Eva Survivor free porn video

Two babies are born on the same day in the same hospital, and for the first few hours of their lives, they belong to the same fraternity, recuperating side-by-side from their sudden existence. They are interchangeable brothers or sisters; their lives can be swapped as easy as switching nametags. These babies are very special to their parents, but really, either one will do.

If you believe in million-to-one odds, then you believe one of these babies will grow to be a household name.

Which one would that be? Would it be the baby that was planned for, or the baby that was not planned? One couple leaves nothing to chance, and the other couple thinks inconceivable means to fuck without consequence. One couple obsesses over their child and infuses their child with confidence in his or her special status in the world. The other couple sometimes leaves directions on how to cook dinner, and sends regrets they are not there to share it.

Tell me right now: which baby will grow to be a hero and which will be a basket case?

If I were a gambling man, and let’s face it - million-to-one odds is quite a gamble – I would put my money on the microwave chef; he’s had less practice conforming. Nobody told him he’s special. He doesn’t have to live in that box; he’s free to explore a little more.

It is often astonishing just how wrong we are sometimes. We often confuse what we know is true, and what we believe is true, and then cling to our beliefs regardless. Our stubbornness kicks our own ass at times.

The pampered child and the latchkey kid: one has a lot of room to surprise on the upside, and one has a lot of room to surprise on the downside. Expectations can be a real bitch; it’s why Heisman Trophy winners shouldn’t play in the NFL.

We never set a goal to be surprisingly good. We expect to be good. Yet, some of the most loved heroes, in some of our favorite stories surprised on the upside. Some of the best heroes are accidental. They overcame - or they pulled through - or they rose up. Heroes don’t meet expectations.

Most of us perform sufficiently, or meet expectations. If we don’t, then we lower them until they are met. We slowly become mundane. We stop exploring, and firm up our boundaries, and we become comfortable with our limits. After a while, we don’t want to stand out, or go against norms, or take risks. Conform; comfort; comfortable. Don’t run with scissors; don’t bite off more than you can chew. If you love your dog, you feed him only the best dog food, and never table scraps. Only someone who doesn’t care about their dog would feed it steak and potatoes. 9 out of 10 pet food companies agree on that.

A good story is so rare that many of us know the same good stories. We might think rarity is manifest, but maybe if more people allowed themselves to wander past their boundaries, then there might be more good stories.

Then again, depending on the boundaries that are crossed, the story might not even be acceptable to tell, no matter how good it is.

This is one of those stories.

It’s a story of powerful good that you might be conditioned to hate. It weaves a beautiful tapestry from the mundane, but you can only see it if you are willing to stow your biases and open your mind. It is a story of how two unlikely strangers saved each other from themselves and from circumstance. It’s a very simple story about how much more there is than meets the eye.

It might be a story about you.


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2

The first person we are going to meet is a 30-year-old rotten prick named Frank Bishop. He’s not rotten in the evil sense; his rottenness comes from his mouth when it speaks the words his wormy brain conjures. An event is about to happen in his life that is so boringly mundane that it should automatically be labeled as unimportant.

Yet, the ripple this event starts will soon grow to a wave. We are going to hop on this wave and ride along with Frank as it gathers strength and begins to curl over his head. You may not like Frank at first, but you will have every reason to hope he hangs ten, and rides this wave to glory. If he chickens out, he may as well stay under.

We smile in anticipation as we catch sight of Frank leaving his house to go to work.

He is uncharacteristically early this morning. It was only 7:26am, and this marks a departure from his rigid routine. The earliest he usually leaves the house is 7:28am, and he has been known to leave as late as 7:31am. He’s clearly outside his narrow range, and that’s not like Frank. As assholes go, he is a very consistent and precise one. He’s been early before, but on those occasions, he will wait in the house for the proper time to leave. Anyone who has been in jail is familiar with this behavior. Wake for breakfast. Die until lunch. Die until dinner. Walk in circles after dinner. Die all night.

It is incredibly odd that he is running early on this day. You have to wonder if there is something to ESP. If the event he is about to experience was going to be a plane crash, it makes you wonder if he would have been late.

He is impeccably dressed as usual, and as usual, he is carrying his briefcase. If we could look inside the case, we would see it still contained the orientation material his company gave him on the first day of his job some six years ago. Even though he has not opened the case during those six years, his steel-trap memory could spin those locks open in an instant. Frank is always in control, and people who have everything under control do not forget how to unlock their briefcase. He is not naturally super-human; he has made sacrifices to maintain perfect command of his environment. By far, the most effective sacrifice has been to keep his world as small as possible. By keeping his world tiny, he can maintain perfect order and predictability.

He will not disturb his world himself. That can only come from the outside. To prevent that, Frank’s world bristles with offensive weapons that he hurls when someone strays too close. For defense, Frank has built a psychic wall in his mind. This wall still bears the scars of epic battles from his past. The wall was built to keep doubt out, and belief in. It’s so much easier being right than wrong, and as long as belief did not encounter doubt, then right he was.

When Frank landed his current job, some people might claim he hit the lottery, but he would dispute this. In his world, his own skill fueled his success, and it had nothing to do with luck. It proved that he knew what he was doing, and was in control of things.

When he started with the company, they pointed him to an office and told him to get to work. The office came equipped with a desk, a chair, and a phone, and he was to sell shit to anyone he could hook on the other end of the phone.

When Frank opened the desk, he found that it contained a Rolodex. He took it out, and gave it a home on top of his desk. The only problem with the Rolodex was that all the cards had writing on them. He came close to throwing out the cards and requesting new ones, but being so new on the job, he didn’t want to appear needy. The numbers on these old cards looked suspiciously like telephone numbers, and by God, he had an index finger that was perfect for dialing a phone. Maybe he’ll just dial a few numbers and see what the cat coughs up.

If you were handed a Rolodex full of phone numbers, and nearly every called you made turned into a sale, wouldn’t you be curious about the person who created such a high quality set of contacts? That Rolodex was good for nearly $300,000 in commissions that first year. It has gone up since then. Frank is a relatively wealthy man, and he doesn’t even have to be nice on the phone; just be willing to lie.

