COLLECTING GUILT...

Paranoid Calm

The cat, my cat, it's always watching... always. At least, I feel like it is; and why shouldn't it be? Her muscles twitch beneath her calico fur and she flexes her claws, out, then in, then out, then... The gaze she casts my way is hollow, yet knowing. Her blinks carry with them the slow measured weight of a hydraulic press. Some days, I'm certain I should take her to the local humane society.. but what if her new owner treats her poorly? What if my guilt, without judgment, finally eats away at my sanity. 

At this point, I'm sure, you're wandering what exactly it is I've done that I must be judged for. If I'm resigning myself to the quixotic novelty of scrutiny by way of aloof feline, why on earth would I be comfortable in sharing it with you, hmm? I pull my shoes on and think about the confinement of my feet, like a jail cell. I stand  in front of the long mirror and tie my.. tie. I tie it too tight, like a noose, tightening. I quickly fumble with the knot, loosening it. I wipe a sudden bead of sweat from my forehead and chuckle nervously to myself, to the cat.

This was an almost daily exercise... one thing or another reminding me of a consequence to what I have done. I walked to the front door, unlocked the slide lock, the bolt lock, and the knob lock, hesitated a moment, and then slid the slide lock back into place. I slowly turn the knob and slide the door open just enough that I can peer between the slit formed by the door and the frame. Had I not been immediately petrified I would have let out a cry and stumbled backwards long before I realized, to my relief, it was only the mailman. I said, "One moment, Eric," and hoped against hope that he hadn't seen the abject terror in my eye as I peered out at him frozen for who knows how long. 

I opened the door and accepted the clutch of envelopes Eric held out for me. He nodded and gave a nervous little smile and then marched down the walkway from my door to the sidewalk and continued south down the street. I thumbed through the letters trying not to notice; bill, bill, bill, loan offer, credit card offer, bill, and a small postcard. Its back was facing me so I flipped it over to observe the front, it was a picture of Avery Winnig State Penitentiary. My heart stopped in my chest and my tongue attempted to slide into my throat. Quickly, numbly, I flipped the card back over, the other letters falling from my hand to the floor. It read:

Dear Mr. Andrew Connely, 

We know. We have a comfy little cell here waiting on you. You're new room mate here can't wait to meet you and rape you, savagely, for the rest of your lifelong sentence.

See you soon, 

The Warden

My breath caught in my lungs so hard it hurt and I stumbled backward tripping over the vacuum cleaner and falling onto the floor. The postcard flew out of my hand and floated in that see-saw way paper does to the floor. I scrambled and snatched for it, I had to read it again. Panic was alive and running through me like lightning. The picture on the front was.. an old watermill surrounded by flowers. and the back was just a message from my sister, telling me they hoped I was doing well, they had found a miniature of the watermill on the front for sell, and they couldn't wait to ship it to me when they got home so I could see it. They know how I love collecting miniatures. I got back to my feet in time to see a jogger running in place on my sidewalk staring sideways into the house. He ran there a moment longer, then continued north, up the street. Did he know? The cat let out a low sombre meow from behind me, I turned and looked into its gimlet eyes, shivering internally. 

I stepped out, into the blazing sunlight of another near hundred and ten degree day. Except for the jogger, now working his way south, and the mailman, the cul-de-sac in which I live was abandoned. Was I late? Did I miss something? Was there an impending joint police-federal raid headed for my house and everyone had been evacuated? I scanned the road leading in for a line of black cars and decided no, I'm just a little behind. I get into my SUV, and feel the sweltering heat of my own personal sweatbox press in on me. I checked the rearview and sideview mirrors once, twice, three times, and only then put the car into reverse satisfied that the sooting, quiet, and calming squelch of the jogger's brain's beneath my SUV's big tires. I guess the poor guy should have pushed for that extra .5 mile today, then again it's always the return trip that gets you....