All The Men Stayed

a tall tale, a trifle true...typical suburban dystopia

[allthemenstayed]

Book 2, Chapter 2: The True Nature of “Things”

Turner+Jenny+Vince...

It was official – she and Turner were boat owners. It seemed to Jenny that they had passed yet another apparent milestone on the uphill climb toward king and queen of that twisted theme park known as Suburbia: the one they inhabited anyway. But despite the milestones they'd put behind them, Jenny always felt more like Sisyphus than the queen of Cypress Springs. At any rate, if they stayed on their current trajectory, she and Turner would attain “most fabulous couple” status in their 'hood—with their fabulous house, fabulous finished basement, fabulous cars, fabulous golf cart, fabulous trampoline, fabulous kids and absolutely fucking fabulous new boat—by the time the big New Year’s party was held in some neighbor’s fabulous basement. At this moment, however, she'd have to settle for basking in the afterglow of the boat trailer brake lights as Turner backed it up the driveway. 

Each new thing annexed into their impressive empire of possessions carried the promise of materialistic euphoria; new things always do. So life necessarily becomes a race to amass as many things as possible in an effort to harvest bountiful bliss. And then, one day, we die, buried under our empire useless things that provided no bliss at all post-acquisition. Hence the reason we have kids: to annex, donate or trash our bliss once we’re dead. The bliss has go to go somewhere.

That’s what Jenny had come to learn about things: the promise of happiness that came with each new thing was as dubious as the one she’d made at the alter so many years ago. Still, she remained steadfast in her pursuit of happiness via consumerism. She repeated the bourgeois mantras—the psalms of the indulged—in her head, over and over and over: 

“Things! Things! Make queens and kings!”

“Stuff!! Stuff! You can’t have enough!”

Sure this new humongous thing was more for Turner, but it was kind of cool this second. Maybe the joy wouldn’t fade as quite so fast with this shiny new thing as it did with all the others? Maybe the outdoor stacked-stone fireplace and pizza oven slated for a late-September installation would bring interminable joy? Maybe a newer set of faker tits for Christmas would be the holy grail?

Jenny wanted so badly to deny the truth that tormented her as she watched this new enormous thing advancing uphill: it was the pursuit, the chase, that was invigorating. Once the thing was captured, it’s allure faded faster than youth itself. And so everything seemed to decay at the same rate in her suburban vacuum—even the things made of steel, gold and especially vows.

"Whoa!" Jenny yelled as she put both hands up to signal to Turner to stop the truck. Had he backed up another foot, she would have been crushed between the prop and the garage door. Hmm...maybe I should have volunteered to back up the boat? she thought. Turner hit the button on the garage door opener and bounded out of the truck like an adolescent male about to escort his date up to their hotel room on prom night. "Thanks babe! I couldn't have done it without you," he said as he walked around the back of the boat to gaze upon the enormous phallus now protruding from his garage. "My pleasure," Jenny replied with a smarmy smile. "Can you move the truck into the street? I need to wipe the dead bugs off the front of our new baby," Turner ordered rather than asked. "Sure hun," Jenny replied in a tone that conveyed her mild embarrassment at the sudden realization she was married to the newest boat geek on the block. 

As Jenny drove the truck around to the street, Turner scampered into the neighbors driveway to gaze upon his new toy. From this vantage point, it (the boat) indeed resembled an enormous white cock thrusting slightly northward complete with its requisite set of balls (the garage doors) contrasted wonderfully against the crimson sunset. It was a downright muscular vignette and Turner could have stood there marveling until twilight and beyond.

"She's a beauty," Turner said to Jenny as she approached him cemented to the neighbor’s driveway after parking the truck. “I thought you were going to wipe it down?” Jenny puzzled. “I am. I just need to stare at it for a minute,” Turner replied. Oh dear, thought Jenny. "It's a big boat; that's for sure," she replied. "I can't wait to get her out to the lake this weekend. We can pack a couple of coolers and stay out all day." Turner suggested . "We'll have to bring stuff to grill out on Granite Isle," Jenny confirmed. "Yep!" he replied.

Just then, Vince emerged from behind the slowly ascending aluminum curtain that shielded the contents of his garage from the ‘hood. "New boat?" asked Vince in that master-of-the-obvious manner that so plagued all suburban banter, so as to be practically compulsory. “Yep!” Turner spun to answer.

Conversations among suburbanites were nearly always loaded with platitudes, proverbialisms and colloquialisms. If you didn’t ask questions to which the answer was patently apparent...if you didn’t make extraneous observations about trivial aspects...if you didn’t speak fluent (local) sports, weather or traffic, you were just downright weird and did not belong in an upscale swim tennis community like Cypress Springs. In fact you may as well move to a predominantly eastern Indian community like Magnolia Heights or a  predominantly eastern Asian community like Twin Lakes.

As Vince continued his advance on and Jenny, who stood at the foot of his driveway, Jenny could sense a little something unraveling deep within her. As Vince breached her personal space corridor—an area generally only occupied by Turner, her children or the fabulous family dog—that little something unraveled further and deeper. Jenny then felt a rare sensation just south of the pit of her stomach – some combination of insatiable itch and just-out-of-reach ecstasy. For Jenny, the sight of Vince was like a Ted’s Montana Grill commercial playing on the television after months of embarking on an unintentional vegan lifestyle.

