I Love That Job, Not - A Poem

My first boss at work
Was a total jerk.
Daily worried I'd be fired
Until the horse's ass retired

When the next boss came
It was more of the same
Late hours, never satisfied
Every night felt I died

Then, worse than before
New one wants even more
There's no way to satisfy
So no longer want to try

Then day off protested
My presence requested
Was not dressed right
Left without a fight

Not that he gave a shit
When I told him I quit
Had others he could screw
To replace me took two

Dreams And Destinations - CH 4 of Becoming Thuperman

Not answering Sandra's question directly didn't surprise her at all. After playing together for about as long as I could remember, she was as used to me as I was her. So, when I threw her question back at her - where do you want to go? - she smiled because I was inviting her to talk. It was what she wanted to do anyway, just she was being polite enough to invite me to go first, but since I yielded, she too the cue.

"Well, I'd like to go to California," Sandra said. "From what Uncle Ray says about it, it's nice there. I mean, I see it on TV and it looks nice, but that's not like actually being there."

"I suppose not."

"I want to see the ocean more than anything else. That would be the first thing I'd like to go see."

"Does he live near the ocean?"

"Not right on the ocean, cause only rich people can afford that, but it's close enough and a whole lot closer than here, of course. Dad said it would take three of four days if not more to drive there from here. He talks about taking a vacation and going there, but we never have, because he'd have to find somebody to run the hardware store for him while he's away."

"He has people working for him."

"I know but he says it's not the same as him being there. Mom says he'll never take a vacation. So, if I'm going to see California, I guess I'll just have to go by myself."

"Well, if the only reason you're going is to see the ocean, there is one a lot closer. I mean all the way to California is pretty far just to see an ocean."

"I know that, silly," she punched my arm, not hard but playfully. "But even that one would take a couple of days. So I figure I may as well take a couple of more days and go to California to see my first ocean. That way I can start off seeing the biggest one in the world."

"I guess that makes some sense."

"I think it makes perfect sense. Anyway, I want to see something a lot bigger than Lake Michigan. It seems so big every time I've been there. I can't see across it but I know there is another side and it's only a lake, you know? I can't imagine an ocean, especially one as huge as the Pacific."

"But there's another side to the ocean too."

"Yeah, but it all the way on the other side of the world. And on the other side everything is different. The people look and dress in strange ways. When the speak it is with another language. Their houses and what they eat – everything about their lives is unusual."

"It isn't unusual to them."

"Because it’s them. We're unusual to them."

"I kind of think there is more about people that the same than what's different."

Sandra stared at me for a few moments.

"I'm just saying. It's probably just things you can't help but noticing that makes us different. But once you get past all of that, they're people too."

She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Then hastily she glanced to make sure my Mom and Dad didn’t see her doing that.

It wasn't the first time she'd kissed me like that. It wouldn't be the last. Just I never seemed to know when it was coming or what I did to deserve it. Still it was nice when it happened.

"So, how close does Uncle Ray live tot eh ocean?"

"A few miles. Encino is really in Los Angeles. It's kind of like Normal is right next to Bloomington."

"I see."

"If I was to go there, I could stay with him. His house is big enough. He has an extra room."

"You parents are going to let you go there?"

"I don't know. I'd have to ask them first."

"So this is still more like a dream than anything else."

She nodded. "The only one I told about it before you was Aunt Flo. I was asking her because she use to live there."

"So she told you hoe to get there?"

"No, not really. The only thing she said was that if I go there to make sure I pack a gas mask." She laughed. I did too as I understood she was referring to her Uncle Ray's reputation for passing gas.

"Okay, so it's your turn to tell me. Where would you like to go?"

"I'd like to see California, too," I said. "Maybe go to Disneyland, you know? It’s out there somewhere. Really, I'd like to travel just to see everything between here and there. So I'd like to go nowhere in particular but everywhere in general."

"There's a lot of everywhere to see between here and there."

I smiled.

"There are mountains, for one thing - big mountains. It’s not flat like it is here."

"You want to see it because it's like changing the whole world around you."

"Exactly." She settled back in the seat, nodding her head. "Yeah, that's why I want to go places, to see things I haven't seen before. I want to put a lot of dots on the map and fill in the names for the places, too – the ones I like, anyway."

"You're going to need a bigger map, I think."

"That one will do fine for a while, though. It's just a start. My world is still pretty small right now."

Our conversation lulled, not that it was anything unusual. What was different about this time, Sandra opened the book of mazes she brought along and used the time to teach me how to solve mazes. Never had I imagined there was a method to it! She said she figured it out one day after working on a few in a row. To her it was like playing tic-tac-toe once you get to the point that you always end up in a draw. Always she solved the maze quickly usually within a few seconds it seemed. The larger ones took her a minute at the most.

After using her method to solve a couple of the rather imposing labyrinths from the book, she pronounced me fully enlightened. Her actual words were, "I think you got it, now."

