Where will my shrink hold group counseling today/ part 4
fiction
edward w pritchard
My psychologist has assigned the six members of his therapy group to write a short story during our class today. He must be taking a correspondence school course on new techniques for dealing with struggling patients. Not really, these people are OK, sometimes everyone everywhere seems to me like they should be a patient in therapy. No one seems to thrive anymore.
I am no writer as you can see but I always keep my stories short. I hate it when Dante spends a thousand pages writing about Beatrice or Petrarch goes on and on about Laura. Worse is a homosexual like Proust, he can spend six hundred pages writing about one boring day in his life.
My story is going to be about a guy who can only get interested sexually in the wives of the American presidents. Just the wives who are still alive and his love is always from afar. I'll have it start when he is a teenager with President Carter's wife, the Christian woman, and then go forward from there. As an example I'll have in the story that the guy gets the nerve and figures out a way to call Hillary Clinton on the phone but then he is too nervous to talk to her when she answers the phone there at the White house. I won't mention Michelle Obama while her husband is in office, out of respect to them both. I have a few ideas about Laura Bush.
It's always hard for me to start a short story, but once I get going I can go on and on for a long time. Eventually though you just have to jump in and start writing.
My psychologist has assigned the six members of his therapy group to write a short story
end part 4
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Where will my Shrink convene group counseling session today?/part 3
Where will my Shrink convene group counseling session today?/part 3
fiction
edward w Pritchard
see parts 1 and 2
Dr. Fortner my psychologist is threatening to throw me out of our group counseling sessions. He says I am not applying myself and my drinking is much worse and I am drifting faster from job to job. I didn't tell him but Laura and I broke up too. After only three weeks, some sort of record even for me.
My group therapy sessions are held everywhere except in Dr. Fortner's office. In his van riding around, a tree house behind, hey just read parts one and two of this story for details. Anyway today's session, a mini session to give me one more chance to take our group therapy seriously was held at a German restaurant down in Canton and we sat at the bar. Just me, Dr Fortner, and Mr. Ply, who is about 91. No women allowed. That's ok with me I'll meet them at the hauf brau there in Canton.
Fortner is mad at me. He is making me be the leader of group and he is me. Psyche instructors training 101, scenario 5b I suppose. If he can be me I can be him. I was terrible mean in my comments about his family. Me is an asshole; wait it wasn't me it was my psychologist Dr. Fortner, not me it's Mr. $108 per 49 minutes.
Still sitting there at the bar chain smoking cheap cigarettes Dr. Fortner, playing me, seemed pretty darned pathetic. Sometimes I quit listening and just watched in the mirrors the real customers of German village restaurant come and go this Friday evening. I don't think I would really like to be a psychologist. It's hard enough to pretend to be interested when you are pretending to be interested.
Mr Ply is in therapy because he has trouble adjusting to being old. I don't know I told him I thought he was doing well at it, 91 and all but then I got serious and told him, speaking as his shrink to exercise, and get new interests and maybe meet a nice woman. There were two fat girls there in the other part of the bar away from us and I took Mr. Ply over and introduced him. They wanted us to sit down but I told them I had to get back to the bar; I didn't bother with the bit that I was a psychologist today. Those two girls seemed hurt that I wouldn't sit with them and I started getting sensitive, so I went back and listened to the real Dr. Fortner being me. He was hitting on the red head tending bar to our right and he had a real line going. I can't possibly sound like that.
I made Fortner buy me a White Russian and I bought the same for him and then I had the red headed waitress take both White Russians over to the two heavier girls sitting with Mr. Ply. I didn't buy Ply a drink, he has been getting social security a long time and I figure he can afford his own drinks.
end part 3
fiction
edward w Pritchard
see parts 1 and 2
Dr. Fortner my psychologist is threatening to throw me out of our group counseling sessions. He says I am not applying myself and my drinking is much worse and I am drifting faster from job to job. I didn't tell him but Laura and I broke up too. After only three weeks, some sort of record even for me.
My group therapy sessions are held everywhere except in Dr. Fortner's office. In his van riding around, a tree house behind, hey just read parts one and two of this story for details. Anyway today's session, a mini session to give me one more chance to take our group therapy seriously was held at a German restaurant down in Canton and we sat at the bar. Just me, Dr Fortner, and Mr. Ply, who is about 91. No women allowed. That's ok with me I'll meet them at the hauf brau there in Canton.
