A kiss to build a dream on...

Mon, 26 Jul 2004 09:46:14 GMT

I’m going to call this entry ‘A kiss to build a dream on”. Melissa, a character whom you’ll meet in a few sentences, loved Louis Armstrong, and the last time I looked into her eyes that song was playing in the background. After buying the CD myself as a reminder of that night, that song is only 3 minutes long. If you told me it was 3 days long, I would have believed you. That night seemed like forever and a day, but it was my first time with this, so I think it merits a tale-telling. So my first time with the ‘s’ word:

“A kiss to build a dream on...”

The worst part about being married was dumping your girlfriend. Lets face it married guys…it’s a challenge all in itself to remain faithful. After 23 years of marriage, my tastes began to wander to the younger and more…supple I guess you could say. Introducing the great Melissa Joy Neehan, a debutante in her own little world. Melissa and I met while I was getting my usual at a local Denny’s restaurant in the mid 90’s. She said hello to me while I was having my morning cup of coffee and Grand Slam and naturally I greeted her back and commented on something shallow and stupid like her shirt, the weather, the food or something. Shortly thereafter we started talking on the phone from my office and soon after that…started seeing one another romantically. I would frequently find reasons to leave…I would suddenly need a car part ‘just before AutoZone closed’ or my mother needed my help moving something. Normally, we would meet up at her house and start things off there, maybe go out, but usually everything happened there. She lived alone and didn’t even have a pet. I know I couldn’t do that. I always need some living presence around me or I start to feel nauseous and uneasy. Everything was perfectly planned and set up. Nothing could really go wrong. The only thing that could go wrong would be her wanting more out of this relationship than sex and friendship. Since this was my first time cheating, I didn’t know, as more seasoned cheaters probably did, that all ‘other women’ ask for more than sex and friendship eventually. I remember the last time Melissa and I had sex was in October sometime. No, come to think of it, It must have been very early if not the first day of November. I remember looking at a Halloween decoration when I was trying to catch my breath. She went of off the pill due to a horrible episode involving alcohol, her birth control pills, and some antibiotics. I pulled out and dumped all I had to give her belly while connecting with her eyes which gave me this odd gaze like I was going on a long vacation or saying my goodbyes before I left for war. I handed her a dishtowel and pulled my underwear up while asking “What’s up?” She told me she needed more from me or she was going to tell my wife everything. Little did I know that she started to frequent my wife’s antique shop in Williamsville. She didn’t expect me to take it well, which I didn’t. Heartburn occurs when stomach acid comes up and irritates the esophagus. This was the only time I ever had heartburn from my heart sinking into my belly and being bathed in that corrosive crap. That’s what it felt like, anyway. I told her I was married to my wife longer than she’s been alive. That didn’t go over to well. She started crying and I grabbed my stuff and drive home. I was afraid if what I would have to do because it had been some time since I had to…silence someone with brute force, or even worse…blunt force.

That night I gave Melissa a call from a cell phone I burrowed from a friend of mine. I asked her I had rethought the whole ordeal and I wanted to see her. She sounded ecstatic to hear my voice again and promptly agreed to my visit. I knew I would have to dispose of her tonight. I was off this addiction for 5 years now and I hated that she was making me break my silent swearing off murder. Actually, I think that’s the only reason why I went through with it. She would never be silent unless I silenced her; that’s just how she was wired. I honestly didn’t want to kill her. I could cut out her tongue, but she could still write. I could cut out her tongue and cut off all of her fingers, but then she could still get her message across somehow. I really needed to think of a way to incapacitate her beyond belief without killing her. In my youth I could have gotten away with this like it was cheating on a 5th grade math test. I wasn’t so sure of myself now. I formulated an idea involving a pantry in her kitchen. I could tell you now but I don’t want to get any of you off too fast, here. Before I went to her place…I needed to go shopping.

I withdrew 200 dollars out of my checking account are hit an Ace/Tru-value hardware store a few towns over. I walked in and started doing the confused customer swagger combined with the ‘I’m looking everywhere but not really at anything’ look. After about 2 minutes of that, a drone walked up to me and asked if she could help me find anything. I told her how I was going to be doing a project with a few friends soon and I needed to know what not to use in an enclosed non-ventilated space. She told me how it was good to be taking the well-being of my ‘men’ into account when buying materials. I think she assumed I was a construction foreman or something similar, so I just played along with it. She led me over to the adhesives section and showed me to some epoxies we shouldn’t use when there wasn’t a window readily available. I took note of the band and asked about different kinds of paint, compounds, and stains; anything that shouldn’t be used indoors. When I had a respectable amount of brand names in my head, I thanked her and told her I would be back shortly. Instead I got into the car and drove to a different Ace/Tru-value hardware store that was closer to Melissa’s house. I bought some epoxy, spray paint, caulking and some engine starter fluid. A few blocks away, there was a gas station. I walked over and said how my car ran out of gas and I need to buy a small container of it. After obtaining that, I called Melissa from a payphone and made sure she would be there when I got there and if she would be alone.

I walked in and gave her some sob story about how she was the right one for me and my marriage had gone sour. She was so happy, but tired. So I said that we should just go to bed instead of just talking here. I crawled into bed with her with no intention of sex, just sleep.