"So, why did you buy a whole book of mazes if you know how to solve everything in it within a few seconds?"

"Well, it takes longer than a few seconds. It takes longer than that to draw the path  through it, you know? Usually, I use a pen when I'm solving them at home."

"Wow!" Her confidence impressed me. "What if you make a mistake?"

"I don't make mistakes, not with puzzles, anyway. When I bought that book, though, I wanted to see if anyone came up with anything different. So far, none of the ones I've done are different. So, I decided I'd teach you. Now, you're as good at it as I am – or close to it anyway."

"Why don't you make your own, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know how they are made so make one that would be a challenge for you to solve."

"But I'd know how it's done," she countered. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Make one that I can't solve. Since I know the trick you showed me it would be almost like you were solving it, right?"

"I guess it would."

"Sure, you can make a really hard one and see how long it takes me to solve it."

She laughed. "I'll learn how to make a maze no one can solve, then."

"That would be impossible, I think."

"Maybe not. It would be a challenge, though."

"I'll bet other people who are like you would enjoy it."

She grinned. "Maybe I'll do that. Make a whole book of them and sell them! I'll save all the money so I can get a bus ticket to California."

"You really want to go there, don’t you."

"I told you I did."

"Maybe I'll go with you."

"That would be cool. We could play games on the way. Dad says it’s really boring until you get to Colorado. It looks like it does around here but more so."

Having a dozen solved mazes under my belt, I was confident I could solve everything in the book if I took the time to do it. But I didn't want to do all of them because, then, Sandra would have to go buy another book. So I left the rest for her to do whenever she was bored enough to go back to them.

"Don't you don't want to solve any more?" she asked as she accepted the book.

"I'll wait for one of your puzzles. That will be a challenge."

"Yeah, I'll have to make that one as soon as we get home."

"Don't make it too hard, though. I'm not as expert as you are."

She chuckled. "Dad says an expert is someone who knows all the answers but doesn't understand all the questions." Bud said things like that all the time, which made it fun to talk to him. I don't think he came up with all those saying on his own, though. But he remembered anything funny anyone said to him. Also, in the hardware store he had signs with funny things like that written on them. People bought them to take home and put up on their walls. My dad had a couple of them.

One time when Sandra and I were in the store we went through all the signs and read the sayings. Some were pretty funny, which was the entire point. People enjoy laughing and prefer it to almost anything else. It's certainly better than crying.

"You did good, though. You learned fast," She patted me on the back. It was quite a sense of accomplishment for a guy who sometimes gets lost going to the bathroom in the dark at night – which is why there are nightlights in the house to show me the way.

By then, we had reached the point where Mom exited the Interstate. It was well to the south of the airport. At the time day – which was after rush hour – the traffic on Cicero wasn't bad and, according to her, that was the best way to get in and out of Midway on the south side.

It was still a ways to the airport, but at least we had something to look at along the way. We were entering the south end of the city. Sandra suggested we play Punch-Buggy which was a game that involves spotting any Volkswagen car, but especially Beetles - regardless of model year, and being the first to call out the color before punching your opponent in the arm. As you might imagine, Sandra was very good at the game, as she was everything we played. Still, it was fun.

With Sandra punch-buggy – once started – tends to be ongoing for at least the remainder of the trip. No matter what else distracted attention, it played on in the background. It gave us something to do when we weren't doing anything else – not even talking.

Several minutes and many traffic lights later, with the airport in sight, Dad started gathering up his belongings in anticipation of being dropped off. There was a suitcase in the trunk, but otherwise he had a briefcase and a backpack up front with him. He was going to be gone for four days, which meant a return road trip on Monday to pick him up. Already, I invited Sandra to come along, and she promised we would bring along plenty of things to do on the way.

Mom pulled up to departures. Sandra and I observed the rushing rat race around us, into which Mom was immediately immersed. She popped the trunk, while Dad got out and staged his things on the curb before meeting her at the back where he fetched his suitcase. Of course the trunk lid blocked our view, but we could tell Mom and Dad hugged and kissed. A couple of other cars honked – as if what they were doing was wrong or against the rules. Anyway, it hurried them along.

We all waved to Dad and Mom slipped in behind the wheel. Hastily she pulled away, merging into traffic, the focus of the whole trip seemed over. It happened so quickly. Like many things awaited in anticipation, arriving seemed a disappointment. Still, it occupied a good chunk of the morning.

The Manor On The Hill - Fiction

The room was empty. Ms. Ames, the real estate agent, shivered as she entered. Brent paused at the threshold, imagining the solarium filled with lush tropical foliage. Still, as he stepped into the room he also had a feeling. Eeriness was the only word to describe the sensation that both stimulated Brent's imagination and intimidated him. "Someone died here," he said.

Ms. Ames stepped back, staring at Brent's characteristically stoic face, trying very hard to get a read, but found him uncooperative. "Yes, one of the past owners died here," she admitted.

