16. Leander The Lizard Eater

LEANDER THE LIZARD EATER If only she would have spread her legs for me, all would’ve been right in the world. She probably didn’t consider it then, and until she did, it would always nag at my subconscious. I don’t know how exactly I got to be the way I was, but in many ways I manifested the devil himself. The power that I had over people I always used to my supreme advantage. When I was no longer wanted, it was over; I disappeared into the night like a vampiric cliché. That was the way I wanted it, for them to be so angry in the end. I wanted them to feel as angry as they’ve ever been in their whole lives just so they could feel a fragment of the torment I inhale like so much smoke. Sleeping with young women wasn’t just a hobby of mine, it was an all consuming profession, and I was at the top of my game. It was my eyes that tricked them, because I trained myself in the mirror to make them appear as genuine as possible. The soft touch of my hand as it accidentally grazed over theirs was the pulling of the line. How they came to trust me was always a product of my strategy, but at times I began to doubt that conceivably so many would believe me. But they did, and they regretted it. As I stood admiring her from the balcony, I received a vision of her perfect beauty, held aloft in my dreams, her natural body presented in its true form. Those breasts alone were enough to intoxicate any one; even a gay man would give anything just to touch them. I would give my soul. Only the sound of the coffee maker beeping an electronic tune was enough to snap me out of the hypnotized state that this woman put me in. Surely she slipped inside of her own building as I turned away, because when I ventured another gaze downward she was gone. There must have been some force that held her there for me just long enough to become captivated. All I wanted was to see her again. All I wanted was to prey upon her like a lonely beast, or to rise up like Napoleon and conquer her body. The coffee seemed as black as motor oil and the viscosity nearly matched it. However the smell was divine enough for me to call it ambrosia. I knew that I was lying to myself, because the true ambrosia would be the saliva which would slip from her tongue to mine at the passionate moment of her final surrender to my unrelenting advances. The day rolled on but was stagnant all the same. Trapped in my apartment I began to feel like an animal which paced in its cage, far removed and confused about this new environment. I was British after all, a son of the industrial city of Birmingham. Don’t mention my father, because I consider myself a bastard. All day he worked and yet all night he spent, and after my mother left, I felt inclined to do the same. She wanted me to follow her but I was tired of both of them. So I went to the last place any Brit wants to go, America. When night fell so did the will of the innocent. The city street revealed to me its sweltering moisture as I escaped the lobby of the apartment building. Don’t mention that apartment complex either, because it acts as a net for souls apparently. There are many ghosts that haunt the place, and all of them are malicious in nature. The big shot paranormal guys on the tele kept bothering the owner for permission to investigate, but they were perpetually disappointed. I saw them though; all sorts of activity happened there which frightened me deeply. There was a ghost who communicated with me, and said that his name was Owen. He would also go on to talk about how he hated me, but he loved me too. I believe he liked me well enough until he started thinking too much about how jealous he was of my body. He also suggested to me that in a past life, he was a hawk. Subsequently he would transfer his appetite for reptiles over to me. My favorite was the geckos that gathered around the front door frame at night. I had to be very careful not to let anyone see me eating lizards, as I didn’t eat anything else, and some would try to force food on me.

