I went into denial. My family complied by never mentioning my ears again. Ever. I went on as if nothing had happened. I even forgot about the ghost in spite of the fact that I performed some gruesomely reckless tasks. I must have been overanesthesized during the surgery because I had flashback for months. Weird visual effects would happen if I stared at tile patterns on the bathroom floor too long. But the ghost made me do a horrible thing that haunts me to this day. I was giving my baby brother a bath, and something made me hold him underwater for a few seconds longer than a baptism would have required. He started to shake so I brought him up, and felt guilty and strangely out of control. There was definately something wrong with me, there had to be. I held him under again, this time longer, until the panic showed in his eyes, I quickly brought him back up, and he cried and broke my heart. I never did anything like that again, but I spent years categorizing my level of depravity for the act. The ghost? No, that was too easy. My self loathing was born during those horrible seconds.
About a year later I slaughtered 25 frogs that I found in the ground outside my school. I kept them under the nun's radar in a grocery box in class till school let out and I secreted them on the bus home. Then, for no reason, I carried the box around to the stucco'd side of the officer's condos where we lived, and threw them one by one into the air, and swatted them with a baseball bat so that they splattered against the side of the condo. I felt guilty about that for a long time too, but once again, went into complete denial, that maybe nothing was wrong with me. I was actually a really good person who wouldn't hurt a fly. I just left the frogs there too, and if anyone had discoverd that mess. Thirty years later I watched Beavis and Butthead do the exact same thing, and finally forgave myself.
The Ghost had become a crutch.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Waco's Ghost- Chapter One
I grew up in Texas, so I did believe in Jesus, but I never saw a UFO. I did, however, see a ghost once. In my room. I was having trouble sleeping one night and I just lay there, a wide-awake 9-year-old, listening to the occasional car pass through my neighborhood of brick ranches. I noticed that as any car approached, it's headlights would cast a window-conforming image on my walls, the slits from the blinds clearly visible, and then as the car turned down the street past my house, the funny image would move along the wall slowly, then quicker, when it just picked up on the other wall, and disappeared altogether.
Well, this happened three or four times, and each time I noticed some nuance in the light's image but ho hum.
But then, this one car seemed to linger, then passed by, yet the light imaged loitered in the silence, and suddenly transformed from sharp rectangular lines to a blurry undulating oval that had no blind marks and inexplicably began to depart from the wall. It hovered toward me, slowly, and made it's way to the foot of my bed. the car had passed long ago now, and there was no reason for the light to be there.
I felt an intelligence, an alien purpose drawing near, interested in me, I began to make out a definite form in details just coming to fruition. I could no longer do nothing but watch. I threw my pillow at it and screamed, "momma! Momma!"
In seconds my whole family was at my bedroom door, the light was on, and my pillow covered my baby brother's face in his crib, where the ghost had emanated from.
They laughed at my excuse for waking them up. My dad wanted to know why I yelled for mom instead of him. I didn't answer. Strangely, no other cars passed by my window that night, and I was soon asleep.
I've looke back on that night a million times from every conceivable angle, and still cannot explain what I saw and felt. The car had passed, and the sound of the car had faded away. I had two points of reliable senses, sight and sound to inform me that no light should have been reflected on my walls. I had waited long enough to ascertain that the image was indeed in motion and closing in on me. It truly was right at the foot of my bed becoming something. These are the facts. What I didn't tell my family then, nor anyone for that matter, was that the image spoke. For the first time in my life, I'm ready to divulge the message the ghost gave me.
Well, this happened three or four times, and each time I noticed some nuance in the light's image but ho hum.
But then, this one car seemed to linger, then passed by, yet the light imaged loitered in the silence, and suddenly transformed from sharp rectangular lines to a blurry undulating oval that had no blind marks and inexplicably began to depart from the wall. It hovered toward me, slowly, and made it's way to the foot of my bed. the car had passed long ago now, and there was no reason for the light to be there.
I felt an intelligence, an alien purpose drawing near, interested in me, I began to make out a definite form in details just coming to fruition. I could no longer do nothing but watch. I threw my pillow at it and screamed, "momma! Momma!"
In seconds my whole family was at my bedroom door, the light was on, and my pillow covered my baby brother's face in his crib, where the ghost had emanated from.
They laughed at my excuse for waking them up. My dad wanted to know why I yelled for mom instead of him. I didn't answer. Strangely, no other cars passed by my window that night, and I was soon asleep.
I've looke back on that night a million times from every conceivable angle, and still cannot explain what I saw and felt. The car had passed, and the sound of the car had faded away. I had two points of reliable senses, sight and sound to inform me that no light should have been reflected on my walls. I had waited long enough to ascertain that the image was indeed in motion and closing in on me. It truly was right at the foot of my bed becoming something. These are the facts. What I didn't tell my family then, nor anyone for that matter, was that the image spoke. For the first time in my life, I'm ready to divulge the message the ghost gave me.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Waco's Ghost - Chapter Two
The ghost said, "I am you".
After that night, my family acted strange. They didn't tease me about it. I wish they had. I couldn't get over the intensity of the experience. It was real. I had blinked too many time not to have corrected some optical illusion created by the mesmorizing rhythm of headlights in motion against my bedroom walls.
I went to school the next day and the nuns were marketing a new edition of he Catholic Missile, which I figured might be an effective talisman. I had to get permission, of course, but my dad quickly agreed and my first transaction with God was complete. I slept on that missile for a year. I got used to a hard spot under the pillow and to this day I require a stiff support under my neck. I never saw that ghost again. Ever. What I didn't realize was that I also never got rid of it. It had entered me, maybe.