While this drama was playing out somewhere between his wife’s preoccupied mind and aching loins, a much different one was playing out miles away somewhere between Turner’s ears...Boat ownership in Cypress Springs is gonna come with privileges! Turner thought. There was the requisite boat club membership. As the closest lake was 20 miles away, he would necessarily enjoy the exclusive rights afforded a boat slip proprietor at Carter's Landing. Next, there was all that envy and jealousy to sop up. After the proverbial nauseating Facebook post with the kids behind the wheel wearing adorably awkward skipper hats, comments like: "OMG! So jealous!" and "Lucky!!! I wish we had a boat (frown-face emoji)" were sure to flow in for a few days. Finally, there was the new level of snobbery to exude at the gym, tennis courts or bus stop. Invitations to tedious social gatherings of commoners could be effortlessly eschewed in the wake of the 275 horsepower engine – Sorry, we'd love to come, but we'll be on the lake all day (patronizing smile) Turner thought as a grin inched across his lips. He hated all the fucking tennis parties anyway.

"Wow, she's a beauty Turner!" remarked Vince as he traced the profile of Jenny's prodigious breasts with his eyes. "Thanks Vince!" Turner replied. "We just brought her home." "How many feet?" asked Vince (not that he gave a shit). "27 feet with a 275 HP motor." Turner answered. "Nice..." Vince responded in an absent tone.

The three of them stood there in awe...

Turner – in awe of his new, super-sized fiberglass manhood. Years of belittling, ignoring and straight-up insults at the hands women had left him feeling less than “robust”. He had since yearned for—and since acquired—those manly things – delegates of male potency. A John Deere riding mower replaced his Honda Harmony self-propelled push mower. A Bobcat skid steer replaced shovels and a wheelbarrow. A Midnight Black 4-door Jeep Wrangler replaced his bland suburban land yacht. If Jenny was going to render him impotent as a husband, he was surely going to overcompensate in many other big ways.

Jenny – in awe of the spell Vince was able to cast every time he was nearby. Her knees got week, her heartbeat quickened and somewhere deep inside her, a carnal storm would stir and intensify every minute he was near. Vince would (again) obviously be her the co-star in tomorrow's bathtub fantasy session after she dropped the kids at school.

Vince – in awe of Jenny’s ample bosom, demur waistline and schoolgirl insecurity. She was so ripe for the picking it would be child’s play for him, and he knew it. After a few years of neighborly interaction, Vice was acutely aware that Jenny was an attention slut. If there was a man in the vicinity, she ached for his acknowledgement. In the presence of strictly women, a compliment on her hair, nails or ensemble was desperately sought. Even when she was alone, mirror-lust afflicted her terribly.

Vince turned toward Jenny and flashed a sly grin that he knew would register with her girlish inadequacy, "What do you think of Turner’s new toy?" Jenny—momentarily unconscious due to the density of the erotic haze—was startled by the question and immediately blushed. For the very man who was responsible for the haze in the first place, was now smiling at her. "Um...oh...it's fantastic...really. The kids will love it, anyway." As she responded, she pasted the requisite fake enthusiasm onto her face to obfuscate her obvious desire for Vince and to placate Turner. "I'll bet you'll be on the lake this weekend?" Vince suggested. "You bet we will!" Turner interjected. "I can't wait to take this baby for a ride and give 'er hell!" Vince chuckled, slapped Turner on the back as her turned and headed back toward his garage.

Turner remained fixated on this newest sex toy in his arsenal. For these things that stuffed his garage, this stuff that filled his shed, this filler that occupied his basement shelves - these were the toys that made him feel virile, manly. This newest toy -- this boat -- made him feel sexy as hell.  

Meanwhile, Jenny walked back toward the house dreaming of Vince taking her for a ride and giving her hell...

[allthemenstayed]

Book 2, Chapter 1: Powder Keg-ing Her Nose

Maximillion+Sybil+Marley…

Many have experienced it - the awkward right of passage when a college love -- the +1 du jour -- comes home for the weekend to meet the folks. Necessarily, but to the muted dismay of mom and pop, the lovebirds end up nesting in a childhood bedroom. This provides ample opportunity to secretly engage in all manner of nocturnal shenanigans when the probability of parentus interruptus is remote. As they navigate the various familial commitments that comprise a typical "meet the parents" weekend, the lovebirds become a bit more familiar with the present company, a bit more comfortable with the accommodations and a bit more brazen with the carnal escapades. Inevitably, they find themselves pressing their luck on a Sunday morning prior to a shotgun start of brunch + sin atonement. Hey, why not toss a post-dawn/pre-worship screw into the mix to make Sunday really interesting? The notion of getting off a quick one before church doesn't seem totally wrong, right? So, the college lovebirds get down to business with the best intentions of wrapping things up in five minutes (or thereabouts). As with any pair in the midst of a good morning tussle, however, time-tracking plunges down the list of priorities shortly after the ‘jammies have been cast aside. Other more pressing priorities like: the positioning of the participants, the proximity of the Hitachi Magic Wand to the nearest outlet, and the availability of quick and reliable birth control tend to overshadow prudent clock management. 

But...

...just like the alarm clock buzzer that hijacks a wet dream on the verge of the wet part.

...just like the fumbled hot apple pie en route from the oven to the counter that instead lands on the floor.

...just like the climaxing movie that’s interrupted by the the dreaded “5% battery life remaining” message on your iPad.

...just moments before the lovebirds arrive in unison at destination bliss, a stern knock at the bedroom door brings the entire production to an alarming and premature halt. A deafening hush falls over the players on the inside, as they attempt to cover up the crime scene amid racing hearts and minds. Meanwhile, outside, embarrassed anguish hangs in the air like dense fog in anticipation of some response -- sure to be a flaccid one -- from inside. Each actor in this scene, regardless of their position on set, knows that everyone would much rather be anywhere else. But this confrontation was inevitable, and no one was going to get a reprieve.

