The Hitchhiker

           The clouds began to brake, slowly drifting apart like algae on a pond.  The broken edges glowed pale blue, back lit by a full but hidden moon.  Their heaviness produced a misting rain, which at times became intermittently heavy, washing the dirt and grime from the quiet stretch of highway.  State highway 15 is a narrow two-lane bypass between Ellingsburg and Camronton.  The road twists up and over a hilly, mountainous terrain of deep forest.  Tall ponderosas and great wild oaks stand as giant sentries in the dark and rain.  A military style gunny sack rests next to a small silhouette seated by the highway.     

            The figure sits wrapped in a thin parka, hugging its knees with its chin sunk deep into its chest.  The mist collects and beads down the yellow plastic parka, like condensation off a Coke bottle.  Hours pass and the clouds shift and move over the lone figure.  The rain continues to fall but the loner is motionless.  Rain water collects in shallow streams along roadway snaking past the loner’s size eight boots pressed firmly in the mud.  The clouds brake momentarily, exposing a brilliant white moon.  The figure lifts its face to the pale light.  A pre-teen boy’s swollen and teary eyes reflect the painful night sky. 
           The wind shifts and the watchful moon is gone again.  A rumbling rises from down the hill, a low rumbling that rolls like thunder up the mountain pass.  The Boy’s small frame stands up.  He turns to face the darkness down the road.  He recognizes the rumble as the throaty growl of a diesel engine.  He can see, in the night, the faint glow a headlights some distance away.  The gaze of the yellow lights casts golden highlights on the trees below.  The boy gathers his bag and extends his arm and thumb toward the road.  He edges himself onto the blacktop highway as the lights of a tractor trailer come around the bend several hundred yards down the road.  The boy is determined to not let the only sign of life, on this ghostly night, pass him by. 

            The rig growls as the air brakes snort and hiss.  The tires slowly claw their way onto the rough shoulder of the narrow highway.  The rig stops a few feet short of the boy, who stands unflinching to the beast before him.  His arm and thumb still extended.  His head still lowered, cowled beneath the yellow plastic parka.  The drizzling rain streaks softly through the bright beams emitted from the trucks headlamps. 

            “You jus’ gonna stand there in the cold an’ wet? Or you gonna get in cab?”  A voice came from the truck.  The boy still stood.

            “You wanna ride, donch’a? I ain’t got all night.” The voice calls out again from the darkness behind the light.  The boy steps slowly to the passenger side of the rig.  The door opens and the dome light inside the cab reveals a large man on the opposite side of the cab.  The sleeves of his denim shirt were rolled to his elbows exposing a tattoo of a Valkyrie on the battle fields of Valhalla.  The man’s long stringy hair was tied back beneath a bandanna depicting the American flag.  His intensely dark eyes rested like black pearls in white oyster meat and his long black beard bounced as he spoke.    

            “You sure picked a helluva night to travel son. Whatcha doin’ out in these woods all by yer lonesome anyhow?”

            The boy tosses the duffel on the floor board and climbs into the rig.  The bench seat was covered in a colorful wool blanket. The boy props his muddy boots on his green canvas bag and folds his hands between his knees. 

            “Where ya headin' son?” The man’s voice was gritty and rough, echoing in the night like a John Deere rolling down a gravel country mile.  “You don’t speak much do ya, son? You gotta name, boy?”  The boy doesn’t speak. 

            “How ‘bout I just call you ‘Little Bear’? Huh? You like that, Little Bear?” The man reaches over and slides the hood back off the boy’s head.  “Why don’t ya let me get a look atcha?” The man rested his arm across the seat back and stroked the boy’s hair.  The boy doesn’t move.

            “Hell, son, there’s bird shit on this rig older ‘an you, but that’s alright, you are a good lookin’ boy.  I bet you from Camronton.  Ain’t nothin’ in Camronton but whores and junkies. How ‘bout we find out which one are you?” The man removes a small towel from his lap, exposing his genitals.  The boy doesn’t look.

