Jot down the first thing that comes to your mind.

Above this line you see today’s JP prompt. Well I hardly needed a prompt for tonight. Yeah, it’s after 00:30, so it’s really morning. I know, but it’s dark, and still well before the hour of shadows. Which I think of as the hour I most feel that I’m really all alone.

Why I always revert to an opposition of circadian rhythm I do not understand. I’ve joked about it for years: “I’m a vampire”, “a werewolf”, whatever. But jokes cover up our true selves and lead us into a habit of not letting the worst of us slip out and give others a glimpse of who we really are.

Because doesn’t that part of us serve to cage our pain and fear? Isn’t it easier for me to let measured pieces of that pain and absolute terror out than to give them full vent and risk what can happen to me? To feel it all, everything, at once, knowing it could kill me, because a heart broken so many times should already have killed me?

And true, raw, pure terror, you can’t feel that all at once. So many years of it, decades of seeing evil, doing and speaking asshole things, but first having all of that done to me….nobody can survive remembering and feeling all that at once. We know that, because sometimes memories get distorted and become unreliable. That’s a built-in protection we have which allows us to survive.

But most of it, the worst stuff, we can never forget. And therefore some of us just can’t heal. Doesn’t mean we can’t move in a forward direction, just means we carry so much of what others would leave behind with us, every day, everywhere. No one knows. They can’t see it. They can sense it, and mostly they leave us alone. Somethin wrong with that old boy. He got hisself baggage, the heavy-duty kind. I ain’t even gonna look that way til he is gone.

For decades, I had big problems relating to and mixing in with anyone. I’m not good enough. I’m not smart enough. I’m not good-looking, not funny, I’m mental. Who’s ever gonna want a piece of shit like me?

Amy loved me. She did everything but throw herself at me, but I wasn’t good enough. I knew that. I let her go. Never even kissed her.

She was the last one. A wild girl who drove a rig for Bob’s Transport, then Keyway, here in Maryland. Being wild, she intimidated me while making herself all the more beautiful to me. I loved her because she was beautiful and wild and free. She could never be told that I loved her right back, but that I wouldn’t ever be good enough. Never be enough. That I was damaged. Terrified. Of everything.

I never loved like that again, and that level of pain I don’t want to ever feel again. I realize that she let me go because I had the power to hurt her with a spoken rejection.

I

On this night, I go outside to light a Marlboro, exhale smoke toward the sky. I linger. I ask the sky, “What is love, anyway? Is it even real? Is it a lie we invent because we’re so alone in a crowded world? Well? Whattaya say?”

Of course, there’s no answer. If I got one I’d go straight to the fucking hospital, and you know which ward.

Tonight, I’m bitter. I can’t even answer my own question. And I thought I knew the answer. This proves that I am honest when I say I don’t know anything at all.

But isn’t the question important, valid? I mean, doesn’t it deserve an answer?

I reckon not. That black sky is mocking me with its silence.

II

I went to the doctor yesterday. I told you about passing out, falling. Well I don’t really see a doctor. It’s a nurse practitioner. She’s not friendly and doesn’t give a shit what’s wrong with me. The first thing she did was pick a fight. I’d had an MRI two years back. Degenerative disk and spinal disease. That “Degenerative” part means it gets worse.

Well, it’s worse. She argued that, no, my insurance provider did not deny coverage on my MRI. Look, I’m the one who got the notice after it was done. She said that the imaging (corporation) that performed it had to make sure it would be paid or they would never have done it. Well maybe that’s true, but later I got the paper notice that it was decided that I hadn’t secured permission from them first, then that it was determined I didn’t need it despite the dire findings. They would not pay.

Trying to talk to an NP who thinks she knows everything is like trying to talk to a MAGA republican: you’re essentially talking to a wall.

In spite of passing out and intense back pain, she seemed very unconcerned. She recommended physical therapy, muscle relaxers and a steroid. What a fucking quack. Anyone can see, I need to be cut. But expecting professional behavior, common sense and God forbid, compassion from anyone in the medical field is plain stupid. It’s a stupid thing to do. They don’t care about you. You’re a paycheck and that’s all that you are. If you die, they get a new patient. Maryland used to have world-renowned medical care. I’m telling you, stay away. Just stay the fuck away. You’ll live longer.

III

Another Marlboro. I’ve doubled my consumption of tobacco since yesterday morning and that’s counting the trip to the doctor, and afterward, a stop at at my favorite restaurant, Trattoria E Pizzaeria da Enrico, where you can get real Italian food and New York style Pizza pies that you’ll never forget. I ordered a 14″ double pepperoni, and attacked it like a ravenous wolf. Or werewolf. Whichever you prefer. I think Gianni was impressed. He is a friend, a good man, one of honor and decency and hard work. Makes spaghetti pie, too. Come on, who could do better? To hell with Domino’s. Forever.

The pizza was delicious from the first bite to the last. I began to feel better.

I slept soundly until 22:30. Good, peaceful sleep. But I awoke sore, bitter and in pain.

Asking questions of the night. Questions I want the answers to, especially on this night, when I dare ask them with insolence. With more of a demanding tone than I think prudent. But I’m too bitter to care.

02:48; almost at the hour of shadows. I ask that stupid black sky, “Okay, let’s forget about love. You don’t know shit anyway. But what about honor? Huh? Honesty? Kindness? Decency? What are these things, which I’m starting to believe aren’t real? Tell me what they are. Or that I’m right. That there are no such things. I’ll believe you and be on my way.”

IV

The little girl had survived a gunshot to the head. She was clearly in shock, but the reporters surrounded her like vultures anyway. They barraged her with questions in condescending childlike voices. How did it feel? Did you see your daddy? What did you say to him?

“I said I love you daddy, I hope you’re okay.”

And what did he say to you?

Jesus Christ, lady, you’re a really cold bitch. Leave that child the fuck alone!

I’m outraged. They didn’t just put her face all over the world. No, they showed the world how insolent, cold and sick the American media really is. And they piled trauma upon trauma on this poor little girl. Before long she stopped talking. Just nodded her head. She’d had too much. They were killing her.

A basketball had rolled into some asshole’s drive way. The details are hard to assemble, but someone came along and shot the girl, then shot her parents. Her daddy was still in the hospital. And she was out, not knowing that mainstream journalists had turned into sleazebags like the paparazzi. Scummy, suffocating, relentless, not an ounce of respect or compassion between the lot of them. No ethics, no boundaries, no humanity.

I fucking hate reporters. If they ever try that shit in front of me, they won’t like what will happen. There’s no joy in it for me, saying something like this. It’s dark and it’s wrong. But if we really stop caring about children then we are a doomed society, surely to be consigned to Hell. I would die protecting a child. There’s a big difference between that and what those assholes were doing.

V

The sky has no answers. It mocks me with a slow, cold wind. The night that I cannot sleep through because that’s when the bad things used to happen has thrown the gauntlet at my feet: join me or die.

It is the hour of shadows, but it’s almost over.

“You haven’t answered my questions. You know nothing. You hide the evil that happens in shadows. You never liked the light. I may be your prisoner, but it’s easy for me to choose death over you. One day I’ll live in the light. God will wipe all of my tears away. My sorrow won’t need to be held back ever again. And if this world doesn’t know love, that’s okay. The next one will.”