To Whom It May Concern: by M.J. Garrett (books to get back into reading .TXT) 📕

pocket and pulls out a pocket knife, the same knife we wrapped for father’s day, and shoves the blade into my brother’s foot and attaching him to the floor. Slapping my brother, he yells “Stay awake, you ignorant piece of shit! You worthless little bastard! You don’t want to miss this!!” My brother crying, clutching his foot, unable to move…frozen. My master comes over to me and promises that if I don’t open my mouth, his foot won’t be the only thing stapled to the floor.

Looking at my brother through the blurry tears and pink icing, with my hair being clutched in the hand of my master, I open my mouth and close my eyes.

To Whom It May Concern:
I think we all know what happens here, can we just skip this part?


CHAPTER 23

“You may be down…ah! You may be out…ah! You may feel like you are at the end…ah! You may find yourself tired…ah! You might find yourself weak…ah!” The charismatic guest speaker, sweating and yelling, walked from one end of the stage to the next; putting the “ah” at the end of each phrase. I don’t know why, but that was always the case with these guys. A little touch of flare to grab our attention? A lot like the usual preacher, this is preaching without really preaching. Mrs. Galloway, with all of her secrets, is waving her handkerchief in the air with her face pointing toward heaven, a sign of surrender.

“Jesus…ah, walking on the raging sea…ah, yelling for Peter to get out of the boat…ah!” I’m almost sure there is a punch line, but all I can do is count the number of “ahs” that come over the loud speaker.

“Peter…ah, the man who denied me three times…ah! Not once…ah. Not twice…ah. Three times…ah! Peter…ah, the man who cut the ear off the soldier in anger…ah, the man who doubts me…ah, get out of the boat…ah!!” The crowd, all standing and clapping, start jumping and yelling out praises. I think I’ve counted 650 “ahs”.

“You may have sins that you hide…ah! You may have secrets…ah! You may be afraid…ah!” Still yelling, but now I think he’s actually preaching. “Just be strong…ah! Have faith…ah! Get out of the boat…ah!” Stomping across the stage yelling and panting; sweating and flailing his arms about. “Peter wasn’t great…ah! Peter was like you…ah! Like me…ah! Peter began to push his friends aside…ah! Peter walked to the edge of the boat…ah! His eyes focused on Jesus….ah!”

To Whom It May Concern:
He has to be pushing 750 by now.

Stepping over the wooden alter with one foot, using the alter as his visual, he keeps yelling and sweating. “Peter puts his foot in the treacherous water…ah! Peter, with his eyes on Jesus…ah, pulls his other foot over the edge of the boat…ah!” The preacher pulls his other foot over the alter, standing there covered in sweat, he begins to pull his suit jacket off. “Take off the opinion of others…ah, take off that heavy load…ah, take your past…ah, take your plans…ah, leave your worries…ah, and focus on Jesus…ah! Get out of the boat…ah!! You have to gather your fear…ah. Gather your courage…ah. Keep your eyes on Jesus…ah. Get out of the BOAT…AH!!”

With the crowd in frenzy, the piano starts to play along with the pipe organ. The base drum slowly pounding with the sound of the cymbals getting louder. The Joseph Banks, in his euphoric excitement, is now running up and down the aisles. Joseph Banks, our little closet pedophile and his little boy loving self, is running around the church while people yell, waving their hands to heaven, and jumping for joy.

“Saints…ah! Come marching in…ah! Saints…ah! Come marching in…ah!” Clearly this is the cue for the band and choir to start up their favorite emotional anthem. How the preacher never cursed in his excitement is beyond me. I thought that there should have been at least one good “God damn it” in his sermon, to make it hit home.

*

Sitting there watching this younger version of me, covered in pink icing, covered in sweat and spit, chunks of hair falling to the ground; my eyes grow black. My brother crying and yelling in pain with his foot stuck to the ground by a pocket knife. This little stupid boy gagging, using his dirty little icing covered hands to push off the thighs of his master. My eyes start to fill with angry tears. In that moment of hate and anger, my mind filled with revenge and malice, the world comes to a pause.

Vengeance is mine, says the Lord:
I am God. I am my own Savior. Vengeance is mine says me.

The world suspended in pause. A flash of black leather and pigtails explodes into the small bathroom. Don’t rob me of my anger, Carla! Don’t rob me of my vengeance! Don’t take this away from me!