            The man stops stroking the boy’s hair and reaches behind the seat.  He produces a silver Magnum revolver and presses it to the boy’s head. 

            “Perhaps you didn’t hear me proper.  Now, you get o’er here and give this hog a tug before I cover this highway with yer brains.”  The man’s roared loudly. The boy slid slowly toward the man.

            “That’s a good boy, Little Bear, come to papa.”  The man relaxed his arm again across the seat back.  The revolver loosely grasped, pointing toward the passenger door.  The boy was closed enough to the man to smell his pungent odor.  He turned toward the man and watched him take in a deep breath,  lean his head back, and close his eyes. 

            The boy carefully reaches unnoticed to his size eight boots.  Still watching the man, he came up quickly, shoving a twelve inch buck knife through the soft meat under the man’s jaw.  The boy came with such force the tip of the wide blade pushed through the top of the man’s skull from the inside.  The man’s eyes pop open and the gun fires, blowing out the passenger side widow.  The man’s screams drown in a muffled, wet gargle. His black pearl eyes roll in their saltwater beds, unaware of what has happened.  The boy watches and smiles, as the man’s body convulses.  The boy pulls the knife from the man’s face and plunges it hard into his chest, slicing his heart in two.  Blood pours from under the man’s chin and mouth.  The boy reaches over and opens the driver side door.  He pushes the man’s heavy body onto the wet roadway.  The body hits with a thud, still twitching.  The black eyes seem to look upward to the boy.

            The boy looks down to the man’s body as the blood pools around it in the rain, “My name is Azrael. I’ve been waiting for you,” the boy says, “and you have been judged.”  

Anywhere but Here (part 5)

            The room was dark and I tried desperately to hold on to the dream as it faded from my mind.  It had been so long since I lost my family that I no longer knew if my dreams were recalled memories or desperate wishes for something, anything, that resembled my old life.  I missed the feeling I got when my daughter hugged me.  I longed to have the opportunity to see my son smile one last time.  I would give my life to look into my wife’s green eyes and feel her heart beat in her lips as we kissed.  But all I had was a fading dream and a hospital bed. 

            The room was still dark when the nurse came in.  Blue florescent light flooded the room from the hall when she entered. I watched one dark shadow march along the tile followed by another.  The nurse pulled back the curtain.

            “I am glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Mullhaney.” The night nurse was a middle-aged black woman with short cropped hair.  She walked to the monitor beside the bed and began looking at the jagged line printout that stretched from a small box printer below the monitor onto the floor. 

            “What’s going on?” I asked, my eyes still readjusting to the blue light.

            “A bus accident,” her voice was emotionless. “They needed all the room in the ER they could get. They moved you to this ward for overnight observation.”

            “I don’t really understand, why would they keep me for overnight observation for cuts and bruises?”

            “You had head injury Mr. Mullhaney, they wanted to rule out a concussion.”

            “If they thought I had a concussion why did they let me sleep?”

            “That’s actually a misconception, patients who may exhibit signs of a mild head trauma often fall asleep.  It is common to let them sleep but wake them and assess their symptoms at regular intervals.  But you have nothing to worry about, your CAT scan came back negative.” She said looking over a manila chart.

            “I had a Cat scan?” I propped myself up on my elbows.

            “Yes,”

            “Was I awake? I don’t remember that.”

            “Yes, don’t worry, short term memory loss is common with head trauma.  Like I said, your scan was negative, you’re probably experiencing some temporary memory lapses but that should soon subside”

            “When will that be?”

            “A few more hours, try to get some rest.”

            “Nurse? One more question.”

            “Sure”

            “Who came in the room with you?”

            “Excuse me?” the nurse looked back up from the chart.

            “I saw two shadows cross the floor, but only you came around the curtain. Who followed you in here?”

            “Mr. Mullhaney, I am not sure what you…” the nurse began but was interrupted.  A man in a dark suit stepped from around the curtain

            “It’s ok,” the man spoke to the nurse, “I will handle it from here.  Will you excuse us for a moment?” the nurse nodded to the man’s request and turned to exit the room.  Blue light flooded in once more and the door swung closed.  I was alone with the man. 