At around 2am I woke up and made like I was going to the bathroom or getting a drink of water, I don’t exactly remember which. I walked out to my car and got the supplies. Her pantry wasn’t well ventilated and food spoiled in there all the time. She got this house through an inheritance and didn’t really have the money to fix it up. These things were going to take me out if I didn’t hurry this up. The mixture of odors and fumes from the gasoline, engine fluid and epoxy was almost overpowering as I heard Melissa start to come down the stairs. I slammed the door closed, but I didn’t lock it. She asked me what I was still doing up and I told her that I thought I smelled a gas leak in the house. I walked over to her kitchen drawers and stumbled across the can opener. While grabbing the can opener, I mentioned how it smelled strongest over by the pantry. With one crusty just-woke-up eye open, she opened the door to the pantry to see a jug of gasoline, a thing of industrial strength glue and that stuff she uses when the snow blower won’t turn over in the wintertime. She turned to ask me what the fuck was going on, but was only met to a fine mist of black and white spray point to the eyes. She screamed and flailed at me as I shoulder checked her into the pantry. While she still lay on the floor, I grabbed a pair of scissors and poked a hole down the top of the spray can so it would drain all the paint out in the closet. I tossed the paint can and a can opener inside. A kitchen chair jammed the door while I dashed to the garage to get some nails and a hammer. All the while her screaming and yelling was getting to me. “Why are you going upstairs?” she screamed at me while I ran up to get her radio and the first CD I could muster; Louis Armstrong’s ‘A kiss to build a dream on”. I turned it up as loud as it would go and it muffled her out pretty well. The pounding of the nails going into the doorframe and the drum beat to this song almost made me forget why or who I was boarding this door up. Maybe it was just the fumes, who knows. After I had the nails in place, I picked up the caulking and filled the space in between the door and the doorframe with caulk. The only air supply she would have would be the very tiny space between the door and the floor. I told her that I didn’t want to kill her, but I needed to silence her some how. I know that if I couldn’t silence her, I would have to make her forget. I immediately thought of brain damage. Knowing not to leave any physical evidence around, I decided I would flood a small space with chemicals until her brain turned to mush and couldn’t even comprehend how to take a piss into a toilet let alone a play by play of a murder attempt. Once a day, I’ll check in with her and see if she’s still alive. If she is, I’ll come back the next day. I mentioned to her that since I’m not heartless, I threw a can opener in there so she could eat what was in the pantry. I then went home, took a shower and crawled into bed with the wife. With a peck on her forehead, I snuggled in and went to sleep.

The next day I was excited to see if it was over, so first thing in the afternoon I took a drive over. I called for her and she roared back “LET ME OUT OF HERE YOU ASSHOLE, I CANT BREATHE!” Being the snide asshole I am, I told her “That’s the idea!” I left after saying that. I decided it would just be better than wasting my breath. Besides, the house stunk like a mechanic’s jumpsuit.

I had no idea all it would take was 2 days. I was planning on weeks or a month if my luck of the Irish wasn’t going to kick in. Ripping the board I nailed up there was awful, since with every pry, it wafted the smell in my face and burned my eyes. I’ve seen any suffocated bodies in my day, but I didn’t see one today. I never even contemplated this in my days of planning. She had opened a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli and sliced her wrists with the lid.

I really didn’t want her to die…but she really didn’t want to live for whatever reason. It would be vain to think I was the reason, or maybe she knew what I was up to and saw herself changing only after a day of breathing in those fumes. But whatever the reason, Melissa Neehan is dead. I was questioned and later cleared of any involvement due to my abilities to clean up after myself. They ruled her death a suicide. The ‘s’ word I told you about. It was my first time seeing one up close, and oddly enough, I was the direct cause of.

Sat, 17 Jul 2004 10:11:10 GMT

I don't know who said it...probally one of those teachers i had growing up or someone like a teacher. I once heard that when writing, you should write about what you know. Don't try and write too far fetched or you'll just over complicate things. After failing on finishing my story about the guy who dies each morning before 12:45 and the story about the guy who kills an intended robbery victim and plays his role in his children's lives...and the one about the doctor who has an affair and transplants his girlfriend's brain into his wifes body...and the one about the guy who figures out his apartment neighbor was a guy hired by the government as population control and the murder of the entire building was to take place, i decided it was time to listen to their advice. Don't write about a doctor...because I'm not a doctor. Don't write about a criminal with a big heart...because I don't have a big heart. Don't write about a government conspiricy...im just not that interesting. Don't write about a guy whose dead...I'm quite alive (in the physical sense of the word anyways). Write about you, except extenuate one thing to make it interesting. Usually it comes in one of a few ways...external influence, divine intervention or superpowers. I'm a loser in my apartment and...OMG SOMEONE DIED AND NOW MY LIFE IS CHANGING! I'm a loser in my apartment and...FUCKING HELL I CAN TALK TO DEAD PEOPLE. I'm a loser in my apartment...BUT HOLY SHIT I CAN CONJURE FIRE WITH MERE THOUGHT! Its usually something like that, so I was taught not to do those things. Some of what I'm going to post in this journal is pure fiction; just a writer doing his job. The rest and very real and sometimes, very scary truthful events. The things in here will offend you, most likely. But I could really give a flying, walking jumping or swimming fuck to be honest. I'm not here to entertain, I'm here to confess. I consider this my forced attrition for all the wrongs I've done in my lifetime. Some, as I said, will be complete fiction; Stephen King or Bret Easton Ellis type of stuff. A lot of it will be non-fiction; still as King or as Ellis as life can get. Some of the things that will be mentioned in this cyber-confessional booth will alarm authorities. Some of them will want to make you go hug your children, wife, fuck buddy, parent, whatever. Some might make you laugh if you're as sick as I've been in the past. I write these because I think I have to. Your comments are welcome. Since you'll not know which past reminiscences is true or true bullshit please, guess away. If theres one thing I've always liked in my life, it's a game of chance. Take bet's if you want to. I will post my first confession soon. Keep posted. It may come as soon as this morning, as you'll see a lot of my entries will. Maybe late tonight, who knows. Take care for now. I'll also tell you more about myself in the following post. Until then.

Online Confessional

A kiss to build a dream on...