The lamps overhanging the avenue provided luminous shelters that I rushed to nervously through gaps of darkness which paranoia made me suspect that being robbed or stabbed somehow would happen there. My frail hands knocked on the large wooden door blocking the entrance to the angel’s shelter. I nearly gasped when she appeared as if I had channeled her spirit and pulled her down the stairs with my will power. Dumbfounded, I only stared for a long moment, as one contemplates a masterful piece of artwork hanging behind protective glass. “Hello?” she said finally, breaking the silence. I remember saying, “I’m sorry, I just wondered if you had one of those plastic red things which holds petrol.” “Um, no. Is there anything else?” she asked in her silky and enchanting voice. Again I was staring as if I were waiting for her to snap a finger to release my trance. “Can I borrow a cup of sugar?” I asked. “Goodnight.” she said, and slammed that old tree in my face. I placed my hand upon the surface of the door and let my fingers feel the cracks and creases in the wood. All the while I imagined I was reaching out and touching her face. That would have been smoother, and warmer, and all together brilliant. Then my fingers clamped into a fist, manifesting my anger, and I knocked on the door aggressively. She answered again, but this time her expression was furious instead of confused. “Is this a joke? Did Mitch put you up to this?” she asked, but was still angry. “Yeah, I’m sorry. He told me you would flip out.” I said, adjusting my dialect to my perception of her intelligence. “No, I don’t flip out. I can take care of crack heads like you coming to my door.” she answered, and her angry expression smoothed out into a smile which pulled at my emotions, and tried my discipline. “Are you doing alright?” I asked, not because I could not think of anything else, but because I wanted to bring the focus to her. “Yeah, you know,” she said, leaning on the door, “it’s been a boring night. Some people are coming over soon, but I doubt it will be much fun.” I could see the way she relaxed, and again I recalled the wonder I had towards the nature of this trust which I seemed to instill in people, much to their dismay. “Will Mitch be coming?” I asked shortly. “You tell me.” she replied, making it briefer still. “He said he should be, but I was wondering if you heard something.” I answered. “Nope.” she said, and then looked away, as that boredom crept back into her mind. I stood and tried to look as in need of a shelter as one can make themselves appear by only changing their expression. “Do you want to come in and wait for them?” she asked, and I tried not to display the eagerness I contained to get inside that nest of hers. “Are you sure you are comfortable letting me in?” I asked. This line was strategic, because it indicated to her that I was aware of the danger inherent in this situation. She would then be inclined to think that because I realized how dangerous it was, that I must be as sane and careful as her. “Sure, I guess.” she replied, adding the guess to conceal that perhaps she too was eager, as her attraction towards me was increasing. So in we went, and I was trying my hardest not to have a heart attack over the excitement building inside of me. Her apartment was modest, as any place that opens straight to the street usually is. Nobody wants to rob from a bottom floor self contained ghetto because they assume that either it has nothing inside to begin with or it has already been robbed of valuables on some other bad day. I didn’t have time to poison her with my conversational skills. Before much was said a troop of people arrived toting beer and other things which were designed to upset the stomach. I hated them. Not only did they interrupt precious time, it seemed to be a rule that one must act as if they were still in secondary school whenever these gatherings occurred. At times I felt like an island in a sea of stupidity.

Music, of course, was topic of primary quandaries aimed in my direction. Skillfully I had listened to a few names which were violations of sonic harmony in my ears. “The Tiny Plastic Shoes,” I began, hating myself, “I like them a lot. I like pretty much everything, you know.” Don’t mention these new bands. It’s to be expected that what’s on the radio is garbage. Yet when these kids seek an alternative they’re too stupid to realize that there is no alternative, that show business is show business and regardless if a band is signed to a major record label or not, they all want the same thing. The Tiny Plastic Shoes capitalize on two ingredients which kids love: a name that’s clever somehow, and a boat load of E to G songs. “That’s cool! I like them too!” chimed in the only other male. I assumed this was Mitch. The way he interrupted the conversation with such fervor made me instantly flag him. He was like me. I knew it. He was a fraud, a spy, and a sexual deviant. “Yeah, I know, Mitch. We just listened to their latest record.” I stated to him. This was a bold move, but I knew what I was doing. If I was wrong about him, he would expose me in front of all these people, and I might even get beat up. Yet, I