This is exactly what it felt like for Max and Sybil when three distinct booms came from the knocker attached to their front door.

Outside, as she withdrew her hand from the garish door knocker, Marley was petrified - literally and figuratively. Numerous beads of sweat had amassed just above her unkempt eyebrows and on the fine hairs she had refused to get waxed off her upper lip. What if they grew back thicker? Longer? Darker? she always worried. Instead, she diligently treated them with hydrogen peroxide, “tinting” them to match her skin color. Regular brow waxing was not yet in her budget. Out of necessity, she chose an “au naturel” eyebrow style.

Although she remained motionless in anticipation of the scene that was about to be revealed when someone opened the door, the space between her ears was a wild with activity. Thoughts like...

How are they going to explain the dish fragments all over the place? Do I just ignore it? Do I offer to sweep it up later, so that they can get going?

What are they going to say to me? “Sorry for the mess, we were emptying the dishwasher and a plate just flew across the room and shattered into a million pieces.“

Will Mr. Sharper be angry? At me? At Mrs. Sharper? At the kids? God he has a temper!

Will Mrs. Sharper have a black eye? A bloody lip? A bruised cheek? Do I just pretend I don’t notice? Do I just not make eye contact with her?

Am in danger right now? 

FUCK--I’m never doing ANYTHING for these freaks again!!!

...raced through her poor ill-equipped mind. Yet there she stood, devoid of motion, in a blitz of emotion.

“Holy shit! Who in the fuck is that?” Max ceased his histrionics and just stared at Sybil with wide eyes. 

“The fucking dog sitter you bastard! Nice Frisbee work with the plate. You can explain that mess to her. I don’t care what you say. Tell her you tried to take off my head with it. That will freak her the fuck out.” 

A satisfied smirk drew across Sybil’s lips for she had just invoked her superpower - an ability to manipulate all men - this man in particular. She knew Max was already auditioning plausible explanations for the broken plate and the dent in the Sheetrock. When he was sober, Max was useless under stress and powerless against her mastery of male manipulation. What a simple man your are Maximillion Sharper...what a simple, stupid, small man... she thought. But when Max’s brain was awash in booze, her superpower was powerless. It was only when he was drunk that Max became unpredictable and violent.

As Max frantically began to pick up shards from Potter Barn’s finest dinnerware collection (c. 2001), Sybil just leaned against the kitchen island and watched her tormentor vigorously working to clean his mess. She drew a compact from her pocket and began to apply a powder to her nose. 

On his knees with fists full of busted porcelain, Max aggressively swung his head around and barked, “Aren’t you going to help?!” “Nope,” Sybil responded as she put the compact back in her pocket, “I’m gonna get the door. We can’t keep the poor girl waiting all day. Plus, we’re going to be late for our tour this afternoon if we don’t leave in the next five minutes.”

Max sprung to his feet and took a few strides toward Sybil in an attempt to stop her, in the process emptying one of his fists full of porcelain on the island counter. Ironically, he had chosen to deposit the debris near the corner he had damaged with his gun. As a result of his momentum, the pieces skidded across the counter-top toward the busted corner.

Before he could even utter half of the word “wait”, Sybil reached for the door knob, twisted it and swung the door wide open. Like a boy ashamed of what he had done, Max instinctively looked down. In his peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of a single fragment of porcelain teetering on the edge of the busted up corner. As Marley’s form - radiating nervous tension, and face - her lips glued into an tepid smile, became visible through the storm door, the teetering fragment of once-precious everyday china slid off the corner and made an eerie clatter when it hit the floor.

[allthemenstayed]

Book 1, Chapter 7: There Is No Such Thing as a Little Secret

Vince+Katherine...

One never knows what can come from a childhood romance. Picture, if you will, circa 1975; small town, smaller park, big dreams. Vince and Katherine ran around in maze like fashion. It was either the slide, the monkey bars, the swings or the race for the water fountain. Not much kept these two orderly except perhaps their Garanimals. 

Vince and Katherine’s mothers knew that these two were destined to be together. God only knew where that plan was destined to end up. For the sweet little kiddos, that was the last thing on their minds, as it should be. They were friends. They didn't see boy/girl. Vince could dream like no other and Katherine loved hearing his stories. Katherine could make Vince laugh so hard he had been known to pee his pants a time or two. 

What these kids had was innocent. It was natural. It was text book Norman Rockwell. What a shame it is when real life rears it’s ugly head and brings disorder to all that surrounds it... even the garanimals.

“I really don’t care where it goes, babe. Just get it off the truck and in the house” Katherine answered Vince. “I appreciate your laid back personality but I really could use some guidance”, Vince stated as he held onto a rather large end table that had just occupied a home in their previous master bedroom. “Just put it in the family room. We will figure it all out later’, Katherine calmly spoke. 

Not so deep within she was beyond over the “order” that Vince wanted in their lives. If she was completely honest she hoped that the end table was put next to a bed in a room other than where she would rest her exhausted head. It had been a while since she and Vince truly shared an evening beneath the sheets. In some capacity that justified purchasing a bigger home together despite the state of their relationship. “A bedroom for me, a bedroom for Vince, a bedroom for Rush and of course guests”, the voice sounded in Katherine's head. 

“Oh-my-word, this is simply the PERFECT home for the PERFECT couple and their little darling.  I do believe I see plenty of space for some more Grand babies”. These were the words Vince’s mother, Audrey sang as she entered the home carrying flowers and a pristinely  wrapped box of treats. Just behind Audrey, “Good Lord, did you all even consider an elevator? Have you counted the steps? I just might die before another Grand baby gets here”, Hugh spoke incredibly out of breath. 