Did the company even know about the Rolodex full of contacts? Who would leave that behind? Did the person die, or did the person maybe develop a life? Frank never gave it a thought, because there was no other person. There was only himself. Luck is for lucky people, success is for hard working people. Frank appeared successful, not lucky.

Appearance is what filled Frank’s oversized garage with expensive shit that he never uses. Appearance is what attached an oversized house to his oversized garage too. The motivation for the possessions is comical. He failed to see the trap he set for himself concerning his possessions: they were purchased to impress, but by owning all these things, he didn’t like the idea of people using him for his toys.

It was the same with women: he knew that with his money, he could have his choice of women, but he certainly didn’t want a woman who was after his money. The logic may seem absurd to us, but Frank has his own logical calculus, and he claims it is correct.

His latest toy is actually a trophy, but not the kind you put on a shelf. This trophy sits in his driveway - it is a beautiful driveway trophy. It had a keel, and a starboard, a port, and an aft… or something like that.

This sailboat is currently obscuring his black Porsche 911 from view as he walks along the path leading to the driveway. He has his keychain and fob in hand, ready to push the button that disarms the car alarm. He always pushes the button exactly when he clears the boat and turns toward the car. Frank is nothing, if not (predictable) efficient.

Turning past the boat, Frank pushed the button at the same time he glanced at the car. The girl was still in mid-air. The very first time he sees this girl, she is floating in the air. He’s not positive, but he’s almost positive that the sound of the alarm scared the shit out of a girl who was leaning on his car.

Nobody leans on Frank’s car in the morning - certainly not someone he can yell at, at least. She was asking for a dose of asshole, and here he comes. If Frank didn’t have neighbors, he would be yelling from where he stood, but appearances must be maintained, and it wouldn’t do to raise his voice. Frank kept his cool until he stood at the front of the car.

Opposite him, standing at the rear of the car, is character #2 in our story. Her name is Eva, and she is 15 years old. Eva is as nice as people let her be, and we’ll leave it at that for now.

Someone like Frank should not fuck with a teenage girl. They have more weapons than the Air Force, and many natural defenses. A verbal attack on a teenage girl is completely unpredictable, and you certainly can’t physically touch them. You might be able to throw stuff at them, but it really isn’t worth the risk. Ignoring them is not a good idea either. Your best bet with a teenage girl is to acknowledge them in a neutral, non-threatening way. Look in their general direction, but do not stare. If you are a father to a teenage girl, then you are in constant danger of many bad things.

Frank thinks he is equipped to deal with the girl, but Frank is a fucking idiot.

Eva might be pretty, but she is wearing a baseball cap pulled low, and her eyes are downcast in mild guilt. She is of slender build, and stands at 5’ 5” vs. Frank’s 5’ 9” height. His best bet at this point would be to box her, but she has long, slender arms, and may have the reach. He would have to move inside, but then watch those sharp elbows of hers. Frank is not violent, and that is unfortunate for him since he intends to confront her.

He puts on a ridiculous pained expression as if she set his puppy on fire. He makes a show of walking from the front of the car over to the side to examine all the damage where her skinny ass leaned on the car. He bends down and brushes his fingers over a spot that has a little less dust than the rest of the car. It’s a fake gesture, because there are no scratches. It’s the gesture of an asshole.

He looked back at Eva, and asked, “Is there a reason you are scratching my car?”

It wasn’t even good sarcasm. Everything about it was lame, just like him.

Without missing a beat, she answered, “Yeah; it was the first thing on my To-Do list for today: Scratch-Fancy-Car.”

He stepped toward the driver’s door and then said, “And I hope the second item on your list is to Get Lost.”

Her shoulders sunk down and her eyes looked away, and she said, “Actually, that was number one on the list. I was just trying to figure out how to get out of this friggin’ maze. Don’t you have any straight streets around here?”

“You leave the same way you came in.”

She frowned at him, and said, “No you don’t.”

Ouch! Mr. I-am-always-right should just shut his mouth, but now he is getting snappy.

“You look familiar…there has been a lot of theft around here (liar). What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? I’m just waiting for you to leave.”

You asked for that, Frank. You insinuated she was a thief. You stuck your fingers in her face, and now you should check your hand.

This was not one of his usual targets of abuse, and he should realize the difference. His usual target was anybody he met outside of work. Since he has no friends or social life, this limited him to people he did commerce with. This lent him the natural advantage of being the customer – the always-right customer.

This girl was under no obligation to take his abuse, but he had to show who was lord, and who was serf at the end of his driveway.

Go ahead, Frank; so far, she has easily swatted away your sarcasm and insults. Try something else. You need to learn never to fuck with a teenage girl. You have no clue how pathetically outgunned you are here. She hasn’t shown you any of the heavy stuff yet. My advice is to go back into the house and hope she moves on. It may be too late anyway. You need to get out of communication range - now!

Frank screwed on a look of contempt, and opened his car door. As he was getting in, he said, “You should move when you see my reverse lights go on.”

Eva selected a weapon, took aim, and fired.

“A gentleman would offer help to a lady who is lost.”

What are you going to do, Frank? Are you going to back over her?


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3

Frank has let her in his car, and now he’s well on his way to becoming a meat puppet. As he accelerates away from his house, an uncomfortable silence hangs in the air, and they both reached for the radio at the same time. They both laugh nervously and Frank turns the radio on very low. Eva distracts him while she changes the station.

“Look at my sneaker. It’s coming apart at the front.” She grabbed the front of her sneaker and peeled back the rubber bottom from the canvas top, and quacked like a duck when she did it.

“I have to lift my leg high every time I step. It’s tiring, and I look like one of those retards… or… you know…, I’m not picking on retards...”

Frank rolled his eyes and said, “I get the picture. We wouldn’t want to be mistaken for the less fortunate. I’m sure that is not a problem for you.”

“Or you. This is a very fancy car. I’ve got my seatbelt on if you wanted to pop a wheelie. I’ve never been in a car like this until now.”