"He died in this room."

"I'm afraid I don't know all the details. It was a very long time ago."

"Forty-seven years, right over there," Brent pointed to one of the supporting beams for the solarium. "He hung there, dead for three weeks until a caretaker came to tend to the landscaping and saw the body through the glass."

"Obviously, you have more knowledge about the history of this house than I do. Have you spoken to the people in town?"

"No, should I?"

"Well, not unless you want to, of course," she said nervously. "No doubt their versions of things will be more colorful, but probably not all that accurate."

"I haven't lived in the area for long, but I have done some research," Brent said. "I also know there is a kernel of truth to every legend, especially those about haunted houses."

"Yes, well, the manor has a reputation, as I told you before."

"This room has a wonderful view of the bay," Brent offered her a chance to change the subject.

"It is the best view of anywhere. The family who owns the estate lived here for well over two hundred years. They were prominent and well respected in the community."

"And no one lives in the area any longer?"

"They have all moved away."

"It's a pity. This is a solid, well-built house," Brent allowed. "Obviously, it has withstood many nor'easters. It's a bit large, though."

"The price is negotiable."

"Because of its history."

"Mr. Woods, as you must know from your research, many houses in this area are considered haunted."

Brent laughed. "But none rival this one's reputation."

"Would you like to see any more of the house or are we ready to move on to the next property?'

"You know what, I love this solarium and the view. And the adjacent room would be perfect as my study. What is the asking price?"

"Six hundred thousand, which is very reasonable considering the location and the size of the property."

"That's too rich for my blood."

"As I said, it is negotiable."

"How negotiable?"

"Frankly, the house has been on the market for a while. The family would like to sell the property, of course. As you can imagine, the expenses and taxes without any income from the property are burdensome. They have considered making it a museum and charging admission but are concerned it would increase the maintenance costs. I think if you make a reasonable offer, they would consider it."

"Tell them four hundred thousand. They are not responsible for any improvements to the property, and I pay closing costs."

The agent jotted down her notes, then looked up, smiling broadly. "The house's reputation does not concern you?"

"It concerns me, but it is not a determining factor," Brent replied. "Look, it's an old house. It has character as well as history. I like it. I like it a lot. Its reputation may benefit me."

"How so?"

"I am a writer, Ms. Ames. I thrive in quiet privacy. I am certain no one will disturb me here. Should any of my relatives care to visit, I have extra rooms."

"The existing furnishings are included. Some of them are rare pieces, of course."

"Of course."

"You're certain with the offer?"

"I rarely do anything I am unsure of, Ms. Ames."

"Great! We can return to my office and I will draw up the formal paperwork for the offer."

"The offer is considerably more than it is worth," Brent said as they walked toward the foyer. "The property is unkempt and the house needs repairs to both the electrical and the plumbing. I have considered that in my offer."

"I will be sure to mention that to the owners."

"They can take my offer or wait for the next. But that may be years in coming and it will not come from me."

* * * *

It was the first room Brent populated, not with furniture but with tropical plants brought by truck from Miami. He intended to turn the solarium into a virtual rain forest.

When the movers arrived with his other furnishings, the driver commented, "Do you have more things coming?"

"I always have more things coming," Brent replied. "What do you mean specifically?

"This is a huge house, sir. That is what I mean. You have twenty or thirty pieces of furniture on the truck."

"The actually number is twenty-five. Good estimate, though."

"If you don't mind my asking, what do you do with all this space?'

"Spread out!" Brent exclaimed, but then laughed. "Many of the rooms are already furnished. Obviously, I won't use all of them. If anyone cares to come stay for a bit, I can accommodate them."

"You are aware of what they say about this place."

"Yes, I am well aware that it is considered haunted."

"Well, it is. Everyone in town knows stories about this place."

"That is the very reason I want to live here."

"They say the last guy who lived here hung himself."

"Yes, I know. It was in the solarium. But his ghost or any others here don't discourage me. I have stayed here quite often already."

"Are you some kind of ghost hunter?"

"I have never needed to hunt," Brent said, then walked around to the back the truck and stood by the lift gate as the first pieces of his furniture were lowered to the ground.

* * * *

When everything was safely inside and where Brent specified, he paid the movers in cash for their services.

"Best of luck to you, Mr. Woods," the driver offered his hand.

"Same to you," Brent shook the driver's hand, and then added. "Sam."

Sam paused, staring at Brent for a moment, wondering when he had ever told him his first name. He shrugged as he returned to the truck cab. He dismissed the creepiness he felt, excusing most of it on the old house.

Brent stood at the doorstep, watching the truck progress down the long winding lane and through the main gate. He made a mental note to drive down the hill and lock the gate sometime before dark. Ms. Ames had warned him about the boys in town. They considered it a test of their manhood to walk up to the house at night, alone.