            I looked at the man’s shape in the darkened room.  A green light on the heart monitor beside the bed began to flash and beep.  My heart rate was elevating rapidly.

            “Do you know anything about Lie Detectors, Mr. Mullhaney?” The man in the suit stepped closer. “They measure physiological changes in a person’s body, specifically, physiological changes that occur when a person lies.  Someone who has been extensively trained to read lie detectors could easily read such information from something otherwise unrelated to lie detecting.  Something like the subtle changes in a person’s breathing patterns, the way a person’s eyes dilate in different light, or even something like a heart rate monitor could easily convey information to a trained professional.”  The man spoke slowly and began to look at the print out beneath the monitor.

            “Who are you?” I asked

            “Try to relax, introductions aren’t necessary at this point.  We know who you are and the time has come to ask you to help us.” The man took a seat in the plush arm chair beside the bed.  He moved the monitor next to the chair. “But first I need to ask you a few questions.  It’s important that you relax and answer me with complete honesty.” The man in the dark suit stood up and reached into his sport coat.  He pulled out a syringe and began prepping it.

            “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” I began to panic.  The beeping of the monitor jumped to an erratic pace. I tried to reach for the man but found I was strapped to the bed.  Thick bindings were strapped snuggly around my waist and ankles. Despite my efforts, I was unable to move.

            “Are you familiar with Sodium Pentothal?” the man asked.

            “Yeah, it’s one of the drugs used for lethal injections.”

            “That is correct, but believe me Mr. Mullhaney, you are far more valuable to us alive.  More specifically, Sodium Pentothal is an anesthetic. During the 1950’s it was found to be a fairly effective truth serum.  But Sodium Pentothal was not infallible.  During the cold war the formula for a reliable truth serum was perfected, based on Sodium Pentothal.  The final formula is highly classified and is known only as ‘Item 419’. I am giving you a small dose of 419.  This will help you relax and ensure your absolute honesty.”  His voice was calm and monotone.  “419 is extremely potent.  Please, sit back and relax.”

Anywhere but Here (part 4)

     I waited a longtime behind the emergency room curtain.  An orderly brought a bed and I transferred from the wheelchair to lie down.  The curtain remained drawn and the officer remained posted like a sentry.  I waited a long time for the detective to come.  I drifted off to sleep and began to dream. 

     The light broke through window and the Sunday morning daylight tracked across the bed.  Lisa slept beside me, tucked tight under the comforter attempting to stave off morning for a few more precious hours of sleep.  I laid there watching the tiny specs of dust float through the light of morning.  The bedroom door slowly widened and the faint sound of small footsteps crept gingerly across the carpet. 

     “Daddy?”  My daughter Kimberly’s small voice reached out to me. “Are you up, daddy?” She moved to see if my eyes were open.  They were.

     “Good morning, Honey.” I whispered, careful not to wake Lisa. Kimberly’s blonde hair glowed in the light. 

     “Daddy, when will the baby come?” Her eyes were bright and inquisitive. 

     “Not for another few months.”  I said.  She crawled up the bed between her mother and me.  I rolled onto my back and Kimberly nestled into the crux of my arm. 

     “Then I’ll have a little brother?”

     “That’s right.”

     “And I will be a big sister?”

     “Yep, are you excited to be a big sister? I said

     “Uh-huh,”

     “That is a very big responsibility, are you sure you can handle it?”

     “Daddy, of course I can be a big sister, I am already bigger than the baby, it only makes sense.” Kimberly sounded so confident.  A familiar giggle came from inside the covers beside us.  We looked over to see Lisa looking back at us with a warm smile.

     “Mommy! You’re awake!” Kimberly bounced to her knees. Her pink nightgown cascaded around her tiny feet folded underneath her. “Happy Mother’s day, Mommy.”

     “Thank you, baby.”  Lisa’s face beamed as she emerged from her plush cotton cocoon. Her green eyes glowed in the rich yellow light that now filled the room.  Her red hair and flawless skin radiated an unparalleled youthfulness.  I had known her all my life and still I marveled at her beauty.   “Happy Mother’s day, Beautiful.” I said leaning in and kissing her. 

