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Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Silvia's Mr Buzzard

written by Linda Mains

His eyes were a steely blue, and his long and lean body glistened with sweat, as the sun beat down upon his bronzed body. She loved him, something she never understood. She tried to stopping herself, the whole while trying to explain her need for him to herself. He was nothing but trouble in her life; he was a lost soul, someone who needed her love, more than she ever needed him in her life. She was a spoiled brat from a rich and garishly snobbish upper crust family. A family she never felt tied too, she never felt that she had anything in common with those, loud, rude, and obnoxious people. She loved her brother he came from the east, that’s where he was born. He moved and left her as a 10 year old girl who would never see him again. He died; she knew that, although she’d still dream of him occasionally. Although the occasions hadn’t happened in a while, and the memories of him, were fading.

She was looking at her Husband’s glistening body in the sun. His arms were so strong, but his mind, it was his mind that was week. He suffered a long standing suffering. After the war his mind was no longer strong like it had been. He came back damaged. Yes, he was damaged, and yelled and screamed, about everything and anything. Still she could not deny that she loved him, adored him, worshiped him body and soul. All the time she wondered, wondered…why?

She looked at him with that look a yearning, yearning for the love he could no longer give her, and she turned to head back up the stony path in which she came. Her bonnet caught the wind, and blew off her head. She ran for it, and it was caught by his strong and manly hands. Her eyes caught his; she saw the sparkle of his teeth as he grinned. It was the same grin that transcended her to the highest highs. She remembered that grin from their first meeting on the train. It was a sunny day on the day she met him. She remembered their first meeting nearly two years prior. It was windy that day, just like it was as she ran after her hat before his strong hands grasped it out of the air.

He grasped it and barked at her; “why can’t you watch what you’re doing! You’re always pissing me off! Go get me a beer!” So she turned with her hat in her hands, she put it upon her head, and walked slowly, disappointingly away. All I ever wanted she thought to herself, was a kind and loving man. The luck of the draw always gave her the meanest guy around. When they met she couldn't wait, to see him, to be near him…his scent, the way his skin tasted when she kissed his neck. It was a courting even Kings and Queens of the past would be jealous of. So why did he stop loving her, stop praising her, and why was he so distant? She’d spend hours in his presence trying to get his attention, all for not. The only attention she ever got from him now was scolding’s, critical comments, or put downs. I used to love him so much she thought to herself; and now this?

It was the war that brought his bad moods, it was the war that scarred his body, and weekend his mind. He was damaged goods, left overs, buzzard meat…he was less than perfect, much less than perfect. She knew that, she could leave him and move on; she knew that! It was his constant out of control rages she couldn't stand. She had had enough, but because there were children in the picture, she couldn’t let go. She felt as tied to him as an anchor to a boat. But still she remembered, dreamed of him, who he was,who he used to be, that other man before the buzzard existed. Now she dreamed of a man she once loved. His hair was blond, his eyes were a sparkling blue, he was tan, he was fun, and he was dirty! She used to love dirty, but that went away, once she met Mr. Buzzard and he had gotten back from Afganistan.

Sylvia was at her little table in her bedroom reading her mail, while Mr. Buzzard was outside doing one of his many mundane, and asinine jobs around the house. She couldn’t believe that she was still attracted to a nut job; she couldn’t believe how domesticated she was. She hated domesticity, she was a party girl, she loved parties, the bigger the better. And here she was, sitting, growing older, ever older, while in the presence of Mr. Buzzard; with his beak growing ever bigger and louder!

It wasn’t just the fact the Mr. Buzzard annoyed her on a daily level; it was also the fact that Mr. Buzzard never shut up. He never kept quiet, and would rattle on when he was in a real rage…it was non-stop. She hated his voice, wanted it to stop! The war, if that dammed war wouldn’t of happened, my love, my joy, would still be normal. No more time for dreaming of what could be...this was reality, he was mental, damaged goods, no longer in the world of the normal…he lived amongst the people of the shade. He didn’t and couldn't trail in reality any longer. All he wanted was respect after the war, but when he got home he never found any, that's when his mind snapped like a twig.

She was afraid for her safety, but more than anything else she was concerned for him; keeping the sharp knives and scissors out of his reach. All the time thinking, if she’d open that door and found his dead body, eye’s wide staring up at her. She just never knew? She loved him, but she secretly feared him and his rage! His temper was growing worse by the day, by the hour, depending on what day it was. At first she thought he had another woman. Otherwise why was she dealing with so much displaced rage? Was the war really that bad? Did it really crack his mind like a broken egg? Puzzles were her favorite game as a kid, but at this moment in time, she was completely dumb founded by his mood swings. Was she trapped in the Wizard of Oz, with no one to tell her to click her red-slippers? Maybe if she was lucky, she’d wake up from the nightmare that had become her life?

She was done browsing the pile of useless junk-mail before her, life was all about him now, she’d given her life up for Mr. Buzzard…he was handsome she thought, but in the nightmare he made of her life, his being handsome wasn’t enough to cover all of her losses. Then she accidently trailed off and thought about him, her previous lover…the one who made her toes curl, the one that was passionate! The one that made her scream and beg, and scream some more! She missed him, the smell of him, the touch of him, the sound of him, his kindness in him. He was amazing, nothing like Mr. Buzzard, and that was when she climaxed.