He stepped into the foyer and closed the front door behind him. For the first time since he bought the old manor, he felt it was his home. There was a coat tree along the wall to the left and a grandfather clock on the wall to the right. He hung his jacket on the first then turned to the latter and adjusted the counterweights to ensure it continued to maintain the correct time.

Into the solarium, he passed through the foliage to savor the spectacular view. He drew a deep breath and freed it slowly. Visually, he appraised a large open space he set aside for a hydroponics garden. Growing his food made a lot of sense. It would spare him a few trips into town.

Brent went into his study where most of his belongings were still stacked, sealed in boxes. He hated moving. It would take him a week to get settled! What if he left everything in boxes until he actually needed something? No, that was a bad idea. He did that once before. It added to the frustration of needing something later on and not being able to find it.

He went to the kitchen to unpack the few things. He unloaded the two coolers he brought from his former residence, transferring the contents of one to the freezer and the other to the refrigerator. Getting the canned food and non-perishables onto the shelves in the pantry seemed the next priority, especially if he wanted to prepare something later on.

Next, he unpacked the boxes containing his pots, pans, dishes, glasses and flatware and stored them appropriately in cabinets or drawers.

The original kitchen was too old to be serviceable. The sink was replaced along with the drains. The plumber also ran new pipes and drains and installed modern bathrooms both upstairs and downstairs. The work took a month to complete and cost a small fortune.

Once the plumber finished with the upstairs bathroom, Brent kind-of moved in. He had been sleeping in one of the furnished rooms. After several hours of dusting, cleaning and vacuuming, that one room was livable. He guessed the bed was made fifty years ago and hadn't been slept in since. He bought fresh sheets and a comforter for it. It was Brent's room, until his bed was delivered.

An antique shop in town hauled away a vintage icebox that was in good shape and probably would work, if anyone would care to try it. The shop owner begged him to sell several other pieces, including a working Victrola and a collection of seventy-eights, but Brent declined. The nostalgia intrigued him. His mother collected antiques. He recalled that she bought a Victrola at an auction when he was a boy.

The cooking stove was another matter. It was huge, made of cast iron and needed cleaning-up before anyone would want it, even for scrap metal. He spent a day scrubbing it with assorted cleaners before giving up and deciding to leave it where it sat. He made other plans for arranging the kitchen appliances.

Brent employed an electrician to rewire the house and install modern breaker boxes. The electrician told him Edison's company wired the house in the late 1800's. He had seen the work before in other old houses in town. Portions of the downstairs had been upgraded sometime in the 1930's, but the original exposed wires were strung from insulators along the baseboards or ceilings in many of the upstairs rooms. Brent decided to leave the old wiring in tact but disconnected.

The last thing the electrician installed was a vented hood in a vacant corner of the kitchen where he ran the power to an special outlet for the range.

When Brent finished unpacking in the kitchen, he broke down the empty boxes for storage in the attic. He separated the paper from the plastic and Styrofoam that had served as packing materials and filled garbage bags. When he completed all the unpacking, he planned to take the bags to the recycling station at the city dump.

It was late afternoon when Brent reentered his study. He knew in advance he would need several days to sort through the contents of those hastily packed boxes. The boxes that contained his computer were the easy ones to unpack. The remainder presented the challenges. Some contained junk while others were filled with memorabilia and souvenirs from his travels and adventures. The seventeen other boxes were stuffed with the sum total of his writing, everything prior to his acquiring a computer. All of his typewritten notes, drafts, journals and feinted attempts at novels or shorter pieces needed to be sorted. Much of it could be discarded. It was just something he kept putting off for more than twenty years.

Before he started with the boxes in his study, he drove down the hill to lock the front gates. On the way to and from, he made mental notes about the landscaping. Of course, the grass needed to be mowed. He would need to contract a landscaper to do the job. There were several dead trees that needed to be cut down. Others needed dead limbs trimmed and removed. Some of the shrubbery had grown beyond utility and needed to be torn out and replaced. It could take years before the estate was as he wanted it.

* * * *

Brent worked in his study for most of the night, opening and exploring the contents of one box at a time. It was cathartic in a way, rekindling his sensations and feelings from the past when he had more energy and desire to write about anything and everything. Most of the material was rubbish, he decided. Some was ghastly, thin and vane. There were a few pieces he kept, feeling they could be turned into something worthwhile.

When the discarded pages filled the trashcan to overflowing, he transferred the paper into a garbage bag and dragged it to the foyer. He staging it alongside the other bags of recyclable materials.

Throughout the night, he heard the same noises he'd grown accustomed to since the first night he'd stayed in the manor. He expected the creaking floorboards and random slamming doors. Occasional moans and groans did not disturb him. Footsteps running along the corridors upstairs were no concern. The sound of someone falling down the staircase, though, reminded him to research that to determine what happened in the house's past.

It was obvious that dozens of the previous occupants died in the manor. Considering its age, it did not surprise Brent at all.

