we eat your blame? Your responsibility?”

“No, but you can eat me.”

“DADDY!” Alyssa screams. She fights throwing punches against unseen enemies struggling to break free but never connecting.

Eddie laughs it off and cinches his hand tighter. “Keep on wiggling like that little girl and see if I don’t knock your ass out.”

She stills herself, thinking…searching for an answer.

“Now, Dan, why do you think I’d rather eat you and not her? She’s young, tender, and definitely got way less fat on her than your big ass. The fact is we’re going to eat you both. I ain’t lettin’ go the best meal I’ll have all damn month likely, and until we get ready to eat, she’ll be good for morale, don’tcha think?” he laughs then sounding just as mad as the one her daddy must have killed. If she lives through this, she’s sure she’ll never get that cackling out of her head. Even now it feels like a parasite that has managed to root its way under her skin making her ache for a shower that she’ll probably never get.

“No one really gives a shit, Eddie.” Dan’s voice is weak, but the conviction in his words is still coming through intensely. “That’s why it’s just you and me out here. Everybody else told you it was a wild goose chase and to forget about it. All you have to do is look inside to that human being that used to be there…you used to be a father yourself, man. Let her go. That’s all you have to do. Let my girl go.”

Tears threaten to spill from Alyssa’s eyes again but not from pain this time. The sound of her dad crumpling to the ground pulls her out of her sentimentality, though.

“What the fuck’s that?” Eddie manages to get out before he collapses to the ground releasing her hair in the process. She stays on the ground until she sees its Jamie standing behind where the men were holding a tree limb nearly as big as he is. He runs to her frantically and begins checking all over for signs of injury.

“Are you okay, baby? Please tell me you’re okay. Just please be alright.”

“I’m fine. Why’d you knock out my dad?!”

“I save your ass, and that’s the first thing you ask me about? Daniel? Daniel who must have led that man out here since he’s the one that called you with that whistle of his?”

“Family first, Jamie. Always.”

He shakes his head, but he hugs her tighter until he hears moaning coming from the two downed men. He leaves her then to check. Eddie’s armed with some sort of rifle. She doesn’t know what kind. That’s never really been her thing. Jamie takes it, chambers a round, and looks back at her.

“Don’t look. And cover your ears, okay? It’s going to be loud and that’s going to signal the Others, but it’s the fastest way to do this. We’re going to have to get the fuck out of here after this and both of us don’t need ringing ears.”

She does as he asks and turns her head. Eddie has to die and she doesn’t feel the least bit sorry right now, but that doesn’t mean she wants to see it.

The gun makes an enormous sound even with her hands clamped tightly over her ears. Jamie comes for her and quickly pulls her to her feet.

“What about my dad?”

“What about him?”

“He’s coming with us.”

“Alyssa…he’s shot. Look at him. He’s going to die.”

“He’s not going to die here to become food for these maniacs!”

“Fine, help me get him up. We’ve got to move. Now! We should be outta here already.”

They get Daniel to his feet. He stumbles, almost falls down again but catches himself with Jamie’s help.

“You got this?”

He glances over at Alyssa. That look in his eyes…he knows she won’t leave without him. He doesn’t have a choice but to get moving unless he wants to risk her even more.

“yeah,” he says. “For now anyway…”

Alyssa takes his hand in one of hers and Jamie’s in the other, and they run for it.

More fiction on this fine Sunday as part of Sunday Confessions with More Than Cheese and Beer. I had a couple people ask what happened to the folks in the last story I posted. I hadn't intended to finish anything. The idea was to leave it as a cliffhanger, but a certain blogging goddess I know said that would be evil. Ha. So, here we are. I don't think this is any more of a finale than the last, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. As always, any feedback is appreciated. And please, please, please head over to the MTCAB blog to read the other linkups and check out the Facebook page for anonymous confessions.