The Last House On The Left
By: Travis Wayne Williams
I have a rather strong connection to mysticism, broken things, and ghosts with heartbeats. Macedonian Gypsy blood runs through these veins.. I was raised right. I'm far from perfect, but my soul is pure and I'm constantly searching for people like me.
A couple years back, alcoholic tendencies lead me into a local bar and that, like most of my stories begin, is just how I met "her". I needed a drink and she needed a friend. I'm a card reader and she was in my cards that day. I should have avoided her, I knew better. Certain things just remain, lost in translation.
Our friendship soon grew, as did my tab. Which on some day's I must admit she paid. I'm bad at a lot of freaking things, but I'm great at Irish Good Byes. Regrets soon tend to often follow. She taught me a lesson in life, and it's something I'll always cherish and never forget. For nothing in this world is promised, and I refuse to make a promise that I can't keep. The key to my survival? I simply turn my nightmares into dreams.
Lately though, I feel like... I don't know some kind of ghost. I'm constantly cold. I wish you could see it in my breath right now, just hoping you can feel it in my tone. I know I'm not dead. This all started on the same night that she finally said, "Come on over and stay the night. I live on Paulina Drive, its the last house on the left, you can sleep in my bed."
In my world? Authenticity equals elegance. Intellectual conversation mixed with a cute laugh, will make my heart race to the point I have to take an extra Clonidine. We drank cheap red wine barefoot on her porch. Listening to the sweet sound of Etta James singing "I'd Rather Go Blind". She believes in Heaven, I don't...but this moment in time definitely made me question my belief system entirely.
I would be lying to you all if I said after that I wasn't hooked. I was single at that point for three years currently dealing with two criminal cases that were going to lead me concealed once again, behind rusty bars, barbed fences, and forgotten dreams.
I'm as transparent as they come. So everyone that comes into my life knows these two facts. I'm a serial dater. Much more importantly though, a self aware serial screw up. She lived on the other side of the tracks, half of her family were retired highly decorated police officers. One of her relatives though, had the ability to scare her worse than the Devil on a cold November night. So I guess you could say... we both had some baggage.
Just so you know, this is far from a love story. In fact, we were never intimate, at least not in the physical sense. Just two very broken individuals that enjoyed each others warmth in a house that had no heat. There was plenty of laughter before the war stories stories. Out of respect for her family, I won't go into many details.
I wiped away her tears as I watched her break in front of me like chipped porcelain left out in the sun. This relative I mentioned earlier was stalking her, had been for years. She had adverted him for 6 months and found out Monday he now knew her place of employment. I felt every possible human emotion in my soul at that point. I have a soft spot for women, and a short fuse for men who abuse them. Long story short, the Alpha Male in myself took precedent over the Feminist in her.
A males ego can be such a horrible thing. I had a hard time listening back then. So just like that, I walked out of the cold, dark last house on the left for the very last time...and I still haven't been able to warm up yet.