Truth - An excerpt from the novel One Over X

Lee's face was transfixed, emotionless and expressionless. He knew! Of course, he knew. Andy could see it clearly. He did not have to violate Lee's privacy of mind to know the truth.. Lee was never like him. Still, it was not utter fabrication either. Terry supplied Lee with some very powerful gifts, but he was not becoming anything more than Harper and Samuelson were.

Andy was very different. His alteration was on the molecular level, in his DNA. Andy was unique, a new form of life. He was enough human to still relate to the world, but alien enough to stand outside of human concern, emotionless and detached. This was the difference that frightened Harper to the marrow.

Samuelson was wrong as well. He was the evil. Harper had good intentions. Lee served to balance their extremes. Andy was never in their equation.

Andy's existence threatened the overall plan. There were no operations that could save him. Only those that delayed the inescapable. Ingenious biochemical engineering and cocktails of steroids, hormones and drugs to suppress the abnormalities of his physiology weren't the answer. The surgery was mainly for cosmetic reasons. Since Caroline's abduction, Harper needed him to run Henderson Industries to maintain the funding for LOOKING GLASS.

Terry didn't need to kill him. Already, he was terminal. That was the meaning of the blackness, the voids he could not see past in his future. The alterations were irreversible but also deadly to the parts of him that remained human.

Andy would not cease to exist though. He would become more in death than he was in life. This too, Harper feared. That was what they wished to control, if not manipulate.

Harper wished to keep him isolate. That was Lee's purpose. On the weekends, or whenever Lee was unable to watch Andy, there were security guards assigned to watch the beach house. During the week, when Andy was at the corporate building in Houston, he was closely monitored and always in the company of at least one of his assistants.

Andy accepted his fate. Already, he had crossed so many barriers, would death be any greater challenge? He knew the truth about the thresholds. He understood The Continuum in a very intimate way. Inside it were access points to the manifold layers of Heaven and Hell. Why had he been so unaware of the truth, so distracted?

Terry was going to be greatly disappointed. His understanding was limited by human perception. It was not his fault. He was a puny myopic nuisance to Andy.

For his part, Lee paced the back deck of the beach house. He seemed content to permit the continuance of silence.

"Well?" Andy prompted.

Lee halted abruptly, as if the words turned him to immediately alter his direction, like a target in a shooting gallery. Slowly, he made his way back to Andy, then sat down beside him.

"They told me a couple of years ago," Lee confessed. "They weren't sure you knew that the mutation causes a terminal condition... at least for the human part of you it is terminal. They don't know whether the rest of you will live on in absence of the human cells. In time, the human parts of your physical being will cease to exist."

"When my body dies, I die." Andy confirmed. "My body is largely human. My essence, however, is eternal, as is anyone's. You do not believe in life after death. I didn't either. I was a good boy and went to Mass with my mother and Caroline. I learned what I had to learn and said what I had to say. But I was not Catholic, not really. Then it occurred to me that the afterlife is largely defined by whatever you expect it to be. If that is nothing, then it will be nothing. There are any number of Heavens and Hells, Lee."

"Is that intended as a warning?"

"You will die, too, Lee. Just a statement of fact."

"They really didn't mutate me," Lee confessed, "At least, not to any dangerous extent."

"I know. You will die anyway, whether of old age, smoking too much or an untimely accident. There are a lot of opportunities out there. Death is undeniably the ultimate destination in living and it's inevitable."

"Oh, that," Lee laughed.

"I've known for sometime that my condition is terminal. I was hoping you were not part of the deception. But it all fell together. You could not be like me."

Lee shrugged, lowering his eyes to avert his friend's further condemnation. Lee really did like Andy and felt guilty, regardless how good the reasons for what was done. Trying to change the subject back, "You know when I will die, I suppose?"

"I know when and where it is most likely, and every alternative time."

"When?"

"You don't need to know."

"Then why the hell did you bring it up?"

"Because you need to be ready to die any time. You believe you are in control, but there is nothing you can control."

"That sounds religious."

"It's not religion. As I have said, I have never cared for any religion. There are always zealots, true believers in a doctrine, and they can be far more dangerous than the evil their religion claims to be fighting. What I have faith in is the Truth. No one holds a patent on that. Organized religion lost track of the Truth long ago. Occasionally, there is a congregation that finds some cornerstone or pillar to build on. People flock to. They know the Truth when they hear it. That is faith, not religion. When the religion comes into it, the whole institutionalization thing happens. Very few congregations can overcome the desire to become a large body of shared faith. It is the very size that destroys clarity of focus on the Truth."

"I stopped going to church when I was thirteen," Lee said. "I haven't gone back, except for attending weddings and funerals. I guess I can understand what you are saying. We really aren't far apart in what we believe. But I do not believe there is anything after this life."

Andy paused to take a deep breath. "I met two men this evening, before you returned."

"I beg your pardon."

"Two men, here, guardians," Andy restated.

"Andy, some of the pills that you are taking..."