Fortner is mad at me. He is making me be the leader of group and he is me. Psyche instructors training 101, scenario 5b I suppose. If he can be me I can be him. I was terrible mean in my comments about his family. Me is an asshole; wait it wasn't me it was my psychologist Dr. Fortner, not me it's Mr. $108 per 49 minutes.
Still sitting there at the bar chain smoking cheap cigarettes Dr. Fortner, playing me, seemed pretty darned pathetic. Sometimes I quit listening and just watched in the mirrors the real customers of German village restaurant come and go this Friday evening. I don't think I would really like to be a psychologist. It's hard enough to pretend to be interested when you are pretending to be interested.
Mr Ply is in therapy because he has trouble adjusting to being old. I don't know I told him I thought he was doing well at it, 91 and all but then I got serious and told him, speaking as his shrink to exercise, and get new interests and maybe meet a nice woman. There were two fat girls there in the other part of the bar away from us and I took Mr. Ply over and introduced him. They wanted us to sit down but I told them I had to get back to the bar; I didn't bother with the bit that I was a psychologist today. Those two girls seemed hurt that I wouldn't sit with them and I started getting sensitive, so I went back and listened to the real Dr. Fortner being me. He was hitting on the red head tending bar to our right and he had a real line going. I can't possibly sound like that.
I made Fortner buy me a White Russian and I bought the same for him and then I had the red headed waitress take both White Russians over to the two heavier girls sitting with Mr. Ply. I didn't buy Ply a drink, he has been getting social security a long time and I figure he can afford his own drinks.
end part 3
Where will my shrink convene group session today?/ part 2
Where will my shrink convene group session today?/ part 2
fiction
edward w Pritchard
see part 1
When you go to group counseling sessions every week all year but Christmas and a two week July on holiday break while Dr. Fortner our fearless leader takes his screwed up family to Disney world, or Branson Missouri to hear Country music preformed by singers in drag; it can get a little monotonous. Sometimes we meet in the tree house behind Fortner's house, sometimes we drive around and talk in the professor's, [only I call him that, me and Phil Logan, Phil doesn't come anymore to group, he was only doing group therapy to get out of jail early, he was only pretending to be crazy,] white van, but my absolute favorite place to hold our group session is when we get a hay wagon and do a long ride through the Country. Out in the country, far from the problems of the messed up City we live in, or the worse suburban blight that most of Dr. Fortner's patients call home, far out in the Country in a wagon or two pulled by very large brown farm horses we sit on piles of scratchy hay and watch the orange leaves on the trees drop from the vibrations caused by our hay wagon as we roll along and we smell fire smells that people who live in the Country use to roast animals that they shot with a bow and arrow or fry fish they caught with a bamboo pole in a farm pond.
We had our Halloween therapy session last Thursday. The best thing about the whole deal is that one of the patients, Mrs. Donaldson who is divorced dressed up like a little Amish woman. I never noticed how attractive Mrs. Donaldson was until she wore this little cream colored bonnet and a black Amish style dress that covered every inch of her except a little around the forearms and then a crescent moon shaped slit between her breasts so every time she moved or leaned forward, well you get the picture. The interesting thing was she totally immersed herself in her role as an Amish woman. Mrs. Donaldson, Cindy, has an IQ of about 160 and I remember one time she said in our group therapy that she did a lot of acting in college and she is quite remarkable when she wants to be. She was very shy, demur, spoke quietly and was totally attuned to the needs of everybody but herself. She sat beside me during our session there on the hay wagon last Thursday and I really enjoyed being around her and watching her. Every time it was her turn to talk about her self she would tell what it's like to be Amish and Divorced, only she would tell all the factual truth about her real life as a recently divorced woman only from an Amish perspective. It was an academy award performance. The only problem was the day before that I had lost my job selling water softener services door to door so I was kinda of hung up on my own problems. Even being dressed as a pirate, and sipping Napoleon brandy from a real flask I had snuck on the hay wagon didn't completely cheer me up.