“This is a machine, not a car. It doesn’t pop wheelies. It was specifically designed not to pop wheelies. It keeps all four wheels on the ground when it goes fast. It’s generally considered important.”

“Huh. What’s the fastest you’ve had it going?”

“I don’t watch to speedometer when I am racing, so I can’t tell you.” (about 70)

“Huh. That makes sense.”

Eva found a song, and raised the volume. Frank lowered it to nearly zero, and asked, “
“You haven’t said where you want to be dropped off. Is just anywhere fine?”

Eva raised the volume again so she could find another song. “I don’t care. I need to get a donut or something. I feel like I’m going to puke…”

He was getting ready to say something, but she said, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to puke in your car. It’s just an expression. You know, like ‘I’m dying to meet someone’, or ‘I’m dying to get a job’. You are not really dying…”

“Oh, thank you for clarifying that for me,” Frank said.

“No prob. By the way; my name is Eva – with an ‘E’.”

“I’m aware how to spell Eva. My name is Frank, similar to Franklin Square, where this road leads. I turn onto the freeway from there, but if there is somewhere close that you prefer to be dropped off at… without getting me lost, I can probably do that. I wouldn’t want you to get lost again and end back in Cherrywood.”

Eva let it go, and said, “Franklin Square is fine. I can catch a bus there…, hey, there is a McDonalds there; maybe we could get a muffin?”

“Ah, thanks, but no thanks. I already ate a stick of butter from the garbage today.”

To Frank, that was a clever line, and this was a pleasant conversation for him. He was being funny! We have to allow for the possibility that Frank is not always a deliberate asshole, and that some of it is organic to his being.

It’s tough to tell what he meant by the next thing he said. Pointing to a sign, he said, “Bus stop. There are bus stops all along this street.”

Was he hinting that she could get out here? Eva had fixated on a muffin. She was hungry, but all she had was a bit of change in her pocket, so she deflected his comment.

“Yeah, that’s how I got to Cherrywood. Sometimes, if I’m awake early in the morning, I like to go somewhere new on the bus. You wouldn’t believe how many people are up at five in the morning. People working…, doing things you never realized had to get done. My favorite time of the day is just before the sky starts getting light. I get off the bus, walk around, listen, and watch. Most houses are dark, but here and there, some are lit up, and when I walk by them, I might see an old person sitting alone at a table just staring at his hands. I wonder if they lost their husband or wife, or if their children are nice to them. Sometimes I wish I could ring the bell, and ask what they are thinking about and sit and talk with them. I’m only… 15… but let me tell you, Frank, sometimes I feel the weight of the world too. You can learn a lot from old people; did you know that?”

One reason Frank is an asshole is that he is not equipped to share personal feelings or express emotions. It’s not by choice… who would ever choose that? No, it’s some sort of mental deficiency. It’s an open manhole always right there in front of him, and dancing around it is usually ugly. There was no grace in his response.

“You may want that, but some people don’t appreciate an intrusion, especially first thing in the morning.”

Eva shook her head, and said, “Well Frank; that’s why I don’t ring their bell. I wouldn’t have stopped in front of your house, but I had to get my bearings.”

“Well, we are dealing with that now. Isn’t 15 an age when people go to school? Are you supposed to be in school? It’s near 8:00.”

She glanced at him sideways, and said, “Duh, yeah. I have four more years to go, but I’ll probably get out in three because my grades are tiptop. School is easy. I’m taking today off, so I have time if you wanted to stop at a different place than McDonalds.”

“Maybe some restaurant that is a little more upscale, Eva? Let’s see… how much can you afford to spend on breakfast this morning?”

“Well, I wasn’t saying we had to go to any place fancy…”

“I see; fancy being… what? How much can you afford?”

Eva looked down at her lap, and said, “I think you know how much.”

“So what you really are saying is, why don’t I have breakfast so I can buy you breakfast, is that it? You can’t just ask me; you feel you must trick me, is that it?”

“I wasn’t trying to trick you. Do you know what happens when I ask people for a favor? Then I owe them something, and that brings out the pervert in people.”

“I see. And do you run into a lot of perverts when you are casing neighborhoods?”

Watch this…

“You know what? You can just let me out right here.”

She just threatened to kick her own ass, but Frank is still stupid, and he is going to show her. If she prefers blisters on her feet, then blisters she can have. He checked his rearview mirror and decelerated to the curb. He came to a complete stop, and she undid her seatbelt and slowly opened the door. Frank is not even watching for an attack. He thinks he won.

She slowly twists around to get out and looks backward at Frank. If he just avoided eye contact, he may have been unscathed, but he is mortal, and actually looking forward to this small victory. He was looking directly at her when, in a soft voice and sloe eyes, she said, “Thank you very much for taking me this far. That was very kind of you. I’m sorry about the breakfast thing. It’s not your responsibility to feed me, and I normally wouldn’t be so rude, but my stomach… You don’t seem like a pervert. I could have asked nice.”

Her aim was true, and poor Frank was hit right in the conscience. Jane’s Defense Weekly has this to say about guilt delivered by a young girl: An extremely lethal weapon effective against nearly all men. It is particularly deadly against older men, brothers, and especially fathers.

As mentioned earlier, Frank is not an evil asshole. He’s really just a pathetic asshole, and his attempt to extricate himself from this was… pathetic.

“Look, the Square is just a few blocks up, and I honestly don’t think those sneakers will make it that far. If you need a muffin, I’ll buzz through the drive-thru. I was going to get a coffee anyway.”

Don’t think for one second that Eva is a calculating, manipulating bitch, because she is not a bitch at all. It was an instinctive attack, requiring very little planning. She is genuinely thankful that he is doing exactly what she wanted.

She closed the door and he pulled away from the curb. Eva decided to reward Frank by sharing a little of herself. She means well, and doesn’t realize that she is ready to torture Frank. Eva is prone to bouts of enthusiasm, and maybe it was the prospect of eating, or feeling a little bad about having to jerk on his strings, but opening up is her way of showing trust and gratitude.

“Do you know what really stinks about being 15? I can’t work anywhere, cuz’ you know, I’m obviously a fucking retard who will only have accidents and kill people, so they can’t be responsible...”