"I am not under the influence. I haven't been taking the pills for a couple of weeks."

"So they were guardians, as in angels?" Lee pulled out a cigarette, lit it and spoke through the puff of expelled smoke. "Right here, on this deck?"

"Guardians as in guardians. Out on the beach, below the deck."

"Oh," Lee chuckled, as if the location of the event made any difference. "I see. That doesn't strike you as peculiar?"

"I can part the fabric of the real world and pass through it, and you have seen me do it. You have been to another world yourself and can even revisit other times in your life. Even so, you doubt that guardians exist? Or is it that you doubt I saw them?"

With a shrug, Lee conceded the point.

"I am dangerous to you. That's the bottom line," Andy changed the subject back.

Lee laughed, "I am dangerous to myself."

"But not to Terry's plan. They sent you to come get me. They sent you back to a time and place a few days after I left this world, I didn't have a chance to do much of anything, except learn about the Hovdin and the Sabatin and their languages. I don't even recall being captured. Anyway, why do you think there is a time differential? When I returned, I lost the last few years. You brought me directly here for one reason. I am now out-of-synch with my native reference in time. I cannot foresee everything. There is a void ahead of me. All the things I was supposed to do before being here don't quite link up to this place and time. In many aspects, I am not here at all. As far as the temporal landscape is concerned, I am still on Anter'x. That is why my perception is limited."

"Then jump back and catch-up."

"I cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"I am out-of-synch. Weren't you listening?"

"Yeah, I heard you say that, but I didn't understand it."

"I have no anchoring point, Lee. I need a fixed reference point to leap from or go back to. To nature, I am still in the process of a shift, just as you were when you came to get me. That is one of the problems with the bridging method. Anseil learned that on Anter'x. I think that is why it was necessary for me to become Hovdin."

"So you didn't need a bridge to cross the Continuum because of the physiological changes."

"Precisely."

Lee sat back, thoughtfully silent for a moment.

"The Hovdin and the Sabatin have profound differences in their molecular structure, completely alien to Earth. They are unlimited by the magnetic fields of this world and the laws of nature here. In some regards, their physiology is much like the guardians I met tonight. Right away, a part of me knew them for what they were. There was otherworldliness about them. Even an average human could sense it. All creatures of this world know whenever something is out of place with this reality. Humans know, but for some reason, they tend to ignore it."

"'They', you said 'they'."

"I'm not human, Lee."

"So, these people on the other side, they could come and go as they want through the Continuum, if it was not for the obstructions Anseil set into place?"

"What I learned from the computers on Anter'x is that most of the Hovdin at present are unaware of this ability that they have, except that there are legends of peoples in the past crossing over to Earth to explore and at one time establish colonies. The Mandorlas were involved. They were wide open for them to come and go."

"Humans were already here, then." Lee suggested.

"Mankind was not as they are now. The Sabatin intented to make menial servants, and in order to do that, they had to make a being that could survive the Continuum and who could be taught to serve them. So, they spliced Hovdin genes into human DNA to create a completely new matrix. They bred people like cattle, selecting the best attributes for survival and for their purposes Even so, it did not work out too well. The human part was far too weak and vulnerable and very much tied to the fields of this world."

"We were useless to them," Lees said. "Harper says humans were not the only creatures from Earth that the Sabatin toyed with."

"They attempted to advance some other animals, even succeeding in transporting several of them to Anter'x. Still, it was unnatural."

Lee butted the cigarette on the sole of his cowboy boot and flicked the remains out onto the beach. "So, when are you going back?"

"As soon as I settle things at Henderson Industries. Or you find Caroline. Anyway, my one day off is almost over." Andy stood up. "I have an early day tomorrow. The corporate 'copter will be here at six."

The Race - A Poem About Acquiring Wisdom

There is no need for age,
To make someone a sage.
The wise do not refute it.
The older you grow,
The more you know,
The less you can dispute it.

Life does not portend,
Or days in life depend
When purpose is peace.
Who is there to say,
You live your life today
Fold time back in crease?

The facts are fine,
If you can define
The points that linger.
The balance seeds life;
Survival avoids strife.
No one points a finger.

Prophet of this age,
Dogs rabid without rage,
Seek ways to another place.
Yield wealth in escrow,
Money with you won't go.
Not a part of the inane race.

Maps And Mazes - CH 3 of Becoming Thuperman

Sandra was always really good with solving puzzles and winning at games. That was the foundation for special powers as a super-heroine. Most eight-year-old girls play with dolls or read fairy tales. When they get older they collect dolls and read romance novels. Sandra always solved puzzles in her spare time whenever she wasn't playing video games. When she went to the bookstore she bought books about beating games and usually a book of puzzles to solve. It didn't matter what kind of puzzles were in the book, it didn't take her more than a few days to solve everything. She was that good.

On the way to the airport, Dad and Mom were talking while the radio played in the background, tuned to a Country station which Dad always listened to. Mom listened to it too, I guess, but she liked eighties pop music more so than Country. To me it all sounded mainly boring. Sandra and I didn't have any musical preferences at that point, I guess.