“Don’t be silly”, states Audrey. “This is the first day of the rest of all of lives”. Katherine was really wishing that she had not taken a break for lunch. It was just about ready to do a 180. Vince drank a cold beer sitting on the counter completely content with the environment and conversation. Audrey and Hugh stood in the kitchen looking at their son and his bride. Rush, Vince and Katherine’s son, was at Katherine’s folks home to make moving day easier. At this “still frame” moment, nothing would break the unspoken obvious right now better than the distraction of sweet 3 year old Rush. 

“Um, I’m gonna get moving, ya’ll. There is a lot to unpack”, Katherine felt her words break through some invisible sound barrier. Come to think of it, that is a feeling that she often felt. She knew that she was regularly the voice of reason and reality. Reason and reality were not looked highly upon by their families and certainly not by their social circle. “I’m on it, babe.”, Vince jumps off the counter taking the final chug of his beer. “I’m going to enjoy this floor that sits somewhere between too many steps to count”, Hugh huffs.

 “Well, I do wish Rush was here.”, Audrey states. “Katherine, come here sweet girl.” Katherine approached Audrey as she had the past 10 years of her life: lovingly, respectfully and with sincere caution. “Yes, Ma’am”, Katherine said. “You do realize that this IS the first day of forever, don’t you darling?” Audrey administrates. “Of course I do. I believe that everyday is the first day of forever”. “Shit”, Katherine thought. Had she misspoken? Did that sound too sassy? 

“You are our sweet little flower child.” Audrey said. “But I must express on this day; a day that ya’ll are moving, growing and changing (with the help of your families) if I might add. We love lots of babies. So does your mamma and daddy. You understand that, right?”, Audrey questions.

Atlanta’s spaghetti junction was a dirt road compared to Katherine’s mind right now. The easiest thing to do? Smile and yes ma’am your way through it all. There was no question that Audrey “knew” Katherine the past 36 years as a mamma would know her daughter (in-law). So, Katherine did just that, “I love children and a big family has always been a dream.”, she states. “I know sweet girl. We are so blessed. So very, very blessed.” Audrey declares. 

“We are indeed blessed”. Katherine said out loud as if she had been questioned. She did mean it. What she hadn’t meant was 99% of what she said and did on this day and many days prior. Yes, this was the first day of forever (and Katherine did feel strongly about that every..day..). Today, however it seemed a little insincere. There was just a bit too much talk about the future and forever. 

So, the truck got unloaded as Hugh sat on the couch. Vince continued as Vince. Audrey shuffled around feeling lost without her grandchild and prayed real hard that “this” was going to work. Katherine orchestrated a beautiful move and she was pretty certain that she had sold no part of her soul to the devil to get where she was. There was however this “moment”, this “thing” that quietly haunted Katherine. Secret’s sucked. It’s not just what she was taught, it  was what felt right (or wrong).This was going to be the biggest player in acclimation.  

[allthemenstayed]

Book 1, Chapter 6: Rage, Outrage, Courage

Marley...

As she parked her smart car toward the back of the driveway, Marley could see James and Casey running all over the yard drenching each other with water guns. They made her nervous; she had hoped to arrive after everyone had left. But it wasn’t just these two boys that made her uneasy, all kids made her uneasy. She always related to animals best. Humans, especially the immature variety, were her greatest challenge.

From the edge of the driveway, she could see that the SUV still parked in the garage was loaded down with everything a family of four would need for a week of camping. Clearly, the Sharpers were about to leave. Why didn’t I just stop for gas before I got here--stupid smart car! Marley thought. She made a mental note to always stop for gas regardless of what the fuel gauge was reporting.

Marley waved at the two turbulent devils as she forced a tentative smile across her lips. “Hi guys!” All she got in return was an obstreperous yet incoherent stereophonic greeting that was cut short when the battle for water cannon supremacy abruptly resumed. Thank God! she thought, I had nothing else to say.

With most humans, Marley dealt strictly in trite dialog and worn-out platitudes. She occasionally tossed in a cliche for good measure. She was a subject-matter-expert when it came to meteorologic observations. Likely no one got more use out of the The Weather Channel app; she religiously consulted it each morning as she ate breakfast.

As a side-effect of never developing a comfort-level with the spoken word, Marley had cultivated exceptional listening skills. She realized early on that most people are voracious talkers. Out of necessity more than desire, she became a ravenous listener. And so she did...to the dilemmas that plagued overachieving, overindulged and overfed suburbanites. By her own estimation, she was owed upwards for $50K for the therapeutic listening services she had provided to the various residents of Cypress Springs.

Where she struggled with human interaction and the finer points of conversation, she excelled at trans-species relationships. She was the Dr. Doolittle of the greater Six Creeks area, and everyone knew it. She had grown a nice little dog/cat/bird/rodent-sitting business in the five years since her own divorce. She’d even dabbled in horses and goats for a spell. She didn’t do reptiles, however, much to the chagrin of a few snake aficionados in the area. But she had standards - if it had a face, fur and feelings, she’d care for it.

Marley’s affinity for animals was spawned back in seventh grade shortly after the bullying for being “too quiet” started. Prior to middle school, the notion of being harassed for something as ingrained as an accent, as unalterable as height, or as permanent as introversion was unimaginable. But middle school, she’d quickly learn, is when kids shed all remaining innocence. In her case, it was ferociously stripped rather than casually tossed aside.