     “Thank you, lover.  I couldn’t have done it with you.”  She joked.

     “Thanks, but today is your day, what would you like for breakfast?”

     “hmm, let me think.” Her voice became low and sultry.  Her hand found its way through the sheets and glided softly over my inner thigh as she spoke.  She moved her hand in slow motion rubbing higher with every pass.  “Pancakes, eggs, and bacon.” Her voice quickly transformed back and hand unexpectedly pulled away as she quickly rose from the bed.  My jaw dropped in disbelief.

     “You are an evil woman, and a terrible tease.”

     “I know,” she smirked back, “and you love ever bit of it.  Besides what did you think was going to happen? Our daughter is still in the room.”  She scooped up Kimberly into her arms.

     “You need to be careful lifting like that, you are pregnant.” I cautioned.

     “Thank you, Dr. Oz for that news flash, but I’m barely half-way through my second tri-mester.  Don’t worry so much, Handsome, I’ve done this before.”  She said nuzzling the neck of our first born in her arms.  Kimberly giggled wildly at the extra attention.  Her sassy reassurance made me smile. 

     “C’mon Honey, Daddy’s going to make us pancakes.” Lisa turned to exit our bedroom.

     “Yea! Pancakes! Mommy, guess what? I made you something for Mother’s day.”

     “You did? I can’t wait to see it” The conversation between mother and daughter trailed off as the two disappeared into another part of the house. 

     I relaxed back down and folded my hands behind my head staring up at the ceiling.  I smiled and thought for a few more minutes at the utopia my life had becoming.  I never imaged that I, of all people, would have such a beautiful life, that the awkward boy that existed on the fringes of adolescent social circles would be married to someone so amazingly charming.  My thoughts were interrupted by a pair of voices calling to me from beyond the bedroom door.

     “DAD-DY, PAN-CAKES, WE ARE HUN-GRY!” The voices sang in unison. 

     “OH-KAY, I AM COM-ING” I sang back.  I stepped from the bedroom into the greatroom. “But, first things first.”  I walked toward Lisa and Kimberly seated together on the sofa.  From behind my back I presented Lisa with a small, black, rectangular box carefully tied with a purple ribbon.  Lisa bounced up with childish excitement, folding her knees beneath her the same way Kimberly had moments before on our bed. 

     “I love presents, and the ribbon is purple, my favorite color.”  She took the box and untied the purple bow.  She lifted the box top.  Her eyes popped open “Oh, Riordan, It’s absolutely gorgeous.” She gasped, timidly lifting the diamond and emerald tennis bracelet from its white cotton bed inside the rectangular box.  “I love it!”  I reach over and fastened the clasp around her wrist.  She raised up on her knees and kissed me hard.  She relaxed back slightly and looked into my eyes. “I love you.” she said.

     “I love you, too, beautiful. Happy Mother’s day.”  I replied.  Lisa sat back.  Her arm out stretched.  She stared smiling at the bracelet, dazzled by her new jewelry.   

     “Are you going to help me make Mommy’s pancakes, Kimmy?”

     “Yep” Kimberly jumped into my arms and we made our way to the Kitchen.

     My daughter and I prepped breakfast and Lisa exited the greatroom to shower before breakfast.  Kimberly quickly became tired of mixing pancake batter and scrambling eggs and redirected her attention to her toys and storybooks.  I continued with breakfast.  Soon, the eggs were finished and fluffy.  The bacon was fried and crisp.  I began the pancakes.  The skillet sizzled as the cold semi-liquidous batter made contact with hot metal.  Silently from behind, Lisa’s dainty, slender hands wrapped around my bare chest from underneath my arms. She tucked tightly against my back resting her head sideways between my shoulder blades.  Her still wet hair was cool against my skin.  I could smell her lavender and chamomile bodywash above the buttermilk pancakes and bacon. 