Sandra's older brother, Spike, whose real name was Lyle - yeah, I thought Spike was a cooler name, too - played drums in a Punk band called Drill. They were supposedly pretty good, as in they actually got paid for playing gigs. He dressed funny and frequently changed his hairdo. Each time he did it usually involved switching between colors not normally found in nature. As his nickname implied, his hair was stiffened with gel into sharp peaks atop his head. Whenever his hair was dark he colored the tips red so it almost looked like he had matches sticking up from his scalp. Definitely, he was not someone normal either, but that was cool, 'cause who was - especially in my world?

Sandra pulled out her wallet from the pocket of her jeans, removing a folded piece of paper from where you're supposed to keep whatever paper money you have - she had six dollars in there too, which was really good for a Wednesday in that her allowance was replenished every Friday. Carefully, she opened the paper and then handed it to me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"What does it look like?"

"Well, it sorta looks like a map."

"It is."

"What's it a map of?"

"I don't know, just something I drew last night."

"This was the project you were working on?"

"Part of it."

"It goes this way? I mean, this is the top?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's north."

I nodded. "None of the dots have names."

"I can't exactly name any of the places until I've been there."

"I don't think that's how it's supposed to work with maps. I kinda think it's supposed to help people find places they've never been. And to do that you have to name the places in advance so if the map is all wrong or it confuses you somehow, you can stop and ask directions."

"What if I don't want to ever go to those places?" she asked.

"They still exist, though."

"Do they?"

"Sure they do," I said. "I've never been to New York City where Dad's going, but it's there."

"Well, because your Dad is flying there."

"Even if he wasn't it would still be there."

She laughed. "Well, that can be your world. This one is mine." She pointed to the map. "So, I can make the rules. That's my first rule, that I make the rules."

"So, you're inventing a whole world and making it up as you go?"

"Well, not yet, just that part of it. I figure that's probably like the size of Bloomington and maybe out into the country a little ways."

"Okay."

"I didn't want to get too large just yet. It's not like I'm ready for anything bigger. I think, the world should be large enough so you don't feel confined but small enough so you don't get lost along the way."

"That makes some sense," I said - it did then and still does.

"So, this is tied to the real world?"

"My world, yes."

"Where are we now, then?"

"Right about here, almost off the edge."

"Okay. So, this is tied to the real world?"

"It sort of is, but it doesn't have to be."

"I kinda like this. I mean, if you don't like where you are, you can just be somewhere else."

"Exactly." She laughed.

I started folding it.

"No, you keep that one. It's yours."

"What about you?"

"I have another one, exactly like it. I made another one on Dad's copier. That's the original, so whatever we discover on that one, we mark it and it will appear on the other one, automatically."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, that's how things work in my world."

"That's cool. We can sort of make-up the world to suit us together, I guess."

"Yeah, I could use your help. That's why I made a copy."

Taking out my own wallet I started to fold up the map.

"No, once you open it, you have to not put it away when you're traveling, otherwise it doesn't work anymore."

"Okay, it's just that's going to be kind of hard to do all the time. Maybe not riding in a car but when I'm on my bike. Anyway, we're probably over the edge by now."

"Well, you have to keep it out until you memorize it."

"I can probably live with that rule." I returned my wallet to my hip pocket, not that there was anything much in it. I'd spent all my allowance before Sunday was over, but I was used to that.

The only thing I had in my wallet was an ID card I carried around ever since the day the police made it for me at school. They did that one day for all the kids who had their parents' permission. An official file was created with my fingerprints and the color or my eyes, hair where I have birthmarks and scars - stuff like that. It was supposed to be so they could find me easier if I got lost. I knew my name, address, phone number, parents' names and all that - the very same information on the ID card. So other than having my finger prints on it, I wasn't sure how it was supposed to help me if I got lost. And if I was lost and all they had left of me was my finger prints, being found wouldn't matter to me much. It wasn't like I needed the ID card. I knew who I was, of course. But it was to show everyone else, I guess.

The way Sandra explained her map, though, it seemed like a much better idea than having an ID card.

"You see, if we ever get lost," she said. "Like we're separated from each other, you just have to head back to the center, right here," she pointed to the center of the map indicating the origin of her world, which was in her bedroom in her house.

"And that works?"

"I haven't tried it yet, but it should, don't you think?"

"Yeah, sure. I mean, why not?"

"My dad always says life's an adventure, so you need to always be prepared to go somewhere else. I think if I'm going on an adventure, I need to have a map so I can find my way back to where I started out."

"Why would anyone want to get back to Normal?"

Sandra laughed at what I said, then I did too, realizing what it meant if someone didn't know I was talking about the city we were from. Then, after she stopped laughing she took my hand. "If we ever get separated, maybe going back to where we started is the best way to find each other."