CHAPTER 24

Sitting in the make-up trailer with a towel wrapped around his neck, Joseph Banks sits there while the young make-up artist pats his nose with powder. Looking at himself in the mirror, his confident smile and square chin feed his self-indulgent gaze. I’m the one, he thinks to himself. The front line reporter with the magic touch; racing through danger and getting the exclusive.

Turning his head to make sure that every angle can be shot with no glare, he points to his forehead and tells the girl that she missed a spot.

Just a few months ago, Joseph Banks was working out of a small news van. He had a small camera crew that was more interested in getting high after the insignificant shoot. Even Mr. Franklin looked at Joseph with disgust. Mr. Franklin, boiling in his disgust, peered at Joseph through the monitor, knowing that the only purpose for Joseph was to give him a break from the fake smiling and provide cheap advertising for local businesses. The more that people watched, the better the ratings right. What better way to get people to watch than to have one of their redneck, toothless aunt or uncle on the news with their stupid ridiculous idea of what news really is?

Sure, everyone watched the news to get the news, and the only reason Joseph was there was to get the names of the local businesses in the shot. Mom and pop stores would call in the most outrageous news, hoping that Joseph and his pot smoking crew would come and give these stores some publicity. And it worked. Free advertising.

Everyone watching and pointing at the TV as Joseph Banks would talk about how this three legged dog would sit on the back steps of their store. Every morning for the last 7 years, they would show up to unlock the store and get ready for business and there this dog would be. Sitting and waiting. Of course, no one knew why, but that was the story. Mom and Pop, along with their family, sitting on the couch laughing and pointing as they make their television debut. Shameless advertising.

“Let’s just talk to the owner and operator of this fine establishment and see what they think about their most loyal customer.” Joseph would then pause as he raised an eyebrow and gave his cheesiest smile for the camera and everyone sitting at home watching from their couch.

No finger on his ear. This was before his big break. No make-up, no real story. Just free advertising and a small paycheck.

“So, what is the story about our little three legged friend?” he asked as he turned to give his smile to the camera.

“Well…” the owner would say as he looked into the big glaring lens, “For the past 7 years our friend, **enter in some generic name…seeing how these news stories were all the same**, would greet me when I came in to work. Every day at 8 a.m. through 9 p.m., but not on Sunday, we open at 11 a.m. on Sunday…” he emphasized to the camera while not blinking. Free advertising, right? “…we would open the doors of Minelli’s Diner, located at 9969 (clearly NOT a euphemism) East Paige St.”

“Wow!” Joseph said without looking at his guest, just staring at the camera with his eye brow still raised and his cheesy grin. “That’s a long time. What do you contribute his faithful service to? Good service or good cooking?” he asked with one hand in his pocket and the other holding his microphone, Joseph turns toward his new star still looking at the camera and smiling. Statuesque.

“Oh, I don’t know. I would have to say that it would have to be both. We’re located right next to Eddie’s Movie Store!” Joseph walks away from the owner and starts talking about the history of the Minelli’s or something…I lost interest. Still addressing his audience while the man’s voice fading into nothing but background noise, “8 a.m. to 9 p.m. We’re open at 11am on Sunday. Tell your friends!”

This is where the camera would put the Dog on TV. Sitting on his raw ass and being held up by one front leg, the dog would be teased by someone off camera hoping to get a bark. Two barks would be even better, that way all the people watching at home could actually materialize the words “Good bye” out of “bark-bark”. Of course, this would only happen after about the 100th take and tons of wasted film.

To Whom It May Concern:
Editing this must take a long time. What a pain in the ass!

The whole Minelli family, sitting on their couch and crammed into the living room, watched their Dad smile so big on TV. Surely this would boost customers, they were famous now. And to think, all of this free advertisement is because of this 3 legged dog…their Savior.

No, the camera doesn’t add 10 lbs.

*

“Fuck! How many times do we have to shoot this stupid dog? I thought we would be out here all fucking day!” Joseph bitched to his camera crew as they sat in the van passing around a joint. “You know, one day, I’m going to punch Franklin in the fucking face! He’s sitting there in his nice air conditioned studio, like he’s so much better than everyone!” Joseph hated the way Mr. Franklin’s prima donna arrogance overshadowed his own.

*

“So, Mr. Franklin…”
“Please, call me Calvin.”

“Oh, okay…Calvin.” She shyly grinned and cleared her throat. “So, Calvin, can I get you some more coffee?” Don’t tell Joseph, but this is why he is always on the street shooting some ridiculous shoot that always seems to take forever. Especially now, seeing that his wife is six months pregnant, she only has a little while before she takes her maternity leave.

“What’s your