“Shit. I didn’t mean to swear. Sorry. You must think I have something against retards. I don’t. Swearing is something I’ve started to do this year a lot, but if you saw the shit I had to put up with… We learned proportions in school, and my swearing is in direct proportion to my aggravation and frustration. I made a chart for math class…”

“Don’t you think they should have a measurement for frustration? Like missing the bus would be 1 frust, while asking your mother for a new pair of sneakers for four weeks straight would be like… 100 Goddamn frusts.”

“Sorry again. I’m going to stop apologizing for swearing, OK? I finally realized I needed a plan. Let me tell you; a girl has needs. I have needs but nobody takes them serious. Everyone expects a girl my age to have parents… or a parent that takes care of my basic needs, but it fuck-all isn’t always like that, is it?”

Frank is having wholesale difficulties with what he is hearing. In the world of the corporate whore, you don’t just say what you think; you build a consensus, screen it for unacceptable language or concepts, and then package it up for presentation. His problems have been compounded by being in sales. His capacity for honesty has atrophied. Don’t for one second think Frank is a liar, because he’s not. A lie is deliberate and conscience subterfuge and that is not his style; embellishment and denial are more his style. Denial is central to Frank’s perception and cognition. He has a strong, healthy capacity for denial, and it has crowded out many things, such as empathy.

C’mon, Frank. She asked a question. Give her a thoughtful answer, would you?

“You have a filthy mouth. You should work on your language.”

“That’s what I’m telling you. You don’t swear, Frankie?”

“My name isn’t Frankie; it’s Frank…. And I swear only if I have to.”

“So, when would that be?”

“I don’t know… maybe when I get injured; certainly not every other word.”

“When you get injured? That doesn’t make sense. There are more swear words than possible injuries. Did you ever think about how many different swear words there are? There are swears that I never say. I never say cunt; it’s disgusting. I never on purpose say cocksucker; that one just seems to escape if I am really pissed off at someone. The one I have to stop saying is my favorite: fuck-all. I use it for emphasis, and it’s stupid. I’m not stupid. This is interesting: why don’t you like Frankie? Frankie sounds so much cooler than Frank. I don’t mean any offense by that… why does it bother you?”

Frank is red in the face when he answers: “I don’t know, because it does. It’s not my name. Criminals are named Frankie.”

He slowed down as they approached the square; McDonald’s was on the right-hand side but the red light was backing up traffic and it would soon block the entrance. The car to his left had its right-turn blinker on. Frank gave a short blast of his horn to warn the car, and then accelerated past it and whipped sharply into the parking lot. Eva had not re-buckled her seatbelt after they stopped at the curb, and the sudden turn almost put her into Frank’s lap. She batted her eyes at him, and said, “Well hello, stranger. Jesus, Frankie; if you wanted me to sit in your lap, just try asking.”

It should be pointed out here that something important just happened that you may not be aware of. The angle of her head when she batted her eyes allowed Frank to see under the visor of her cap. It vaguely dawned on him that Eva was a person talking to him, not a noisy problem that stuck to his shoe from the end of the driveway.

Are her eyes different colors?

Don’t read anything into this other than the fact that it was a stray thought that popped into his head. Something made it over the wall in his head. Wondering about the color of her eyes implies curiosity, and he needed that like JFK needed a parade in Dallas.

Must deflect immediately.

“How come you’re not wearing your seatbelt? I can get a ticket for that!”

“Oh, Christ, not a ticket!” she mocked. She seems to have shed some of her reserved nature.

Frank turned the corner of the building and angled for the drive-thru lane, but when he saw the line of cars, he said, “Shit. This is going to take forever.”

Without missing a beat, Eva said, “OK. When you’re injured, and when the drive-thru at McDonald’s has a long wait. That’s when it’s OK to swear. Does that about do it?”

It was funny, so he smiled, but it was funny at his expense, and that was a good way to turn Frank into a prick. He threw his hands in the air and said, “I’m sorry; I don’t have time for this…”

“But, you said…”

“I know what I said. You’re right, you’re right. Here, let me give you a couple of dollars. I don’t want to be snatching your food away.”

Eva had her head turned away when she said, “I just thought of another swear word I don’t use very often – motherfucker. Let’s just eat inside. It won’t take long. We can sit and have a muffin and be out in 2 minutes. I’ll have the privilege of sitting with you.”

Frank gave her a sharp look, but she smiled and said, “I’m teasing you.”

He peeled off a $5-dollar bill, and said, “Here. This will buy a couple of sandwiches…”

“Do you want me to get you one? I’ll run in…”

He shook his head, and said, “Just take the money…”

Eva sat there looking at him with an expression somewhere between anger and disgust. He pumped his arm, signaling for her to take the money, but she wouldn’t even look at it.

“Keep your money, Frank. It was just a fucking sandwich. I didn’t mean to throw you off your busy day. I can catch the bus right over there. Who knows? Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Do I have to tell you what that was? This is why Frank avoided people. Until his conscience atrophied completely, he was vulnerable to it. If he had a compelling reason, such as a meeting that he must attend, he might explain that he would love to have breakfast, but duty calls. Now this girl was walking away from his money simply because he would not eat with her. C’mon, Frank. Don’t be an asshole. We want to cheer for you.

Before she could open the door, he accelerated into a U-turn, and said, “Jesus Christ! Fine!”

Oh, yes, his training was coming along quite well. I might be wrong, but I believe Eva is batting one thousand on getting what she wants. We tend to project what we want to see, and it is tempting to think that Frank might have a good side to him, but I caution against that kind of thinking. It’s inconclusive. It discounts Eva’s persuasiveness.

Once again, she was half in his lap with the U-turn, and she looked at him and said, “Honest to God, Frankie, we have to stop meeting like this. What will people think?”

Eva was secretly enjoying this. She had thought about asking him to hold her hand while they crossed the parking lot, but she knew when to back off. Frank was a head case, and she didn’t know his limits.