I nodded. It made a lot of sense to me.

Sandra went on to explain where the idea of the map came from. Her dad told her a story about when he was a kid and the guys he played with on the street where he grew up found a map they all decided must be a treasure map. So they tried to figure out what place the map represented so they could find the buried treasure.

"Did they ever find the treasure."

"No, because they never figured out what the map was."

"See, that's why you need to name the places on a map," I said, feeling it proved my previous point.

"Well that would have been helpful if the person drawing the map wanted a stranger to find the treasure. But it was probably for the map drawer to remember where he buried it."

"Okay, I guess I can see that happening. Does your dad still have the map?"

"No, he said he kept it for a while but it got misplaced in all the moving around his parents did. It wasn't around here anyway. It was when Dad's dad was in the Army and he moved around a lot."

"I see."

Sandra's father, Bud - like the abbreviation for the beer though that was not even close to his given name, Roger - owned a hardware store in town. He was one of those Mr. Fix-it kind of guys. Dad asked him to do favors anytime something broke around the house, which was often enough as our house was pretty old. Usually something would stop working and Dad would attempt to fix it and, in the process, mess it up a lot worse than it was before. He'd call Bud and he'd come over, fix whatever it was and then Dad and Bud would end up on the back porch drinking the aforementioned beers and talking until it was past my bedtime. I'm not sure what they talked about. But sometimes I overheard them mentioning Sandra and me.

Sandra's mom was teacher's aid at the elementary school. She had been since before Sandra and I started school, so usually I called her Mrs. Richardson anyway, even if Sandra called her Betty, though her real name was Elizabeth. Bud and Betty insisted Sandra and Spike call them by their first names. Usually, Sandra did that when she was at home. Most other times she referred to her parents as Dad or Mom.

My parents were more traditional. My dad would have been pissed if I called him Irv or, even worse, Irving - he hated his given name almost as much as I did Wilson. Mom was okay if I called her Lois, but it didn't seem right, if I called my dad, Dad, and my mom, Lois. There's a lot to be said about keeping balance to the things in your life and that just never felt like it was level enough.

Bud had a second life - that's how he referred to it. The garage in their house wasn't the place Betty or Bud parked their vehicles. It was a workshop. Inside there was every tool I could ever imagine ever existing, a lot of things I had no idea what they were for - and still don't. Sandra's dad knew how to use every one of them, though.

With those tools he made things for other people, custom built cabinets, tables, chairs - but not just woodworking stuff. He made other things as well. When I was eight, I was pretty sure Bud was really a wizard in disguise. When I mentioned that to Sandra, she kind of agreed with me, especially after he made a faerie castle for her birthday, somewhere to keep her collection of tiny faerie figurines. It was actually pretty cool looking, like it was another world sitting on a rug on the hardwood floor of her bedroom.

According to Sandra, the center of the map I held in my hand represented the very spot in her bedroom where that faerie castle sat. Knowing Sandra as I did, that made a lot of sense. One of her many personas was Sand, a name she shared with one of her faerie figurines. She said sometimes they traded places and she became a faerie. To me that seemed kind of crazy. Why would you become a faerie and just stand around in a small castle. Sandra said once she traded places, all the faeries, including her, could move around like people normally would. Of course, that only worked when Sandra was in her room alone, so it was hard for me to comment on it further other than to say I believed she believed what she told me.

"So, where do you want to go?" Sandra asked. It came abruptly, jarring me from wherever my daydreaming mind meandered, dragging the rest of me along. I had to think about what we were talking about before.

Man, What Are You Doing Here? - Changing Careers

Nothing was easy about the decision. Choices of such magnitude rarely are. For a very long time, I felt under appreciated and overworked. Certainly, my condition was not unique.I'd grown embarrassed in my situation, though. Pride in my work was absent. So was the sense of accomplishment at day's end. Was there ever enough for the puppet masters who delighted in micromanaging my daily dance?

The conclusion of too many at-work conversations was, 'man, what are you doing here?' There was no easy answer. I ended up doing what I did and allowed it to become what I was. For a time, it was a satisfying diversion. The compensation was good enough to dream of a comfortable life in my later years while providing for my family's immediate needs.

It never stopped mattering to me. I always sought to do my best. My achievements went unrecognized, but it did not matter much. I was compensated for what I did and it always allowed me time alone to pursue my dreams and diversions.

Since my family was mature, the kids moved out, my married life over, my dreams became my truest ambitions.

Then, my job encroached more routinely upon private time. Although I couldn't afford it, I could not do otherwise but what I did. The compensation for my work was never increased. Only the demands and expectations of my time grew, ever insisting I do more and stay later if necessary.

For the sake of my sanity and sense of balance, I resigned. Since that decision, I have struggled in many ways, but in others I have succeeded. Jobless, I have reached a higher level of creativity than I could have otherwise achieved.

My new career is writing. So, I'll write, until I exhaust whatever I needed to say.