Dr. Fortner dressed like a haywain from a picture by Bruegel as he drove the wagon and lead our group counseling session. He had a PA system rigged up so we could hear him over the noises of the horses and the Country roads. When we were out in Wayne County a real Amish buggy passed us. Really, they were going to Church or a horse auction or something. Mrs. Donaldson broke character for a minute and put her hands across her chest so they couldn't see her like that; at least I considered it breaking character, I am not sure what the other patients in our wagon thought.
end part 2
fiction
edward w Pritchard
see part 1
When you go to group counseling sessions every week all year but Christmas and a two week July on holiday break while Dr. Fortner our fearless leader takes his screwed up family to Disney world, or Branson Missouri to hear Country music preformed by singers in drag; it can get a little monotonous. Sometimes we meet in the tree house behind Fortner's house, sometimes we drive around and talk in the professor's, [only I call him that, me and Phil Logan, Phil doesn't come anymore to group, he was only doing group therapy to get out of jail early, he was only pretending to be crazy,] white van, but my absolute favorite place to hold our group session is when we get a hay wagon and do a long ride through the Country. Out in the country, far from the problems of the messed up City we live in, or the worse suburban blight that most of Dr. Fortner's patients call home, far out in the Country in a wagon or two pulled by very large brown farm horses we sit on piles of scratchy hay and watch the orange leaves on the trees drop from the vibrations caused by our hay wagon as we roll along and we smell fire smells that people who live in the Country use to roast animals that they shot with a bow and arrow or fry fish they caught with a bamboo pole in a farm pond.
We had our Halloween therapy session last Thursday. The best thing about the whole deal is that one of the patients, Mrs. Donaldson who is divorced dressed up like a little Amish woman. I never noticed how attractive Mrs. Donaldson was until she wore this little cream colored bonnet and a black Amish style dress that covered every inch of her except a little around the forearms and then a crescent moon shaped slit between her breasts so every time she moved or leaned forward, well you get the picture. The interesting thing was she totally immersed herself in her role as an Amish woman. Mrs. Donaldson, Cindy, has an IQ of about 160 and I remember one time she said in our group therapy that she did a lot of acting in college and she is quite remarkable when she wants to be. She was very shy, demur, spoke quietly and was totally attuned to the needs of everybody but herself. She sat beside me during our session there on the hay wagon last Thursday and I really enjoyed being around her and watching her. Every time it was her turn to talk about her self she would tell what it's like to be Amish and Divorced, only she would tell all the factual truth about her real life as a recently divorced woman only from an Amish perspective. It was an academy award performance. The only problem was the day before that I had lost my job selling water softener services door to door so I was kinda of hung up on my own problems. Even being dressed as a pirate, and sipping Napoleon brandy from a real flask I had snuck on the hay wagon didn't completely cheer me up.
Dr. Fortner dressed like a haywain from a picture by Bruegel as he drove the wagon and lead our group counseling session. He had a PA system rigged up so we could hear him over the noises of the horses and the Country roads. When we were out in Wayne County a real Amish buggy passed us. Really, they were going to Church or a horse auction or something. Mrs. Donaldson broke character for a minute and put her hands across her chest so they couldn't see her like that; at least I considered it breaking character, I am not sure what the other patients in our wagon thought.
end part 2
Friday, October 18, 2013
Where will my Shrink convene group session today?/ part 1
Where will my Shrink convene group session today
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Why does Mrs. Bertran have to park her station wagon so close to the ladder leading up into the tree house where our group session meets often on Thursdays. More than anything I hate to walk into group counseling late; everyone seems to be always talking about me.
I liked it better when we met on the road in Professor Fortner's white stretch van. We would all cram into the van and Dr. Fortner would drive and we would hold our group counseling session on the roads up and down Country lanes. The Professor, only I call him that, always would buy us lunch at Wendy's or Arby's; he can afford to at the prices we pay for therapy and multiply that times five or six batty patients, myself included and you see why he is OK to pay for us, still it's a nice gesture, you see why he is able to have so many patients.
It's a little stuffy meeting in the tree house. I think the professors son smokes up here. The kid is about fourteen and he's a real work; why do Professionals have weird children? Rest assured that the Professor would be surprised if he thought his Kid was smoking, cigarettes or Pot with his buddies. Maybe he could counsel the Kid on cessation techniques. Ha, ha, well I say let the kid be normal for a while before you have to label him as "needs improvement". I like to sit with my back to the East wall of the tree house so I can stare out the window or at Laurie Woods, she has a magnificent body but she is so screwed up.