was never wrong. At times maybe I needed to shoot the arrow into the wall and paint the target around it, but I was never wrong. “Yes,” said Mitch, “I know, but I was just telling her.” his eyes flashed softly to the girl next to us, and then intensely over to mine. “You left your cigarettes in my car,” he started again, “let’s go have one.” I nodded to him and the two of us exited. The females congregating in the living room were probably left wondering why there was so much tension between us. We rounded the corner with nothing to say, so he dug out a pack of Camels and offered them to me. One of the sticks was poking out as if gravitating towards me or somehow eager to be mine. I took it up and lit it with a match, which I held up to his as if we were really friends. “What do you think you are doing?” asked Mitch angrily. His emotion failed to intimidate me whatsoever, in fact it signaled to me that I was stronger than him and therefore I could control him. I just looked at him, silently taking him in, the way a god would peer at a mortal. “I think you know very well what I’m doing.” I answered finally. “Back off then, this group is mine. The whole city is yours for now, until I’m done with this one.” he replied, still angry. “Strong words,” I began, “but you’re all talk. Besides, I don’t want the city. I want that girl. Once I want something, I take it, understand?” “Who?” he asked, “Almyra?” “Yes, I think that is the one.” I answered. I watched as the smoke came funneling out of his nostrils like a dragon. “How about I go in there and tell them all that you’re a fake; that you just want to have sex with her.” He said. “Don’t worry, you won’t do that. If you did, I would tell them about you too. It would be especially bitter because you’ve probably been with this group for a while, haven’t you? I would also deal with you…physically… in front of them too.” I replied. I could see the frustration wash over his face. Obviously he had not been doing this for very long. Certainly he must’ve known at some point he would run into a rival. Every city is full of fakes and liars, but they all seem so real, so genuine, that people simply become the lie. “You don’t have to threaten me you psycho! But you’re right, we have mutual destruction at stake.” he said. “Then be a good boy and pretend to be my friend and I will do the same.” I said as I snuffed the cigarette out with the tip of my shoe. We both turned and started heading back towards that apartment. As I glanced upward and across the street to check on my window, I could see that something was causing the light to flicker on and off. It wasn’t an electrical shortage because it was mores code. “L-E-A-N-D-E-R, I-A-M-H-E-R-E, T-H-I-S-I-S-O-W-E-N.” it spelled out. “Not now Owen.” I whispered. As soon as the words escaped my lips I felt something similar to an electric shock travel through my body. I could feel that his ghost was using me as a vessel and I felt helpless to do anything about it. “Not now!” I demanded, but there was no reply. There was a pushing which flung me towards Mitch, and he turned to witness my odd behavior in shock and captivation.

I felt my hands gripping the smooth fabric of his button down shirt, and could see his face show the terror filling his veins. “I know what I am!” Owen was screaming through me. My arm lifted and I struck him, my fist slid aimlessly from his cheekbone to his nose. His head recoiled from the blow and his broken nose released a gallon of blood. “I’m a savage!” yelled Owen, my throat feeling as though I was regurgitating glass. Mitch lost consciousness and slipped out from my grip, tumbling downwards to the sidewalk. The commotion caused all of the house guests to come out and find me standing over poor Mitch and his blood pile. It was obvious that they were horrified by this brutality, but none made a move. They simply stared angrily, judging me with their piercing gazes. Owen whispered to me, “Without me you would not have the courage.” A nice enough looking girl bravely walked over to Mitch and knelt next to him, pushing a napkin up to his nose. So I leaned over and pushed her. She collapsed backward and the napkin fell into the gutter, mixing with the filth. As she crawled quickly away there was a collective movement from the crowd of girls to get away from the scene. I kicked Mitch down into the gutter, and the slimy water trickled across his clothes. There was no repairing this situation, so I knew that heading home was the only thing I could do at this point. Once I was home, I collapsed onto my bed and drifted away silently into oblivion. My dreams were more disturbing than usual, especially when I thought of Mitch. I could see his blood flow over to me, and wash onto my hands. For once, I must have been feeling guilty. In the morning I made some fresh coffee and thought about what kind of reptiles I could find around the apartments. If only I could spot her, Almyra, holding a cup of sugar or a big red container, and bustling to get over to my apartment. I would tell her that all my life, I’ve just wanted someone to love me truly, so I can forget all the bullshit the world is trying to distract me with.