5

His Eyes (4)

They say that when you look into His seventh eye that you can see your own death. Men have clamored, even murdered for a look; a prediction of futility. I have looked into the eye and have seen my fate. Thus, I have decided not to take a wife. I was staying in the small town of my birth until I realized the utter futility in that as well.

My life as a nomad was predestined by His third eye. I left that east coast hell for a mid-American journey. Granted, I was treated as a tramp and I did eat the waste of humanity, but I always knew where I was headed. Detroit was a land of child hustlers and prepubescent whores. Cincinnati had that river that smelled of death and smiled like hell. St. Louis grabbed at my pant leg and begged for me to stay. But it was Chicago that made love to me and gave me the respect and humility I felt I deserved. None of His eyes showed me that.

I took to the streets like a whip. I cracked and the lights gleamed. There was this two flat east of Lake Shore Drive on the far south side. The walls stood like cards and when the wind blew the place would shutter as a chill went up its keystone pillar spine. The other inhabitants would shriek with fear, but I always knew that I would not die here. We called this place “Riddle House”. It went down in the flood of ’92; a collapse. A young girl died. I wore a brown tuxedo to the funeral and was asked to leave by a wailing spinster who took it upon herself to blame me for the death. I laughed at the futility of her violence. I sat across the street at bar with no name, drinking a gin and tonic, and watched as they buried the child.

There was a man I would play cards with from Louisville. He would cheat and I would let him. We called him Lucky. Lucky was born with a club foot and lazy eye. He was the singer in a bluegrass band that never left the nineteen-year-old tuba player’s parent’s basement. Some of the sweetest sounds and my fondest memories came from that basement. I saw this basement in His first eye. Perhaps that is part of the reason I placed so much importance on this friendship and this place. This was the happiest time of my life. Lucky owed some people money and when he couldn’t pay they took his eyes. A few weeks later he moved back to Louisville.

I did marry once. I was hooked on smack for a few years and this woman loved it more than I ever could. She was motherly and sweet. We never had sex. She would wash me on Saturdays and we would get high and talk about Wyoming. She went to college for a semester in Laramie, Wyoming. These were her favorite times and I loved to go back in time with her. We would relive her losing her virginity to a sixteen-year-old local boy who dreamt of the rodeo, the strip where she would watch all the immaculate cars filled with people she assumed were astute and dashing, and how her roommate would come home drunk and they would snuggle and fall asleep together. She was a romantic. I left her forever in the bathroom of our abusive and demanding drug dealer. She was nowhere in His eyes.

I now reside in the home I will die in. The woman that owns it is old and needs help getting around. I’m getting old now too, but I can get around just fine. In His eyes nothing is very clear. I know I will die here, but the how is fuzzy. It involves a glass of water. Her niece will visit that day and they will fight about finances, luxury, and pills. I saw that I lie down and my vision will get blurry. I will be happy and drift slowly into death. There is no fear in me. I look forward to this end. In His seventh eye, the holy and finite eye, I was shown the vast nothingness that accompanies death. He allowed me to watch until my bones decomposed and separated on an atomic level. There I was able to watch as a blade of grass grew from my lack of consciousness. It is the circular infinity of this finite life. The deepest love I have ever found was in this emptiness, this nothingness. His seventh eye is a portal to happiness and bliss…Heaven.

By: Turbo