Miss Lowes, Fortner's secretary can't climb the steps to the tree house, too fat, so we have to fill out our own assessment inventory today and bill ourselves for the session; I am not going to pay in cash, I have been burned before by too many other Doctors.
Mrs. Donaldson is telling about all the men that want her desperately now that she's Divorced. Laurie smiles secretly at me. She hates Mrs. Donaldson, possibly she has been with her husband, he is on the City Counsel and thinks he is a big deal. I have heard him come into a sports bar and orate like Mark Anthony. What an asshole. I feel real sad about Mrs. Donaldson and people like her, who have lost something, maybe she never had it in the first place but it was better when she didn't know. Now she comes in here every week and pours out her soul and pays for the privilege.
I decide to talk about the time I hit my boss at the cable company with a coffee pot. It was empty and not hot. I hate that guys voice and I hated his attitude about life. That got me fired and is one reason why the only jobs I can get are sales jobs. Professor wants me to talk about Corrine but I won't go there. Too personal. I see Mrs. Donaldson is leaning forward, wanting to hear some more about me and Corrine, she loves that kind of jazz.
The professor wants us to vote on where we will meet next week. He even has papers and half sized pencils for us to use in the balloting. You have got to be kidding me.
end part 1
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Why does Mrs. Bertran have to park her station wagon so close to the ladder leading up into the tree house where our group session meets often on Thursdays. More than anything I hate to walk into group counseling late; everyone seems to be always talking about me.
I liked it better when we met on the road in Professor Fortner's white stretch van. We would all cram into the van and Dr. Fortner would drive and we would hold our group counseling session on the roads up and down Country lanes. The Professor, only I call him that, always would buy us lunch at Wendy's or Arby's; he can afford to at the prices we pay for therapy and multiply that times five or six batty patients, myself included and you see why he is OK to pay for us, still it's a nice gesture, you see why he is able to have so many patients.
It's a little stuffy meeting in the tree house. I think the professors son smokes up here. The kid is about fourteen and he's a real work; why do Professionals have weird children? Rest assured that the Professor would be surprised if he thought his Kid was smoking, cigarettes or Pot with his buddies. Maybe he could counsel the Kid on cessation techniques. Ha, ha, well I say let the kid be normal for a while before you have to label him as "needs improvement". I like to sit with my back to the East wall of the tree house so I can stare out the window or at Laurie Woods, she has a magnificent body but she is so screwed up.
Miss Lowes, Fortner's secretary can't climb the steps to the tree house, too fat, so we have to fill out our own assessment inventory today and bill ourselves for the session; I am not going to pay in cash, I have been burned before by too many other Doctors.
Mrs. Donaldson is telling about all the men that want her desperately now that she's Divorced. Laurie smiles secretly at me. She hates Mrs. Donaldson, possibly she has been with her husband, he is on the City Counsel and thinks he is a big deal. I have heard him come into a sports bar and orate like Mark Anthony. What an asshole. I feel real sad about Mrs. Donaldson and people like her, who have lost something, maybe she never had it in the first place but it was better when she didn't know. Now she comes in here every week and pours out her soul and pays for the privilege.
I decide to talk about the time I hit my boss at the cable company with a coffee pot. It was empty and not hot. I hate that guys voice and I hated his attitude about life. That got me fired and is one reason why the only jobs I can get are sales jobs. Professor wants me to talk about Corrine but I won't go there. Too personal. I see Mrs. Donaldson is leaning forward, wanting to hear some more about me and Corrine, she loves that kind of jazz.
The professor wants us to vote on where we will meet next week. He even has papers and half sized pencils for us to use in the balloting. You have got to be kidding me.
end part 1
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Will anne Rice Go to Hell? part 3?
Will Anne Rice go to Hell/part 3?
fiction
edward w pritchard
"Objection, " said the Counselor for Mrs. Rice"
Judge-" I thought we agreed Mr. Pritchard could give testimony on History, Philosophy and as a writer, despite his lack commercial success."
Counselor for Mrs. Rice, a woman, "yes we agree but no Religious testimony from Pritchard in the trial of should Anne Rice go to Hell".
