A Bloody Smile In The Dark

We go together or we don't go down at all

Let's see...

As i begin pacing around my room losing myself staring out the window hoping to recollect my past, i realize my memory isn't exactly what it used to be.

I am in my late fifties after all.

Good thing i've retired a while ago; i would've hated my students to see me like this.

Oh yeah...my students. Guess it's time to mention i was a teacher pretty much my whole life. English, American literature, Anthropology, history...the boring stuff.

You can bet your asses i was a fun one, though; at least for my standards. I remember the shock and embarassment on their faces everytime i'd walk through the door. No matter what country i've taught in or what kind of school, they'd all react the same way.

"Alright alright alright!! People! Stand up right now, put your hands in the air and wave 'em 'round like you just don't care! Damn it's hot in here! Has nobody opened the windows all day?!" By then they'd already begun questioning their choice of class... But hell, my forte was having them stretch and do yoga breathing exercises for a few minutes before shouting really loud to get their attention. "Yep, you can sit down now. And nobody say a word unless it's something really funny or i'm playing acoustic Avril Lavigne for the next hour, got it?", i'd say with the biggest idiotic smile on my face. Safe to say you either loved me or hated me. And i wanted it that way.

I loved my job despite falling into it by accident.

I was born in Wauwatosa, Milwaukee. My mother was a nurse and my father an asshole. I grew up as the man of the house taking care of my younger sister while my mother worked twice as much to provide for us. Not the best of times, for a long time.

I still managed to graduate and fail completely in helping my sis stay out of trouble. I became an uncle way too soon for her own good, and before i knew it i was faced with the toughest decision of my life too.; stay in the old freezing dairyland or move somewhere else to get further education. Learning was always a good experience for me. I never skipped class even though i wasn't exactly the profs' favourite. Stuffing my head with great new knowledge every day made me somewhat happy but i always had a tendecy to daydream, which didn't sit well with them. All in all i was a content kid who loved to eat, read and smoke illegal stuff all day. Honestly i believe it was the drive of passion that got me so far with my career, both scholastic and, subsequently, professional. Lucky probably...

However...long story short, i managed to move to Boston and attend university almost right after i graduated, and lord knows i was the life of the party there. I didn't even need to go out or meet with anyone, all i had to do was show up and everyone would laugh. Not so sure if it was my Smurfs tie or my Milhouse like pants, or maybe my Simon Lebon inspired haircut that made it, but yeah i brought joy. Meh...

Okay well..in between a Sex Pistols song and a faded day off, i ended up getting accustomed to standing up in the middle of class asking..no bombarding-almost draining- the teacher questions about any given subject more and more. Somehow i noticed how oddly strong and...dare i say powerful, confident, the good kind not the cocky one, i felt while i digressed ranting over and over often shadowing the poor thing trying to do his job there. And my fellow mates seemed to carry it out with me just fine.

As months went by, i thought i could give it a shot. I mean, i had nothing to lose...

I'm not gonna sit here and describe in detail what went down afterwards. You can imagine for yourself.

Being the nut head i am, i got bored soon. The job itself was nice, but i discovered pretty easily how the american educational system just wasn't for me. Or maybe i wasn't fit for it. Whatever it was, i ended up moving to Spain. Guess i wasn't that bad doing the whole teaching thing...

But then, after two whirlwind years there, the most traumatic thing happened. No no...not what you'd expect.

"You look so freaky. You're a walking cartoon. Kind of like Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Cool" - it was the coldest emotionless sexy voice i had ever heard in my life. And she spoke in English, American English, which was a good change after so much smooth caliente talk. I still missed 'Murrica, i suppose.

I turned around to see a tall weird looking blonde woman staring at me from a hot dog stand.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh please, don't pretend to be hurt. You know you only dress like that to be noticed. It worked."

"I'm not hurt, i don't mind the comparison. Plus it kind of makes an impression when said by a bond girl"

"Good to see it came through. Hot dog?"

"American?"

"American, English, Mexican, Turkish...i love this stand, it has any sort you crave...or don't and you're simply desperate"

"Sounds nice indeed, but i meant you"

"You know it. You look...quite Finnish, or Norse, or Swedish..you know, from the north. Capital N"

"What the hell...just 'cause i'm blonde?!"

"No! it's the...glasses i guess..."

"You're not making any sense. Nope. American. Wisconsin"

"Oh boy..i'm from Washington DC. Technically not really American. I was just messing with you by the way. You turned all red...i mean ALL. Your whole face...are you okay?!"

She had some kind of boyish attitude to her. You could tell she was in control but i wasn't so sure whether she was being serious or sarcastic most of the time. That was enough to catch my attention. We scarfed down a couple of 'dogs each and talked about absolutely nothing for over an hour until i got sick. Those things weren't really the best cuisine. We parted and it was only days later that i realized i had been thinking about her non stop without even knowing her name.

I never saw her again and as my frequent thoughts about Bond girl faded in the background, so did my love for Spain. Well...i never really liked it that much anyway. But i loved the idea of being able to say i had lived there for a while. I wanted to leave but didn't know where to, so i pondered smartly my next move like every mature young man would do. How so? I closed my eyes and pointed my finger on a random spot of a map.

France.

Still not happy at all. But i had confided in chance till then, why stop?

I hadn't made any friends. Ever. And that didn't change in the land of croissants, or in that of poppies, or that of sauerkrauts and beer.

No human connection whatsoever. Nothing worth mentioning, just work and sleep. Maybe that's why i never stuck to one country more than three years.

By then my contacts with mom and Sheila had gotten more and more rare, and as i sat in an half empty Bad Kissingen Airport i began to wonder if i really wanted that to be my life forever.