_______________________________________________________________________
4

She was nearly finished with the first of her two muffin sandwiches, and he hadn’t even taken a bite of his. She had watched him grab the corners of the paper that was wrapping his sandwich, and gingerly peel it apart and unfold it flat, a disgusted look on his face the whole time.

She wasn’t being obvious in doing this, and she suspected he was trying to watch her too. She took off her hat, patted her hair, and said, “I probably look like I just came from electroshock therapy.”

She slowly turned her head as if watching something pass by, and then turned it back fast to look at him. She busted him; he was looking at her, and she gave him a pleasant smile. Maybe I’m throwing him off his sandwich.

Frank had been looking at Eva, but he wasn’t checking her out. He was replaying their conversation in the car, trying to identify why he cringed at her conversation, but why he was also fascinated by it at the same time.

Besides the horrible profanity, Eva laced her conversation with candid admissions of doubt and small failings. He would never talk in such a candid way, but was it because he had no failings? There had to be some, but he couldn’t think of any.

“What are you frowning about?” she asked. “Does your sandwich smell funny?”

“Huh? Oh. I was thinking about work.”

She laughed a little, and said, “Just think what you can tell them! You can say you were late because you had picked up a good-looking chick, and you had promised her breakfast in the morning. You wouldn’t even be lying.”

As she said that, he became aware how this would look if anyone from work came in to the restaurant and saw Eva and him together. What will you say?

Without thinking, he said to Eva in a low voice, “You shouldn’t even kid around about that. I could get into serious trouble. Just the appearance of impropriety would be enough to put my job in jeopardy. If anyone asks; you are my daughter from a previous marriage, OK?”

Eva sunk down in her chair and began to toy with him a little. “I don’t know, Frankie; you are starting to get me involved in some crazy shit now. How am I going to keep it all straight? Why did you and Mom break up again? Was it because she found out about the apartment you rented for that bimbo secretary, or because the mail used to get delivered twice a day to our house?”

She is very pretty.

If Frank had to describe Eva to a coworker, he probably would not say that she was arrestingly beautiful, and that one of her eyes was a bright bluish green, and the other one a more solid blue. He probably would not mention that her gaze matched her intelligence, or even that she was uncommonly intelligent. He might mention that her hair was black, but he wouldn’t describe it as thick, jet-black hair that was wavy despite being severely pulled back into a ponytail. He still hasn’t noticed the fine spray of freckles across her high cheekbones, or that they contrasted with her flawless, light complexion. If you gave him a choice between describing her as having a big mouth, or a fine mouth, odds are that he would say a big mouth, and he would be wrong. He could not be faulted for not mentioning that she has a beautiful neck, because Frank was not specifically aware that a woman’s neck could be a beautiful thing to look at.

Frank might be an asshole, but he wasn’t cruel. For that reason, he would think it rude to mention Eva’s one flaw - if you can really call it a flaw - for surely he has noticed the small chip on one of her otherwise beautiful teeth. Of course, that small chip looks like a jagged fang to Eva in her mind, and fixing it is high on her list of needs.

When Frank wasn’t lying to people on the phone, or kissing corporate ass, he was inside his wall, playing the starring roll in the latest piece of fiction now showing in his mind. He had drifted into a fantasy where he was introducing his beautiful wife, and 2 ½ children at a corporate Christmas party. ‘What handsome and polite children you have, Frank…’

“Have I got food on my face?”

He had been staring at her but not seeing her. Coming around, he said, “No.”

“Then what are you smiling about? Did you and mom get back together? Do I have to go to my friend’s house for two hours now? Are we a happy family again?”

Oh, yeah; and she has a sense of humor.

“I’m not smiling about anything.”

“I see. It must have been gas then.”

“Say, Frank, that sure is a nice place you have. Do you use your sailboat much?”

“Why? Are you trying to invite yourself for a sail now?”

The remark stung Eva, but she tried not to let it show. “No. With my luck, a wind would come along and blow me away.”

“Well, I don’t get out as often as I should (never, yet). If work could do without me for a week or so, I might sell the boat, and deliver it in person.”

Eva’s eyes perked up. “I could sell it for you!”

“You? Please. What do you know about selling boats?”

“Well, I know you want at least some amount of money for it. Anything over that would be a bonus. Let me write up an ad, and if you like it, I can find the best places to run it. We can take it a step at a time. How does that sound?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Eva wanted to scream, but she held it. She gave him a shy smile, and said, “I work very hard, and I’m smarter than the average bear. You have nothing to lose. If it sells, you can pay me minimum wage for my time.”

Frank snorted, and said, “I don’t think so.” (You fucking asshole, Frank)

“See? You laugh at the idea. That’s what I’m talking about: nobody takes a girl my age seriously. I have needs, Frankie, and they ain’t getting filled. I’m not asking anybody for handouts – I want to work. Everywhere that I try to get work, people just laugh.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you; I just… don’t have any work for you. What needs could you have besides new sneakers? You don’t have bills; you don’t have to pay taxes, or buy food…”

“I don’t have to buy food,” Eva said in disgust, while rolling her eyes. “You don’t think I miss meals? What are we doing here? I haven’t eaten since yesterday, at school.”

“Frank, do you want to know why I ended up in your neighborhood?”

“Probably not...”

“They say you learn something new every day, and last night I was thinking that I proved them wrong. At 11:59pm, I was ready to give up, but then I realized that when you are drunk, the louder you talk, the slower you talk. Proportions again, Frank; at 11:59pm, I learned drunker, louder, slower.”

Frank looked at her suspiciously and said, “You were drunk at 11:59 last night? That could be part of the problem.”

“I wasn’t drunk; the asshole in my living room snorting lines with my mother was. He kept getting drunker, and louder, and talked slower and slower. That’s why I couldn’t get to sleep; that and my stomach rolling over from not having any food in the house. Do you know what it’s like to listen to some drunk fuck slurring his words trying to talk your mother into having sex? I can’t even begin to tell you how much I hate it… 1000 frusts... is how much. When they went into my mom’s bedroom, I got the hell out of Dodge. I didn’t feel like listening to the shithead apologizing for 2 hours for not getting it up… so yeah, I took the bus down here, and ended up in your neck of the woods.”