Judge- "continue Mr. Pritchard, speak as a philosopher of sorts, What is a brief, please, a brief summary of the case against the existence of eternal suffering in Hell, from a non-religious point of view? "
Pritchard-, " thank you your Honor for allowing me to be here today, Well, I would think Epicurus [ 341-241 BC] in "Principal Doctrines" said it best, about the idea of an after life in general, expressed very briefly," " Death means nothing to us [ his followers] for that which is dissolved is without sensation" "and concerning suffering in Hell, even should such a place exist" " Pain does not last continuously in the flesh" but " even the acutest pain is only there for a very short while".
Judge- "thank-you, Mr. Pritchard, then from a non religious point of view can we agree that eternal suffering seems unlikely?
Council for Catholic Church- "we can agree to that while reinforcing the point that Mrs. Rice, the defendant was schooled in Catholic Dogma and Doctrine, is an intelligent woman and has the ability and had the opportunity to understand the ramifications of writing pornographic literature"
Mrs. Rice Counsel-"objection, they are trying to be Judge and Jury again your Honor"
Judge- " yes, yes, Ok- let's move forward"
Judge "Mr Pritchard- please in you opinion as a sort of writer answer Prosecutors question of " Is Mrs. Rice" a successful, and influential writer".
Pritchard- " I understand she has sold over 100 million books and her books have been made into several movies"
Prosecutor- Mr. Pritchard, "-Have you read her Work"?
Pritchard- "only a part of "The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty "
Prosecutor- " Would you consider that work pornographic?"
Mrs. Rice's Counsel- "objection"
Judge- yes prosecutor, let's get back to that after we continue to review the argument for the existence of Hell some more, try to agree if Mrs. Rice believes in a Catholic Hell because of early training, and if the fact that Mrs. Rice claims to be an Atheist is a defense for her."
Judge- "thank you Mr. Pritchard you may step down, subject to recall tomorrow when we resume. Thank you Counsel and Mrs. Rice in absentia, Court adjourned. "
end part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
"Objection, " said the Counselor for Mrs. Rice"
Judge-" I thought we agreed Mr. Pritchard could give testimony on History, Philosophy and as a writer, despite his lack commercial success."
Counselor for Mrs. Rice, a woman, "yes we agree but no Religious testimony from Pritchard in the trial of should Anne Rice go to Hell".
Judge- "continue Mr. Pritchard, speak as a philosopher of sorts, What is a brief, please, a brief summary of the case against the existence of eternal suffering in Hell, from a non-religious point of view? "
Pritchard-, " thank you your Honor for allowing me to be here today, Well, I would think Epicurus [ 341-241 BC] in "Principal Doctrines" said it best, about the idea of an after life in general, expressed very briefly," " Death means nothing to us [ his followers] for that which is dissolved is without sensation" "and concerning suffering in Hell, even should such a place exist" " Pain does not last continuously in the flesh" but " even the acutest pain is only there for a very short while".
Judge- "thank-you, Mr. Pritchard, then from a non religious point of view can we agree that eternal suffering seems unlikely?
Council for Catholic Church- "we can agree to that while reinforcing the point that Mrs. Rice, the defendant was schooled in Catholic Dogma and Doctrine, is an intelligent woman and has the ability and had the opportunity to understand the ramifications of writing pornographic literature"
Mrs. Rice Counsel-"objection, they are trying to be Judge and Jury again your Honor"
Judge- " yes, yes, Ok- let's move forward"
Judge "Mr Pritchard- please in you opinion as a sort of writer answer Prosecutors question of " Is Mrs. Rice" a successful, and influential writer".
Pritchard- " I understand she has sold over 100 million books and her books have been made into several movies"
Prosecutor- Mr. Pritchard, "-Have you read her Work"?
Pritchard- "only a part of "The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty "
Prosecutor- " Would you consider that work pornographic?"
Mrs. Rice's Counsel- "objection"
Judge- yes prosecutor, let's get back to that after we continue to review the argument for the existence of Hell some more, try to agree if Mrs. Rice believes in a Catholic Hell because of early training, and if the fact that Mrs. Rice claims to be an Atheist is a defense for her."
Judge- "thank you Mr. Pritchard you may step down, subject to recall tomorrow when we resume. Thank you Counsel and Mrs. Rice in absentia, Court adjourned. "
end part 3
She sang in a choir
She sang in a choir
fiction
edward w Pritchard
She sang in a choir, of what I know not but as she sings I hear secret meaning in foreign melody.