Most days she would come home from school in tears and take solace in the warm fur of her Calico, Sprinkles or her Pomeranian, Chewy. As the ruthlessness of her classmates forced her even further within herself -- a cruel and ironic defense mechanism for a young girl that was already nearly mute -- the unconditional love of her pets melted her defenses (and heart). With her pets, she could again be herself - free of judgement - full of love - endlessly content. As a result, an almost uncanny empathy developed between her and the pets she dearly loved.

As time passed, this near telepathic ability to “talk” to the animals only increased. She had truly become an animal (reptiles excluded) “whisperer”. She oft dreamed of having her own reality show where she helped pet owners better understand their pets. Lord knows there were plenty of clueless pet owners and just as many desperate pets. She'd encountered plenty throughout her various pet-sitting stints. But she’d never had the guts to do anything with the idea. Instead, she ministered to the neglected pets and attempted to educate their hapless humans. And so today she found herself at yet another dog-sitting gig.

As Marley passed the living room window on the way to the front door, something caught her attention. A pair of shadowy figures projected onto the translucent curtains were gesturing erratically, almost violently. As this intense cinema escalated on the chiffon screen, she just stood there - dumbfounded at first and then transfixed. The two shadows, who she recognized and Mr. and Mrs. Sharper, were in the midst of an epic battle sequence. At least that's how her disbelieving eyes were interpreting the scene. Amid all the shouting and arms flailing, all-at-once there was an unmistakable thwack of an open hand to a face. Oh my God--did he just strike her...?! Marley gasped. In horror and reflexively raised her hands to her mouth. There she stood, paralyzed by this most outrageous and shocking drama unfolding. It was the last thing she would have imagined as she memorized the forecast -- 82 degrees and sunny with a 40% chance of rain after 5 PM -- over Captain Crunch and Frosted Strawberry Pop-Tarts just three hours earlier.

Suddenly, realizing she was projecting her own visibly shaken shadow from the outside just as clearly as the Sharpers were projecting a hymeneal tragedy from the inside on this unfortunate two-way movie screen, she scampered quickly to the windowless front door. Although she swore only under remarkable circumstances, a mantra of Holy F-U-C-K! What if they saw me? echoed relentlessly in her head. When the echoes finally faded, Marley wondered, What am I supposed to do now? In her brief stint as the de facto pet sitter for the ponderous suburban Xanadu known as Willow Springs, she’d never arrived on scene with a full-blown domestic in progress. Since she’d already been spotted by the couples’ two boys, she couldn’t slink back to her clown car and sputter away. 

Marley flinched at what sounded like a glass or ceramic bowl exploding into hundreds of pieces. By this point, she had accelerated past frantic to full-blown panic. She gathered her wits and took a quick assessment of her current predicament: although she was a minute or two early, they’d be expecting her any second, she’d been positively ID’d by the boys, and she couldn’t just stand on their front porch until the roaring inferno inside died down. In a moment of sheer courage -- half wanting to put an abrupt end to the chaos inside and half wanting to get off the front porch before the neighbors mistook her for a creeper and called the cops -- she reached out with a trembling finger and depressed the doorbell.

[allthemenstayed]

Book 1, Chapter 5: Living in a Dream

Jaye+Addison...

Josie and Andrew dashed past a windowless aperture on the fifth floor of an abandon building that appeared to have been heavily shelled. I am on the other side of a crumbling parking lot at least 800 feet away. I am standing on some elevated railroad tracks between the rails. Everything is monochromatic; this world appears to have been drained of all vibrancy and resonance. There is noting but devastation and ruin as far as I can see - endless rows of buildings absent their facades - concrete and asphalt rubble strewn anywhere-- no life except the three of us. We find ourselves amid the settled remains in a post-apocalyptic dystopian snow globe that was shaken rather violently and too vigorously.

How in the hell did the three of us get here?

Where exactly is here?

Why here?

I start yelling at Josie and Drew, but they ignore me and continue running from one busted out window opening  to the next as though they are engaged in a game of madcap daredevil tag. They are so far up - five stories at least. How did they get way the hell up there without me? Why am I down here? God, they have to be careful!

Instinctively, I attempt to move toward them, but I continually find myself planted between the two rails. No matter how hard I want to move in their direction, I am a helpless statue with feet of clay. The distance between me and my little angels is interminable. I cup my hands around my mouth and start shouting again, but neither Josie nor Drew breaks from their antics to pay my pleading any heed. They simply frolic, scamper and play amid all of the destruction unfazed. It is as though they are in some park on any glorious Friday afternoon. I am perplexed. How can I hear their squeals and laughter and they cannot hear me at all?

Josie abruptly stops, looks my direction and waves vigorously. Thank G-O-D! She knows I am here. I again make my hands into a megaphone and yell for her to stop and wait for me. She just smiles and continues to wave in a robotic manner devoid of all emotion as though she has been programmed to do so. Drew does not acknowledge me; he acts as though Josie is waving at a a ghost only visible to her. He interrupts her mechanical acknowledgement by pulling her arm down. He then runs away; she impulsively chases after him. Why can’t they hear me? My words are failing to pierce the dense dreary atmosphere that separates our worlds even though we are close enough to make eye contact?

I watch helplessly as Josie and Drew run up a stairwell and emerge onto the sixth floor. I scream as loudly as I can for them to stop and wait. I wave my hands in a frenzied manner - a desperate display of exasperation. But, they just keep dashing about chasing one another throughout the barren edifice. Josie waved at me, so they know I am here. Why won’t they come to me? What can’t I go to them?