Frank felt trapped. He could either say something that sounded like he cared, or not. Either way, he loses. This is what he most feared, and why he never talked passionately, or personally. He simply was not equipped to deal emotionally with other people. Frank derived no pleasure from hurting Eva… not any more.

“I don’t think it’s any of my business what goes on in your home.”

Eva glared at him and shook her head.

“You know what? Fuck off! You don’t have any problems, is that it? Are you Mr. Perfect, with only perfect parents, and a perfect wife, and perfect children? Why are you looking around, Frank? Are you embarrassed? Are you worried about what these strangers might think of you? What are they thinking, Frankie? Are they thinking about what kind of asshole you are?”

She leaned closer to him, and in a low voice, she hissed, “They would be fuck-all right!”

She wiped her face with a napkin, and threw it down in disgust. As she stood up, she said, “Sorry for burdening you.”

Ask she slipped past him, she leaned down and whispered into his ear, “You blew it, Frankie. You fucking blew it, and you don’t even have a clue.”

And just like that, she was out the door and out of sight.


_______________________________________________________________________
5

We can only be in one place at a time, and we decide to stick with Frank.

He’s trying on a face that he hopes will pass for composed. It doesn’t; he looks like a smug, self-righteous asshole, except four shades redder. Right now, his day was sucking. She had attacked that wall in his head steady since he first saw her, and now he had a headache. He was also pissed off, and even though it didn’t feel quite right, he blamed her. He didn’t want to think about it.

What did she mean, ‘I blew it?’

I’m supposed to sit here and listen to her talk about her crack whore mother?
Am I supposed to tell her that I had problems like hers too?
Am I supposed to go out of my mind for her?
Not even a thank-you for the food…
That’s what I get for being nice.
The next time I see her…

(Never)

Suddenly he had to get out of there. He wanted to just bolt, but was unable to with all the people who might see such a vulgar display. He left his table a mess and took casual, measured steps to the door, and then he was outside.

He had a sick feeling in his gut (he blew it), and didn’t know why. He hated her for making him feel like this. He needed to catch up with her. He would tell her (I’m sorry) to stay the fuck away from him. He started trotting to his car… and then he started running, his shoes sounding like half of a horse running on the pavement.

As he neared his car, he first dropped, and then kicked his keys past the front bumper. “Fuck!” he said to the Gods. He was still running full tilt when he put on the brakes and bent down to scoop up his keys in one fluid motion. He stood up fast, spun around, and…

She was sitting in the passenger seat of his car.

She was looking away, and she had her hand over her mouth trying to hide the grin that she couldn’t wipe off her face. He couldn’t let her see him breathing hard. People in control of things don’t breathe hard. He pretended to sigh a couple of times while he drew his breath, and then walked to the car door.

She managed to wipe the smile off her face while she leaned over to unlock his door. He watched her do this, and then opened the door and got in.

She said, “I saw you looking down my shirt when I was leaning over. Maybe you are a pervert after all…”

Frank had a huge problem. For the life of him, he could not remember what he was so angry about just a moment ago. I’m losing my mind. You had better remember why you were mad, and remember fast. You can’t remember later on and say that’s right: now I remember why I am mad..., it doesn’t work that way. There is a time window, so you had better say something angry, and say it fast.

Eva babbled on. “You’re a lot like the one stalker I’ve had so far. He lived in the apartment below me. I mean, how hard is it to stalk someone who lives one floor above you? I think he should have started from across town just to make it a little challenging. I would think other stalkers would ridicule him and call him a pathetic loser. You make a lousy pervert, Frank. You need to work on creepy. Just looking down my shirt is nothing I can run to the guidance councilor with. He needs more than that. He wants to hear things that involve my ass too.”

You are running out of time. Hurry!

He’s too late, and that’s too bad, because he had a bucketful of anger not more than 1 minute ago. It seems to have dissipated along with that lead weight in his stomach. The running made it go away, thought the liar.

Finally, he said the nicest thing he has ever said as an adult…

“I’m sorry.”

It came out sincere. In fact, if the Romans had apologized for killing Jesus, they would have sounded something like Frank.

Frank has some very legitimate reasons for not saying those words before today. First, one of the benefits of always being right is never having to say you are sorry. Second, Frank has so little interaction with others of his species that the opportunity just doesn’t come up very often.

He had plenty of chances to say ‘I’m sorry’ as a child.

Frank was one year away from starting public school. His mother taught the 3rd grade there until she was involved with an unfortunate accident. Mrs. Bishop lost her temper for just one second. She had been teaching for close to ten years and in all that time never lost her temper. If she had only screamed, or possibly let loose with a profanity, then the transgression might have been overlooked. In this case, losing her temper involved dislocating the shoulder of a young girl in her class when she picked her up violently by the arm. The concussion the girl sustained was from Mrs. Bishop swinging the girl by her arm into the cinder block wall.

She had gone away for a couple of months, but when she came back, she had all the time in the world to devote to her son. Why, she could home school him. This idea seemed to cause a difference of opinion between herself and Frank’s father – a difference loud enough to send Frank to his room for cover. The argument stopped at the same time a dull wet thwack was heard. This sound was before the back door opened up and his mother helped his father fall down the back steps and made a mess of his head.

Accidents are terrible affairs, this one left his father without all his faculties, and that included speech. Speech is something a pastor needs, so he was retired by the church. Now mother could be the teacher and the preacher in their humble little home. Mother talked enough for the both of them anyway.

His mother taught him the four R’s: reading, riting, rithmatic, and religion. She had a special Bible that had many special books not found in plain Bibles, and she taught Frank Jr. every sin there was, and the punishments that goes with them. Those first few years of home school were mostly lessons about minding mothers, hating liberals, and blaming niggers.

When he was about twelve, his mother told Frank about girls. She told him that his pecker could get gangrene from a girl. She told him that if it did, he would have to go to the hospital to get it cut off, and they would laugh at him. It said right in the Bible that some girls could give him gangrene just by talking and looking at him.