She sang in a choir, when I know not, but as she sings I hear a Muse whisper sacred lyrics from yesterdays pages.
She sang in a choir, Latin I believe, what it means I cannot understand , but as she sings I discern cryptic scriptures after verses are effectuated.
fiction
edward w Pritchard
She sang in a choir, of what I know not but as she sings I hear secret meaning in foreign melody.
She sang in a choir, when I know not, but as she sings I hear a Muse whisper sacred lyrics from yesterdays pages.
She sang in a choir, Latin I believe, what it means I cannot understand , but as she sings I discern cryptic scriptures after verses are effectuated.
Will Anne Rice the Author go to Hell/part 2
Will Anne Rice the Author go to Hell/ part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
The car is very small too small for a taxi cab but that's what the driver uses it for. Looking out the window from the back left seat I believe we are in Manila, in the Philippines although I have never been in Manila. Also I would never ride in a taxi cab that stops and stops and let's people get in and out for a pesos if that the name of the money unit they use here. When it's my turn to pay I will use dollars.
Traffic is heavy out there and those drivers drive too fast and the motor scooters weave in and out of traffic and everyone tailgates and the noise is terrific.
Why is the other passenger in the back seat sitting like that? Upside down with her head down on the floor and her feet in the air toward the rear window of the vehicle. I must say something to the driver, she seems to be in charge although she has been talking a long time; some sort of lecture on the City I suppose for the tourists, maybe the couple crammed in the front seat with the driver. It's been a long time since I saw someone sit in the front seat in the middle, the death seat we used to call it. That's where they always put children I remember.
Now I remember why I can't concentrate on what the driver is saying, My left wrist hurts terribly, it's nailed to the left rear door by a long nail; a spike I believe it's called and there is a little crusted blood on my shirt and my lower left arm is throbbing.
The girl sitting upside down is not sitting in a very ladylike way. I must mention it to the driver. If I could get some water I could probably talk a little; even though my throat is very dry and I don't speak the language. A little while ago that girl in the rear seat tried to bite my right wrist very hard.
The driver speaks too loud. She wants to be heard by everyone over the road noise I suppose but I dislike a loud shrill voice in a woman. " Hell is real", she says, " a place of damnation and incomprehensible suffering". " Unrepentant sinners go to Hell for eternity" she says as she swerves the vehicle hard to right jerking the nail in my left wrist against the door. Why when one swerves to the right does gravity or is it friction pull us to the left?
The couple in the front are counting money. They are Americans, she has to give him his allowance I see. Funny in a way. He won't look in the back seat. They are counting their money in advance anxious to get out of this cab and get on with their lives. It's not a comfortable vehicle we travel in.
The cab driver is a Nun. She has a habit covering her neck. I can see her face in the mirror. I recognized her at once. From the Michelangelo sculpture, "St Theresa in Ecstasy". How did a Nun learn to drive a car, a Nun from Renaissance Italy, I think, and how can she speak English? I think I am hearing her in English. " God has warned us sufficiently about Hell" the Nun says, " He mercifully gave us his sacred scriptures, and " scripture clearly explains the punishments that are to follow for eternity for those mortal sinners who go to Hell".
The girl in the next seat to me here in the back is a Nun too. She must be from a different order because her costume is different. Feminine, she is a very small woman, at first I thought a teenage girl but I see from her face that she has had a hard life, although she doesn't look unhappy, even sitting upside down like that. What I don't understand is why did she tried to bite my wrist like that earlier? As I look at her she smiles at me" Sacrifice yourself for sinners." she says, in French, I hope I have the translation right, my French is rusty. She speaks to me again, " there is much quartz among the gold in a vein in a mine," she says, smiling at me; " sometimes it's not profitable to the miner to extract the gold from the mine because of the expense of removing the quartz." " study your bible" she says, again in French.
" Moses and the Prophets have warned us about Hell", says our driver. I am starting to like her voice, it's not shrill but beseeching, she really wants to be understood, I guess.
We weave in and out of traffic and dash the lights regardless of color. Pedestrians dart in and out and St Theresa drives skillfully with one hand as she gives us the tour lecture. The American couple in the front won't look in the back seat and they keep looking out the front passenger side door watching for their destination. The small Nun in the rear seat sitting upside down is part of the Tour I guess.