Suddenly Drew slips on something and falls half way over the edge of one of the openings where a floor-to-ceiling window once stood. Josie quickly grabs his arms and tries to pull him back into the structure. Drew is screaming and trying to swing one of his dangling legs back up on the floor of the building. He is pleading with Josie to pull him back in -- to save him. I can tell he is too heavy for her to pull back inside. FUCK!!! I could pull him back up easily. I gaze on in horror, apoplectic, resigned to my soundless, motionless, hopeless plight. Josie looks my direction one last time with a cherubic face awash in sheer terror as the weight of her brother pulls them both out of the building and into thin air.

They both shriek loudly as the ground rushes toward them...

Jaye suddenly awakens to find himself sitting upright in his bed screaming a silent scream as though his vocal chords are paralyzed. As he tries desperately to regain his bearings -- heart attempting to battle its way out of his chest -- he notices that everything is dark except the simmering green hue of his clock as it glows 3:28 AM. He is no longer trapped in some dreadful aphonic realm, only a bedroom in his father’s basement.

Just then the door opens, and with a start Jaye directs his attention toward the diminutive shadow in the doorway. “Dad?” the shadow calls out from across the darkness. “Yes Drew.” Jaye replies flooded with wave after wave of relief. “I had a bad dream.” Drew approaches the edge of the bed and Jay shifts to embrace his little man. “Me too, buddy...me too...”

[allthemenstayed]

Book 1, Chapter 4: All Things Money Can’t Buy.

Justin+Claire...

Swerving amid children on scooters, dogs on (and off) leashes and curious potential neighbors standing in their driveways doing the pointless shit that exclusive suburban oasis dwellers do weekend mornings as they struggle to pierce the fog of the previous nights debauchery, Justin's Mercedes-Benz G-Class SUV could not have been any more obtrusive. It was at times like these that he yearned for the ubiquitous domestic SUV that he swore he’d never buy. He and Claire would have been practically invisible in Quicksilver Metallic Yukon. By contrast, his bombastic Magno Night Black Matte land gondola screamed "Hey, we want attention--check us out!" All that was missing to complete the audacious travesty was custom gold rims and a steady rap beat pounding out of the rear sub-woofers.

"Baby, I like the stacked-stone facade way more than the HardiePlank," Claire interrupted. "It's nice baby, but it's sort of common in this neighborhood. I like plain old bricks," Justin countered. "Yea baby, but bricks are sort of old school. I've seen so many cool stacked-stone patterns lately on our job sites. Just last week we installed a Yosemite Slate on a house in Magnolia Springs, and it looked awesome!" Sometimes listening to Claire was like watching an annoying HGTV personality ramble endlessly while you desperately hunted for the remote to change the channel.

Justin sunk further into his seat as perplexed suburbanites continued to shoot quizzical looks their direction; Claire continued to obliviously ramble, "Do you think we need a basement? I'd love the extra storage space, and a lot of houses we install do amazing home theater build outs. We could start with just storage, but we could have a sweet home theater some day..." Justin was zoned out trying to imagine what it would be like if she would not fill every second with her out-loud thoughts. "Justin, baby? What do you think about a basement?" Claire echoed. "Umm, I guess we need one for resale?" Justin replied, addled with thoughts of practicality that seemed to elude Claire. "But would you look at a house if it didn't have one?" Claire asked. "It depends," Justin replied "It would have to have the majority of our must-haves."

But that was the problem, their "must-haves" changed depending on the week. As Claire continued to sell exterior projects for Synergy Exteriors, she continued to rework their list of must-haves. Justin wondered if the list would ever be stable long enough to warrant these voyeuristic excursions. They'd toured everything from "Exceptional Homes starting in the mid $300s" to "Luxurious Living from the low $600s" and could not decide on an over-planned, completely-contrived, swim-tennis community that seemed as comfortable as their "Crappy Townhouse in the high $100s" - a refuge chosen strictly out of financial necessity rather than what tile pattern was featured in the powder room. Justin pondered other potential crises that might spurn this queen of indecision to make another move - inevitable pregnancy? intentional accident? inescapable split? As a couple that was tethered together with nothing more that three years of rocky co-habitation, Justin was unsure a joint purchase of THE quintessential “model home” was his best next move. Look at all of the unintended consequences his bombastic taste in automobiles had brought...

[allthemenstayed]

Book 1, Chapter 3: Anything but the Kitchen Sink

Maximillion+Sybil...

Sybil was leaning over the architectural drawings strewn about the scuffed granite counter-top. She couldn’t fully decipher all of the numbers, lines and shapes, but at least she wasn’t looking at into his malignant eyes. The therapist said that a project might be a positive way to reconnect with this man who had become a monster. A remodeling project would force discussion, decision and collaboration in contrast to the silence, deadlock and apathy that dominated their marriage.

