'Lost and Found' - A Seemingly Dark Holiday Parable by Zeena

Originally published December 2011 for the Religion edition of Beatdom magazine:

'Lost and Found; A Sethian Fairy Tale' follows a divorced middle-aged father and struggling writer who's killing time during his most hated season of the year, Christmas. When a mysterious messenger delivers him a harsh message, one wonders if the whole thing isn't a dream...except there's a trinket left behind, with numeric symbolism.

While I never believe it's a good idea to explain meaning behind art, as that should be left up to the reader, viewer or listener, this parable might reach some gnostic and tantric initiates on varying levels of interpretation, depending on where one is on their spiritual journey.

May you have an Enlightening Dark Night of the Soul,
a Magical Modranecht and
an Auspicious Yule!
~Zeena
[Full story below]

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Lost and Found
A Sethian Fairy Tale

So often, after the girls are off to sleep, I get this incredible urge to get out of the house. To get fresh air. To go for a walk. To want something. At first, I’d go for little walks at night. A walk around the block. Up and down the street. I’d have a sort of fear as I did this. Forced me to walk fast, pretending to be on my way somewhere, so I wouldn’t get hassled.

Then I started to walk a little longer each night. I’d bring a notebook with me. Write stories about where I might be going. Eventually my walks got longer and longer until I was walking the whole length of the city at night. As long as I kept that notebook out and kept writing, no one could figure me out. They’d leave me alone. Maybe ‘cause they thought I was a cop; I don’t know. Even though I was going through the worst neighborhoods unarmed I began to feel like I had control over the territory I covered. I paid attention to the tiniest details as I walked the streets; the smells, sounds, cracks on the sidewalk, babies crying, dishes being washed, guys beating up girls, pops in the distance. Got to the point where dudes on streets and everyone I started knowing along the way noticed my control too. Acted like I knew something they didn’t – and I did.

I’d walk and write. Stop, look around, Write. Listen. Write.

One night a man starts following me. I walk slower so he’d have to pass or confront me. His pace slowed down too. He’s on my heels. I mosey. He moseys. Now he’s right along side of me. He’s passing on the street side, closing me in against the building. What’s this cat think he’s trying? Peripheral view: Darkish figure, slight build, medium height, dark baggy clothing.

By now I’m writing in staccato notes, balancing my notebook as I go. Hoped he’d see I’m busy and just get a move on. It usually works. It’s not working. What’s happening? He don’t say a word.

Walk from 31st Avenue to 18th Avenue this way, in silence. Him pinning me in against the buildings. Every street we cross I’m thinking okay man that’s it - You go. Chicken race! Thirteen blocks then he crosses 18th Avenue and takes a turn away from me down the street. Ha! Chicken! Keep going straight ahead. Like I hadn’t noticed.

Give the walks a rest tonight. Kelly has a cold and goes to sleep early. Linda watches The Snowman on T.V. with me. The boy’s sinking into the melted snow, realizing there’s nothing left for him anymore of the snowman’s magical world. Except for the scarf that was his gift to him. Blaring holiday music and announcements for the next show kill the end credits’ music. Some shithead on a commercial shakes my little girl and me out of our teary enjoyment, “Time’s running OUT! Only a few days ‘til Christmas...Time’s running out!”

Whatever he’s advertising’s lost on me. All that penetrates my melancholy HO-HO-Holiday reverie is his manic: “Time’s running out! Time’s running out! Time’s running OUT!”

The next night I go out again. 31st Avenue. A little misty but no need for the umbrella yet. A little nervous until I get my pace going. No one walks this far down. 30th Avenue. Look around, all clear, nobody there this time - cross. Start writing again, get into the swing of the sounds. Right. Get into the senses again, get into it. A bus hisses past. Late-night burning oil of Chinese take-out. Creeping smoke from cheerless bars. The desolate one or two bulbs in an apartment building filled with worker-drones already asleep, maybe always asleep. 

Cross 29th. In a dumpster behind the laundromat a rat springs up, facing me off like a boxer. Hip hop flares past. Christmas lights in a window. Blinky lights. Blinkity-Blink. Blink. I blink and turn away to clear out those tracers. What’s that shadow? Duck back behind the schoolyard fence and get a safer look. Same height but I can’t be sure. Can’t freak myself out either. I can only see him from behind. Don’t take any chances. Fuck. What the fuck does he want? Just wait ‘til he’s gone and turn back. Blinkity-Blink. For four nights after that I took the same walk. Everything’s fine.

On the fifth night it happened. Same street, same man, same situation. Coming up behind me he’s doing the control thing again, just shadowing me close enough to make me edgy. It’s working, he senses it. Call his bluff - just stop. Walks right by. First good look I got at him.

Older and stockier than I imagined. Better looking though. Pick up the pace again. Control’s mine again - a little. Now I’m following him. Now he’s gotta worry whether I’ll catch up to him. But he’s not worried. I know he’s not. He’s just mind-fucking me.

Wait, he’s slowing down. What am I going to do now? Fucker thinks I’m scared? Fuck him then. 25th Avenue and I’m outta here. I turn left. Angry. I hate him

Why’d he have to spoil a perfectly good story? I’m going home.

Three nights later, out again. Christmas. Some fascist “womyn’s” Überlaw says mothers always get the kids for holidays. No matter how fucked up they are. No matter how much they ignore the kids the rest of the year. No matter how much you pay for the kids and have to watch them every time mom wants a new hairdo. Or has a new prick around the house. Or dyke-pal. Mothers always get the kids on holidays. 

So I’m on my walk again. And it’s cold. Raining. Open the umbrella. Too awkward to write and hold an umbrella. Forget the writing this time. Just walk and smell the rain. 

Couldn’t be. Walk faster. Sound of those taps getting faster again too. Man, ‘the fuck? What’s he want from me? Hold your breath. Get it over with. Just do it. Whatever it is he wants. Just get it over with. ​

“What are you writing about?”

Don’t answer. Ignore it. Walk faster. Those fuckin’ footsteps going faster.​

“What are you writing about, young man?”

Young man?! What th' fuck? He must be even older than I thought. Keep walking, steady - fast. Breathe. But pick up the pace, he's gainin'.

“Hey! I asked you a question.”

Shit! okay. Deep breath.

“What- Who, me?”

“Yeah,”

“I’m not writing nothing.”

“But you were and I hope it wasn’t about me.”

"No!"

What the fuck! Reaching for me - right at me! I can't move! My arms recoil.

"I said, I hope it wasn't about me."

He's shakin' my brains loose. Where the fuck's this old guy got the strength...? Everything's blurrin'. My eyes are rattlin'. My teeth are mashin' my tongue...he's smashin'...my head...against the building...

"N...n...no!"

I can't breathe with his face this close to mine.

“Because what I do and where I go is none of your business, even when you’re involved in it.”

“Oh.”

I wanna go home - bad. I’m stuck now. I'm sick, feel sick. My legs are giving out. That's it.

“Here’s something to encourage you to keep your mouth shut and your pen capped. And remember – Mind the time. Time's running out.”

He grimaced and slipped something in my pocket and let me loose. Turned right down 18th Avenue again and was gone faster than I knew what happened.

Me? About-face. Run home with Jell-O legs.​

Safe! Call the girls. My little angels. Calm myself. Do something normal. Wish them a Merry Christmas, "Who loves ya? Daddy loves ya."

They're fine. Didn't notice anything in my voice.

Check my pocket.

A watch.

A cheap watch.

A cheap, wet, busted watch.

A cheap watch stuck at 4:21.

-END-

[posted by t.m.]