She told Frank that his pecker was a Satan detector, and if it ever got stiff, that meant Satan was sniffing around for a soul to steal. He stole souls by stabbing a person through the stomach with his pitchfork and then dunking them in a kettle of boiling water until their skin fell off. To stop this from happening, if his pecker ever got stiff, he had to take a shower right away, and wash it very well.

Mother knew everything, and sure enough, his pecker became stiff one day. He dutifully washed it, only to discover it might be too late. Infection came out of the tip of his penis in big spurts that scared the shit out of him. The gangrene was trying to take hold. He didn’t dare tell his mother because she would take him to the hospital, and they would laugh as they cut it off. He tried to get the infection out quite often, and he felt good every time he did. He was afraid it was making him sick in the head, because he sometimes though of girls when he did it. He had to confess to his mother now, because surely Satan was sending these thoughts of girls, trying to kill him. He needed help.

She looked it up in her special Bible, and it said for her to cast out her husband from the bedroom, and to take Frank into her bed for one night. That night, she had just begun feeling for infection, when his father opened the door and spoke.

He said, “No.”

His mother walked past his father and went to the kitchen. Frank heard a drawer open, and some things being shifted around, and then he heard the drawer slam shut. When she came back, she had her big rolling pin in her hand, and she beat his dad until he lay still on the floor. She made Frank bring the truck around so she could put his dying father in the back. She then told Frank to drive his dad to the hospital, and tell them he got into a fight with a nigger. He asked if that was a lie, and she asked how it could be a lie if God told him to say it. He hadn’t heard God say anything, but he didn’t dare tell her that.

His dad spoke once again that night; he watched his dad being lifted out of the truck on a gurney, and when his dad made eye contact, he told Frank Jr., “Run.” Frank knew he was right, but where was he going to go? He had no money, and he still had pecker problems. Who was going to make his meals? Who was going to read to him? The Bible said he was still forbidden from reading any story his mother did not first read to make sure no liberal ideas were placed in the story by Satan. It was a sure way to get boils on his tongue and eyes. She even read him a story from the bible about a boy his age who got boils on his tongue from sassing his mother. It sounded terrible.

His father was gone for several weeks, and when he came back home, one side of his body drooped, and it wasn’t from the weight of the casts. It wasn’t until two years later that his dad spoke again.

His mother was very ill. She had told Frank it was cancer, and that she was going to die. She told him not to worry, because she would send him instructions from heaven. She would speak just as the Lord speaks to him, except maybe not quite so loud.

His dad had come into the room then and spoke to Frank. He said, “I’m taking her to the hospital. I want to see if they can make her suffer a little longer here on earth, before the devil claims this cunt for himself.”

Frank sat up all night letting every sound scare him half to death. He was hungry, and the sky was just turning light when he heard a car. He peeked out a window, and saw it was a police car, and he ran to the hiding spot they always made him hide in when the police came. Two police officers walked right in, and called “Hallo”.

He stayed quiet.

He even stayed quiet when the two cops started talking about how gruesome the car wreck was that killed his parents. He heard them talking about a witness who said the truck appeared to go over the ravine on purpose, and never once hit the brakes.

There were many things his parents never finished telling him before they left him alone. These things he had to learn from monsters. Frank was found wandering in town, half emaciated, and the state did what they could with him. Frank had been abandoned by his parents, and the betrayal left him alone and naked to the world. It seemed much of the world just pointed and laughed during the two years he spent unlearning the twisted shit his mother fed him on. Frank’s personality was forged in fear and confusion.


Frank’s discomfort talking with this girl is real. Eva is playing with fire, and she doesn’t even know. Frank has already had a couple of sudden shifts where he wasn’t sure if she was talking about her life, or his past. Some of the shit is surfacing on its own.

It’s best not to think about that…

Eva touched his hand, and he snapped back to reality, sitting inside his car next to her

“You don’t have to apologize, Frank. I have to apologize to you. You bought me breakfast, and carted my ass around, and I made you late for work and told you tales from the ghetto. I’m dead on my feet, Frankie. I wasn’t kidding about not sleeping last night. You didn’t ask to listen to some babbling bitch that hasn’t slept in two days.”

Eva opened the door and said, “I just wanted to thank you.”

She started to get out, and Frank said, “Wait…”

“Yes?”

“What did you mean, ‘I blew it’?”

She looked down, and said, “Nothing. It was stupid.”

“What was stupid? Tell me.”

Eva thought for a moment, and said, “That I thought I could make you understand; that’s what’s stupid. You think sneakers are my biggest problem…”

She was leaning down when she said this, and Frank couldn’t see what she was doing. When she sat back up, she was holding her sneakers, and then she threw them out into the parking lot.

“Like I said, a girl has needs… this girl has needs. Look at my tooth, Frankie. How am I going to get my tooth fixed?” She folded her hands, and looked straight ahead before continuing.

“I offered to help you sell your boat… zero risk to you… and you laughed at me. That was just one thing I offered to do. There are different kinds of things I can do…”

She stopped, and a flood of color rushed to her cheeks. “You know, there are other things I could do for you. I can earn what I need… I want to earn what I need. I am a teenage girl, and I can do special things for you, things you would love and things you need, but I could tell you would never let me do them. It’s too bad too, because I would pay big dividends for you.”

Frank was red with embarrassment and anger. He took out his wallet, and with shaking hands, pulled out one, and then another $50 dollar bill and crumpled them into a ball. “Here,” he said as he threw the money past her and out her open door. “Go buy yourself some high heels. You can tell your next mark that someone who respected you for a little while bought them for you. You are a real disappointment, Eva. You had me going for a while. I actually felt bad for you.”

He had started the car and now gunned the engine, and she got out of the car. She left the door open while she picked up the money. She put the money in her pocket, and stooped down to talk to Frank through the car door.

She was slowly shaking her head and smiling sarcastically, when she said, “You’re a dickhead. Do you think the only wonderful thing I can do for you is give you a blowjob or dance naked for you? Do you think I store all my worth in the box between my legs? You have needs, Frank. Your needs don’t end with your dick… they don’t even start with your dick. You have more pressing needs than that. It’s pretty fucking obvious. I could have taken care of your needs as easy as you can take care of mine. I’m glad you don’t know what you are missing. I guess that is mercy at work.”