Maximillion and the architect were engaged in discussion on the other side of the kitchen. As her focus blurred amid all of the white lines, her mind meandered - her life had become overwhelming - her marriage had fallen into elegant decay - her two sons were no longer oblivious. When her neurons regrouped and her powers of concentration returned, there was only a single glaring thought: "How can I possibly stay with this man?" As enticing as the prospect of a new kitchen was for Sybil, the prospect of one more day as Mrs. Max Sharper was hopelessly daunting. As the conversation on the other side of the kitchen drew her back to the task at hand, her eyes focused on the damaged corner of the island she was leaning against. The chipped corner where the butt of his pistol landed hard a few weeks back during another alcohol-fueled, tear-drenched, too-heated argument. She wondered how much longer she could remain the cornerstone of this family - her family, when Max did nothing but chip away at it. "Honey, what do you think about a hood against the south wall as opposed to one floating in the middle of the room? I feel like the stove and the hood will look so much less obtrusive if we lay it out that way," Max asked. "Yeh, I think you are right. I'd rather something other than a vent hood be the focal point of the entire kitchen," Sybil responded. The architect agreed and noted the change to the drawing. "Did we decide on the farmhouse sink?" asked Sybil. "I don't know baby...it's an added expense and this project is already going to be spendy." Max replied. "Max, if we are going to do this, we have to do it right," Sibyl pleaded, "We only get one shot at this. Plus, this is supposed to be a collaborative process, remember?" He knew she was referencing the exact words of the therapist, and right at this moment he resented her for invoking their new marital mantra in front of the architect. "Ok, you are right, we only get one chance." The words spilled reluctantly from his mouth. Max motioned to the architect to make note of the farmhouse sink. "One chance"...she thought. And how many chances had she given him? 50? 100? 1,000? She'd lost track a few years back after he struck her for the first time. The thought of that night angered her so much right now. That was the moment where the dream disintegrated. That was the moment her world stopped spinning. That was the moment he transformed from the man she fell in love with to the monster she feared. It was such a confounding moment - like everything you thought you knew was built on a foundation of clay. It ushered in a period of exquisite torture for her. By all appearances, she had everything she had ever dreamed of back in the small Midwestern town where she grew up. She had a perfect home in a suburban swim-tennis oasis. Adorned head to toe in Lululemon, she drove an imported SUV to her excellent yoga studio after dropping her kids off at private school each day. She swung her Babolat tennis racquet and hydrated with Kombaucha during her private afternoon tennis lesson. She carried a Tory Burch handbag just below her Micheal Kors watch as she shopped at Whole Foods in her True Religion jeans. She picked up her two above-average sons from school and cheered them on at LaCrosse practice. But then she went home to him. All this extravagant absurdity provided little oxygen. She was still drowning in her own dream - now an almighty incubus. Every day from that point on was different. By hitting her, he shattered one world and opened an entirely new one full of ominous possibilities. Wasn't a husband supposed to protect his family? She never felt safe after that point. Wasn't a father supposed to be a role model for his sons? She refused to believe her sons would grow up to hurt women. Wasn't making love supposed to be life's rare extravagances? She dreaded his touch. As he again rested his hand on her shoulder -- his little reminder of how he dominated her -- to walk the architect to the door, she cringed. For Sybil and Max, there were five stages of spousal abuse: shock, excuse-making, reasoning, bargaining and reconciliation. She been through the cycle countless times; she was now jaded - hard as granite.

[allthemenstayed]

Book 1, Chapter 2: Waxing Nostalgic

Turner+Jenny...

It all seemed richly apropos considering the ominous secret she was hiding from her friends, family and husband. Jenny found herself crouched in the bedroom closet contemplating the “good old days”. The further she descended into the "old days”, however, the less “good” she uncovered. In fact, hunkered down among fantastic blouses, fabulous shoes and familiar angst, she could only recall that one good booze-soaked evening when she first realized Turner was the most amazing man she had met...that week.

How in the fuck did she end up marrying him?

How in the fuck did she end up the mother of his two children?

Why was her asshole the only thing he was currently allowed to fuck?

What did that say about her?

What did that say about him?

What would her mother say?

As profound as these questions were, they’d have to wait for the next therapy session: vineal or psycho - she’d yet to decide. There was an evil deed to be done, and she would not go unpunished.

Jenny poked her head around the edge of the closet door, “Turner! Get in here! Now!” she screamed. “The kids are due at soccer in 27 minutes, and I’m in the middle of something. What do you want?” he retorted. She momentarily weighed the notion of denying him all manner of sexual gratification strictly out of spite. But Turner could be a nightmare when not carnally sated. As pleasing as a sexual famine would be for her, the certain negative consequences of this course of action were outweighed by the soothing effect anal sex seemed to have on this savage beast with whom she shared a bed.

She pressed on with their preposterous exchange.“Well, if you want to fuck a furry asshole later tonight, just keep dilly dallying.” “On my way...!” Turner hurriedly exclaimed. As he sashayed into the room with all of the enthusiasm of an adolescent male on prom night with a borrowed car and a bottle of Red Hot under the seat, he found Jenny concealing her naked body behind the closet door. She was intently motioning for him to retrieve something from under the bed. While Turner cast the dust ruffle aside, it dawned on Jenny that shielding her goods from the man about to hot wax her asshole bald was rather futile. But, it had become a reflex at this point - one so deep-rooted that she had recently and covertly gathered numerous estimates for getting the the glass shower enclosure frosted.

Turner retrieved the depilatory lava from under the bed. “Are you sure it’s hot enough?” he asked. “Hot enough to not burn me from the outside in,” Jenny smirked. “Where are the kids?,” she asked. “They are at the Dahlke’s eating take-out. I’m driving all four of them to soccer practice,” Turner glanced down at his watch, “In like 20 minutes.” Jenny sighed, “Well then you better get on with it,”

As many times as she’d mustered the courage to suffer this indignity, it was still difficult for her to assume such a vulnerable position for this man she now despised. Enduring the same procedure in the food court of the nearby mall during the lunch rush at the hands of some random stranger seemed preferable to what was about to transpire. ...he’s easier when he’s gotten his daily release... - the mantra she repeatedly chanted in her head. Plus, sex in the “alternate hole” was generally a 90-second endeavor with Turner - a small price to pay in her mind for the peace it brought.