Then she heard the screaming, the screaming, it was more of the same, day in and day out…more and more screaming! It pounded against her head, like the echo of his voice. She wanted him dead! But couldn’t admit it, not even to herself…he was sick! The war! The shells! The bodies! The flashbacks! Nightmares, he’d often wake up in a cold-sweat, agonizing over and over again with her, about what he’d done, what he had to do. All the body parts he kept envisioning in his mind, over and over again. Lately they came faster and faster too him, while the night terrors did too. He’d sit straight up in bed screaming, looking over at her. Baby! Baby! They came to kill me, I swear they did! That’s when she would get up out of bed, to go and get the medicine that the Physiatrist had prescribed for his mental-condition. What was the condition that he had, she was trying to think. Oh yea! That’s right! They told her he was sycophantic, but the Medicine only worked sometimes. When it did he became a vegetable! No good to nobody!

One day after her shift at the hair dressing place where she worked …she scrambled around at the bottom of her purse looking for some change. Mr. Buzzard was a true scavenger; every time she was paid he would take almost all of her money leaving her with 20 to 30 dollars weekly to survive on. All he ever did with the money was to drink it away! Or he’d buy his cheap Vodka and gulp it down, that’s when things would take a turn for the worst. When he was drunk that’s when he was really dangerous. She finally found her change and headed to the pay phone to make her call.

Pay phones where a curious thing to find in the rough valley area that she lived in. She finally found one, picked up the receiver, put the change in the slot, and dialed the numbers…slowly, one by one. She was nervous, calling, waiting for the ring. Then finally it rang, she held her breath, patiently, slowly; pick up, pick up, pick up she thought. Than finally he picked up…Hallo! She held her breath and said; Hallo? Oh my God is that, is that…Silvia? Yes! You remember me right Christian? Oh, of course I remember, how could I ever forget? You were, you were…the best…ever. “Really?” So what’s’ the call for Silvia? I thought you married that really handsome guy that you couldn't stop bragging about? Yea I did! But the war, you know the war Christian? Is something wrong Silvia? Well the reason I called was because I could never stop thinking about you. Are you still single Christian? As ever! Why? I really wanted to know if you wanted to meet up with me. Ok, you don’t have to ask me twice. So how is everything with you Silvia? Actually things could be a lot better, and they really aren't going so well. I just need your strong arms around me! Silvia stop, you know I’ve never stopped thinking about you either.

Meanwhile Mr. Buzzard was sitting there contemplating a war he could never forget, while he was cleaning his gun. Silvia walked in. You’ve been gone for 20 minutes, why? I needed a break…OK? You didn’t ask me permission to leave. WHERE WHERE YOU? I was out of this house, give me a break! She walked methodically up the stairs one by one till she reached the bedroom, she was angry at Mr. Buzzard when she laid down and she started to fantasize about her lover again, knowing She had a date with Christian. She was going to take the day off to make that happen. She thought to herself how much of a dullard Mr. Buzzard had turned into. God she wanted him dead…why did he have to come back from the war so damaged? Why? Now she was trapped to deal with the mental-midget that was sitting at the dinner table, wanting her to wait on him hand and foot. Yes it was all her fault! She was the one that married him, she was the one that said; I do for better or worse! Now all she could think of was Christian, and how he could take away her pain. She missed his sparkling blue eyes, and the sweat that dripped from his brow every time they made love. She wanted him sexually in a way that she had never wanted anybody else.

Passion is what she craved, and it was the biggest thing about Mr. Buzzard, that wasn’t there. She needed passion, passion, and more passion in her life, at work, in what she did, and who she saw. She had none now in the loveless-abbess she was trapped in. She was married but knew that the love for the man she now referred to as the Buzzard was over. He’d never leave her, and if he did, he’d follow her, stalk her, and hunt her like he had done 10 times prior. She knew she’d never be free, so all she could ever hope for from Christian was whenever a break from Mr. Buzzard could be found. She wanted Christian so badly she ached…ached for him! She was so faithful for years; and for what? For torture by his words and voice and violence…he didn’t love her anymore! He couldn’t he was damaged by shells, by bombs, by bullets, by dead bodies, by blown up body parts; that’s what he was obsessed with now, and that’s all he would ever be concerned about. It’s not like when she was in the room he ever paid any attention to her. He shut her out! He closed the swinging door on their relationship with his insanity. Could they be saved? She didn't know?

At that moment when she realized she was thinking it, she no longer cared. She ran the water in her bath tub…it was hot, and she decided to pamper herself, since her Buzzard never did. Bubbles and more bubbles, she stepped in; being careful not to scald herself with hot water, then she settled in the tub. She thought about Christian,he was dirty so dirty, she missed his dirty ways, his mouth, his tong…that’s when she realized she had fallen asleep, waking herself-up, before she slipped unconscious under the water.


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