“I’m too tired to get pissed, Frank. I guess I don’t even blame you for being so stupid. You have potential. I saw it in your eyes when you apologized to me. You have beautiful eyes, Frank, but when I look at them, I’m not sure what is staring back at me.”

“I’m taking the bus home now. I am going to think about what to do with this money. I may just keep it… Have a good day.”

With that, she slammed the door, and padded off in her bare feet.


_______________________________________________________________________
6

There was one thing that Frank knew with certainty as he backed up and headed out of the parking lot: no way was he going into work today.

Hey, Frank. I heard you were told off by a pretty 15-year-old-girl with a high IQ, different color eyes, and a foul mouth. Way to go, buddy!

He had to call in sick.

I have never called in sick. They are going to gossip. They are going to question my reliability, and they will distrust me… Who gives a fuck?

I ask you, does this sound like the man we met at the beginning?

Hey, Frank. We heard you laughed at a girl who offered you help. Way to go, buddy!

Frank was used to confrontation; it was quite common, actually. There was a set protocol to this: initiate confrontation over something trivial, wait for submission, and then bestow pardon. The deli, for example, was fertile grounds for this. Either something wasn’t sliced thin enough, or it didn’t weight precisely what he asked for. Once the error was corrected and an apology offered, forgiveness would be forthcoming with a generic excuse – “I usually deal with the other guy, so I guess you didn’t know how I liked it,”

That was how it always worked. His defenses had always been up to the task. He always could repel a person before there was any danger of intimate conversation. Now he found out otherwise. He was going to have to strengthen his defenses. Bad shit happens when conversations turn intimate. Eva’s problems dredged up memories of some of the same shit he went through, and that brought him dangerously close to telling her. If he did that… she would want to listen… and hear more… when all he wanted to do was forget.

As he was driving home, it was not lost on him that she not only broke through some of his defenses and read him like an open book, but she also got him to do everything she wanted. Why was he not enraged by that? He displayed zero control. She turned him into a meat puppet, and that made him feel… what?

Kinship?

The familiar stench of Doubt was everywhere as it blasted holes into the wall defending his beliefs. Through these holes poured questions.

You blew it…

What did I blow?

I am a teenage girl, and I can do special things for you…

Whore.

You have needs, Frank

Whore.

They don’t start with your dick. You have more pressing needs than that…

And what can you do for my needs?

Hold on to your hate, Frank. I feel like I am losing you, Stay with me; stay in control…

Was that her little game? She would act like a friend?

I’m your friend. Listen to me. I’m a teenage girl, and you know what we are good for…



_______________________________________________________________________
7

It’s Wednesday, 7:22am, and just for shits and giggles, we peek in on Frank to see if he’s awake. When we look, he’s not there! We look all around the house, even checking the bathrooms. We hear a rattle, and look outside, and there is Frank pretending to be interested in a problem with his mailbox. It must be some wickedly complex problem, one requiring him to contemplate for some time while sitting in his car.

It’s 8:04am when he gets out of the car for the last time to check the mailbox… nope; no mail. Look all around because maybe (she) the mailman is coming. ; He gets back into the car and drives away.

10 to1 odds that he stops at McDonald’s, goes inside, and serves up just a little aggravation to the cashier when he doesn’t recognize anyone he knows inside.

We feel a little dirty doing this, but can’t resist watching him come home in the early evening. He looks a little tense, but otherwise fine. It is only after not finding any notes, and after he is sequestered in the house that he takes on a more miserable appearance.

It must be because he didn’t make a dime in commissions today.

Or the next day, Thursday…

Or the next day, Friday… Day Eva + 3.

After taking a good look, we see Frank is not doing so well. His condition is more advanced than we suspected. He gave into doubt, and doubt has been ass-raping him for three days now. Actually, it looks like it’s a tag team with honesty too. It’s ugly. It goes beyond Eva; she opened a door, and it looks like Frank walked through it. Right now, it sounds like he is talking to himself, but when we listen carefully, he’s talking to someone he hasn’t talked to in years.

I met someone I couldn’t make hate me.
She’s just a girl.
I don’t love her, and I don’t lust after her.
She wanted to help me, and I laughed at her.
She asked for my help and I ridiculed her.
I hate… me.
She was nice to me. She could hate the world.
I hate the world. Why doesn’t she?
Her father is dead like you.
Her mother may as well be.
She sat before me, and I never saw her.
I know her help now that it’s too late.
Why didn’t you tell me what a friend looks like?
I was cruel to a girl the world is cruel to.
Never have I done anything so terrible.
I’m done hiding, and I’m done hating.
I deserve to hurt forever.
I just want to tell her it will be OK.
I know you are alone.
I know Mother burns in hell forever.
I forgive you now.

The sun is setting but it’s darker than normal. Frank is oblivious to everything. When we look out of the picture window directly behind him, the sky is shaded deep blue at the top and gradually shifts to orange toward the horizon. The clouds on the horizon are stratified, and the thickest band obscures the setting sun. Frank sees none of that.

The rectangle of newly turned earth in the backyard is still visible in the fading light, and it is difficult to know what is in the middle of it. If we had to guess, we would guess it is a birdhouse on the end of a pole. It is difficult to say, since none of it was there yesterday, or any days before it. Frank’s no help; he has his back to the window and doesn’t see it. Soon the darkness will hide it until tomorrow.

The thick band of clouds does not quite meet the horizon, and a bright line silhouettes the bottom of the clouds. Frank stands up and does something very uncharacteristic. He walks to the liquor cabinet and pours himself a drink. The cabinet is well stocked from one of Frank’s fantasies. He was going to host social parties where his fellow employees and even his bosses would come over to unwind after a successful week. He is thankful now; there might yet be enough booze to drown. Frank is not a drinker, and doesn’t even look at the labels on the bottles. He picks a bottle at random, and we note it is a quality single malt whiskey. That was a lucky grab;