“Brace yourself.” Turner announced in a devious tone. It was clear that nearly as much as he enjoyed humiliating her in bed, playing the role of inappropriate and inept esthetician also brought him considerable glee. As Turner applied the scalding amber to his wife’s most tender of spots, Jenny yelped, “Gawd! No matter how many times someone butters your asshole with hot wax, you are never properly prepared.” After carefully applying the strips to the rapidly drying wax, Turner used his elbow to rub them in with a devil-make-hair smile. Before responding, “Nice, Turner, nice,” as this travesty was occurring behind her, Jenny couldn't help but consider how bleak everything unfolding before her suddenly become. It was amazing the clarity one could achieve under unusual circumstances.“Are you ready?” Turner queried as he grabbed her hips with both hands. “As I'll ever be...” Jenny replied, ...you fucker...! Jenny thought as she tensed up awaiting the inevitable bolts of pain about to strike her sensitive region.

Turner ripped off both strips and did some sort of depraved celebratory dance as he waved the hairy strips in the air. The dance inevitably crescendoed in a series if pelvic thrusts. Jenny swung her head around and asked, “How does it look? Is it smooth the way you like it?” Turner responded, "Baby, Studly Moore will fill your tank later tonight." For some unknown reason, he had recently taken to assigning himself blatantly sexual monikers based on the names of Hollywood actors. “Studly Moore”, albeit juvenile as hell, was one of his better aliases she had to admit.

Jenny frowned and thought, ...oh goodie...

[allthemenstayed]

Book 1, Chapter 1: Exit stage left.

Walt+Anne...

Literally tree lined streets; beautifully trimmed while in full bloom and majestically lit when bare and cold. It's what you do when you try to keep everything perfect, even when it's clear that a not so perfect time has come.

That time came for a couple who appeared to have absolutely everything. They had money. They had a beautiful family. They were social and had an ability to open their doors and offer a stage for the production in which everyone was a player. Appearance is clearly not everything.

“Really, must you hit your brother like that?”. This was a common question Anne found herself shouting. Walt was on the road most of the time and if she was completely honest he was absent even when he was home.  “Stop it, seriously. Enough”. Anne walks away. 

A moment finally lapsed in the sibling vs. sibling match and Anne could finally breathe. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth....slowly”. If she had a quarter for every time she self advised these instructions so much would be different. 

“STOP, Please” screamed Peter. “Oh my God, enough”, Anne yelled as she ran to referee. “To your room NOW”, Anne frustratingly hollered at Phillip. Shacking her head she ran to Peter. “Are you okay, baby? I am so sorry. It’s going to be okay.”

The truth is, Anne had no idea if everything was going to be okay. She lived a life that she always wanted although deep within she knew so much of “her” was unattended and unexplored. With certainty, the love that she gave to her children and received in return was her fuel. She knew that she had a marriage much like her parents; two people dedicated to NOT being divorced.

Back in the kitchen, Anne’s refuge, all the children convened peacefully, for the moment. The typical drill begins; cooking, homework, school notes and the obligatory call from Walt. 

“Hey”, Anne answers the phone. “Hi there. What’s going on?” Walt asks. “The usual. You know. Where are you?” Anne asks. “I’m in my room”, Walt answers with a hint of defensiveness. “I mean W-H-E-R-E are you? I never remember where you are”. Clarifies Anne. “Oh, of course, I’m in LA” Walt states very matter of fact. “Well, okay....” says Anne. “You have 4 little darlings waiting to talk so have at it”. Anne hands the phone off to the kiddos.

Her head begins to race as does her heart. She was bred to doubt her spouse and the reality was she had every reason to doubt Walt’s stories. He had laid the ground work and it was becoming tougher and tougher to build much upon it. This was becoming her “normal” and it was incredibly unsettling to see history repeating itself. Even more unsettling to be a player allowing it to happen. 

Fast forward......

The curtain must fall at the end of all performances it's time had come to bring this Tony Award winning production to an end. Walt and Anne stood center stage as the audience stood before them in utter disbelief. The applause and cheers from the crowd were deafening. As their picture perfect life flashed before their eyes, Anne's began to fill with tears. How in the world did this happen? Life happened. And it was the first of many final curtain calls.

[allthemenstayed]

Prologue: (Ad)vantage XY

So there was once a young man. As most young men do, he dreamed of many young women. Yet over time, the various young women that occupied a place in his heart's imagination became just one celestial creature. She populated his dreams and provided him everything he desired.

Those were innocent days.

All the love he ever needed spawned from daydreams about nights things. It always satisfied the bent yearnings of a young man starved for physical love; it had to. As much as he wanted a living breathing heroine to play to his heroic stance, he was terribly introverted and not nearly as consciously bold as he was when unconsciousness embolden him. Like all men, he stumbled when trying to translate fantasy into reality.

Those were bewildering days.

Sentient women -- real women -- would come eventually. But they dealt in only immaculate heartbreak and codependent pageantry; it was nothing like the illusory productions of his youth. The young man found that he was not well equipped to deal in one-way love, regardless of the direction.

Those were arduous days.

In the end, building the foundation of a union on friendship seemed preferable to lust or drama. Rather than an endlessly searching for a soul mate, it seemed prudent to settle for a first mate. But sensibility rarely yields fulfillment. Discontent inevitably afflicted a home rife with friends, family and frenzy - how is that possible? And although love brought this couple together, family approved and God blessed it, it is real life that tore them apart.

[allthemenstayed]

Prologue: (Ad)vantage XX

Everybody has a dream. Without question, a little girls dream involves a Prince Charming; her knight in shining armor. Fast forward, a moment if you will. There have been years of dating and dreaming and searching and finding. Finally the painstaking meeting occurs in which a young man asks a father for his daughters hand in marriage. A blessing is given and forever is promised.... until death do us part. And although love brought this couple together, family approved and God blessed it, it is real life that tore them apart.