I used to imagine some evil black liquid lived in my sinuses. And I only had to wait until it gathered near my mucuous membranes to blow it all out into kleenex, but I never quite believed it. But if my luck were any indication, then I should have realized the truth about that ghost.
Within a few months my life was ruined forever, at 10 years old. Here's what happened: My whole family, all five brothers and sisters, and both parents, went for some reason to the airforce base hospital. We were soon all in a room standing in a thick group in front of a seated airforce doctor. I was bored, behind everyone, and didn't care thatI couldn't see the doctor. But then something made me push my way to the front to see what this voice looked like. Within seconds, he noticed me and made an instant diagnosis: that he could perform plastic surgery on my ears and correct their unnatural, bing crosby, dumbo appearance. Incredibly, my parents both immediately concurred and within a minute, the appointment was set and I was on an inexorable tract to a surgical nightmare that haunts me like a ghost to this day.
I tried to object. I tried to explain that this was all a big mistake, and that I had real bad feelings about the impending operation, but each time I said anything, my parents dug in deeper and proclaimed sternly, "You'll do as the doctor says." There was no escape. The weeks passed and then I was being wheeled into surgery, still awake, and I looked at the team of about five in their gowns and masks, huddled around strange chrome instraments on a cart. One noticed I was still awake and more anesthesia covered my face. I awoke. I was ruined. My life was over. The doctor had botched the surgery and my ears were a grotesque mess. This doctor had never performed this operation before. He must have read an article about it, or maybe that ghost made him do it. I was under anesthesia, so the ghost may have transferred from me to the doctor and couldn't resist playing the dirty trick on me while he had such a amazing opportunity. Who knows.
The first indication of how much humiliation I was in for came immediately after the bandages came off, at my mother's luncheon bridge party with the officer's wives club in our home off the base. About ten women were seated around our living room having coffee and talking when I happened by. My mother stopped me and loudly and crudely informed the women that I was the son who had recently had his ear's pinned back with a surgical procedure, and would they all mind taking a look. "Show them, son".
I stopped, and drew nearer to the main body of women, and turned my head and tilted it slightly to give them the best possible angle. They gasped. Suddenly they were silent, and unable to disguise their feelings from their faces. I looked at their faces. I had never seen faces like that. That's all I needed to know. I was finished forever. The ghost had won.
Stay tuned for chapter three of "Waco's Ghost".
After that night, my family acted strange. They didn't tease me about it. I wish they had. I couldn't get over the intensity of the experience. It was real. I had blinked too many time not to have corrected some optical illusion created by the mesmorizing rhythm of headlights in motion against my bedroom walls.
I went to school the next day and the nuns were marketing a new edition of he Catholic Missile, which I figured might be an effective talisman. I had to get permission, of course, but my dad quickly agreed and my first transaction with God was complete. I slept on that missile for a year. I got used to a hard spot under the pillow and to this day I require a stiff support under my neck. I never saw that ghost again. Ever. What I didn't realize was that I also never got rid of it. It had entered me, maybe.
I used to imagine some evil black liquid lived in my sinuses. And I only had to wait until it gathered near my mucuous membranes to blow it all out into kleenex, but I never quite believed it. But if my luck were any indication, then I should have realized the truth about that ghost.
Within a few months my life was ruined forever, at 10 years old. Here's what happened: My whole family, all five brothers and sisters, and both parents, went for some reason to the airforce base hospital. We were soon all in a room standing in a thick group in front of a seated airforce doctor. I was bored, behind everyone, and didn't care thatI couldn't see the doctor. But then something made me push my way to the front to see what this voice looked like. Within seconds, he noticed me and made an instant diagnosis: that he could perform plastic surgery on my ears and correct their unnatural, bing crosby, dumbo appearance. Incredibly, my parents both immediately concurred and within a minute, the appointment was set and I was on an inexorable tract to a surgical nightmare that haunts me like a ghost to this day.
I tried to object. I tried to explain that this was all a big mistake, and that I had real bad feelings about the impending operation, but each time I said anything, my parents dug in deeper and proclaimed sternly, "You'll do as the doctor says." There was no escape. The weeks passed and then I was being wheeled into surgery, still awake, and I looked at the team of about five in their gowns and masks, huddled around strange chrome instraments on a cart. One noticed I was still awake and more anesthesia covered my face. I awoke. I was ruined. My life was over. The doctor had botched the surgery and my ears were a grotesque mess. This doctor had never performed this operation before. He must have read an article about it, or maybe that ghost made him do it. I was under anesthesia, so the ghost may have transferred from me to the doctor and couldn't resist playing the dirty trick on me while he had such a amazing opportunity. Who knows.
The first indication of how much humiliation I was in for came immediately after the bandages came off, at my mother's luncheon bridge party with the officer's wives club in our home off the base. About ten women were seated around our living room having coffee and talking when I happened by. My mother stopped me and loudly and crudely informed the women that I was the son who had recently had his ear's pinned back with a surgical procedure, and would they all mind taking a look. "Show them, son".
I stopped, and drew nearer to the main body of women, and turned my head and tilted it slightly to give them the best possible angle. They gasped. Suddenly they were silent, and unable to disguise their feelings from their faces. I looked at their faces. I had never seen faces like that. That's all I needed to know. I was finished forever. The ghost had won.
Stay tuned for chapter three of "Waco's Ghost".
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