I am the only passenger in the back seat then. " The spiritual works of Mercy are, to counsel the doubtful, to forgive all injuries, and to pray for the living and the dead," says St Theresa.
My wrists aches from this nail in my arm. This is a long long road we are traveling on. I hope I have the money to pay my fare when it is my turn to get out.
end part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
The car is very small too small for a taxi cab but that's what the driver uses it for. Looking out the window from the back left seat I believe we are in Manila, in the Philippines although I have never been in Manila. Also I would never ride in a taxi cab that stops and stops and let's people get in and out for a pesos if that the name of the money unit they use here. When it's my turn to pay I will use dollars.
Traffic is heavy out there and those drivers drive too fast and the motor scooters weave in and out of traffic and everyone tailgates and the noise is terrific.
Why is the other passenger in the back seat sitting like that? Upside down with her head down on the floor and her feet in the air toward the rear window of the vehicle. I must say something to the driver, she seems to be in charge although she has been talking a long time; some sort of lecture on the City I suppose for the tourists, maybe the couple crammed in the front seat with the driver. It's been a long time since I saw someone sit in the front seat in the middle, the death seat we used to call it. That's where they always put children I remember.
Now I remember why I can't concentrate on what the driver is saying, My left wrist hurts terribly, it's nailed to the left rear door by a long nail; a spike I believe it's called and there is a little crusted blood on my shirt and my lower left arm is throbbing.
The girl sitting upside down is not sitting in a very ladylike way. I must mention it to the driver. If I could get some water I could probably talk a little; even though my throat is very dry and I don't speak the language. A little while ago that girl in the rear seat tried to bite my right wrist very hard.
The driver speaks too loud. She wants to be heard by everyone over the road noise I suppose but I dislike a loud shrill voice in a woman. " Hell is real", she says, " a place of damnation and incomprehensible suffering". " Unrepentant sinners go to Hell for eternity" she says as she swerves the vehicle hard to right jerking the nail in my left wrist against the door. Why when one swerves to the right does gravity or is it friction pull us to the left?
The couple in the front are counting money. They are Americans, she has to give him his allowance I see. Funny in a way. He won't look in the back seat. They are counting their money in advance anxious to get out of this cab and get on with their lives. It's not a comfortable vehicle we travel in.
The cab driver is a Nun. She has a habit covering her neck. I can see her face in the mirror. I recognized her at once. From the Michelangelo sculpture, "St Theresa in Ecstasy". How did a Nun learn to drive a car, a Nun from Renaissance Italy, I think, and how can she speak English? I think I am hearing her in English. " God has warned us sufficiently about Hell" the Nun says, " He mercifully gave us his sacred scriptures, and " scripture clearly explains the punishments that are to follow for eternity for those mortal sinners who go to Hell".
The girl in the next seat to me here in the back is a Nun too. She must be from a different order because her costume is different. Feminine, she is a very small woman, at first I thought a teenage girl but I see from her face that she has had a hard life, although she doesn't look unhappy, even sitting upside down like that. What I don't understand is why did she tried to bite my wrist like that earlier? As I look at her she smiles at me" Sacrifice yourself for sinners." she says, in French, I hope I have the translation right, my French is rusty. She speaks to me again, " there is much quartz among the gold in a vein in a mine," she says, smiling at me; " sometimes it's not profitable to the miner to extract the gold from the mine because of the expense of removing the quartz." " study your bible" she says, again in French.
" Moses and the Prophets have warned us about Hell", says our driver. I am starting to like her voice, it's not shrill but beseeching, she really wants to be understood, I guess.
We weave in and out of traffic and dash the lights regardless of color. Pedestrians dart in and out and St Theresa drives skillfully with one hand as she gives us the tour lecture. The American couple in the front won't look in the back seat and they keep looking out the front passenger side door watching for their destination. The small Nun in the rear seat sitting upside down is part of the Tour I guess.
I am the only passenger in the back seat then. " The spiritual works of Mercy are, to counsel the doubtful, to forgive all injuries, and to pray for the living and the dead," says St Theresa.
My wrists aches from this nail in my arm. This is a long long road we are traveling on. I hope I have the money to pay my fare when it is my turn to get out.
end part 2
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