     “I love my bracelet.” She whispered hugging me tight.  She moved her left hand over my stomach and her right hand deep inside the waist band of my blue plaid, flannel sleep pants, tenderly caressing me. “I want to make it up to you for teasing you so horribly this morning and to properly thank you for my gift.”

     “What about our daughter?” I teased, removing the golden brown cake from the skillet.  I turned around to face her.  She was tightly wrapped in a bath towel.  Her breast cleavage swelled above the damp terry cloth.  She sweetly pouted her lips, looking at me with large doe-y eyes.  

     “Kim is playing quietly in her room.”  Lisa rationalized.

     “I don’t want to burn breakfast, and I still have all this batter to fry up and…”

     “Riordan Matthew Mullhaney,” Lisa protested, “You will follow me to that bedroom and make love to me right now. It’s Mother’s day and as the mother of your children, I demand it.”

     “Okay, okay, if I must,” I playfully gave in to her demands “you are the boss.” I reached back and turned off the burner.  Lisa turned and led me by the hand into the bedroom, proudly strutting like a peahen.

     The dreamy memory of that day faded as I awakened in the hospital bed.  I was no longer in the emergency room.  I had been moved to a room on one of the wards.  The room was mostly dark. I hit the nurse call button on the bed and waited for someone to answer.

What is Agnostic?

      The existence of God has been debated emphatically since modern mankind first looked to the sky and wondered.  God is definable in many ways through countless experiences and accounts.  God has been described as the all seeing, all knowing light of the world.  God has been called limitless and omniscient. The idea of God is not universal.  There are other ideas that offer opposing views of God’s omniscience. Atheism is a belief that God does not exist.  ‘Atheism’ means the negation of theism, the denial of the existence of God (Stanford Encyclopedia).  Agnosticism is a belief that God's existence can neither be proved nor disproved, on the basis of current evidence(Stanford Encyclopedia).  Agnosticism is a concept, not a full religion, it is a belief related to the existence or non-existence of God(Stanford Encyclopedia).  To know fully what an Agnostic believes, one must knowingly decipher what Agnosticism is.  Also, it is important to define God.  Furthermore, it is important to look at notable Agnostics to decipher conclusively what is or is not knowable.

     Agnosticism, as a general term in philosophy, is frequently employed to express any conscious attitude of doubt, denial, or disbelief, towards some, or even all, of man's powers of knowing or objects of knowledge(New Advent).  Modern Agnosticism differs from its ancient prototype.  Its genesis is not due to a reactionary spirit of protest, and a collection of skeptical arguments, against "dogmatic systems" of philosophy in vogue, so much as to an adverse criticism of man's knowing-powers in answer to the fundamental question: What can we know?  The principle idea of Agnosticism can be summed up as any theory which denies that it is possible for man to acquire knowledge of God(New Advent).  Recent Agnosticism is also to a great extent anti-religious, criticizing adversely not only the knowledge we have of God, but the grounds of belief in Him/or her as well(New Advent).  The newest theories of Agnostics, regards religion and science as two distinct and separate accounts of experience(New Advent).  The term Agnostic can be used in many different contexts.  Some other terms associated with Agnostics are, Agnostic theists are those who believe that a deity probably exists.  Agnostic atheists believe that it is very improbable that a deity exists.  Empirical Agnostics believe that God may exist, but that little or nothing can be known about him/her/it/them(Stanford Encyclopedia).  Still another category are Agnostic Humanists(Stanford Encyclopedia).  These individuals are undecided about the existence of God (Stanford Encyclopedia).  Further, they do not really consider the question to be particularly important(Stanford Encyclopedia).

The term Agnostic was first used by Thomas H. Huxley.  Though there are a couple of references in The Oxford English Dictionary to earlier occurrences of the word ‘agnostic’, it seems(perhaps independently) to have been introduced by T. H. Huxley at a party in London to found the Metaphysical Society(Religious Tolerance).  Huxley thought that as many of these people liked to describe themselves as adherents of various ‘isms’ he would invent one for himself(Religious Tolerance).  He took it from St. Paul's mention of the altar to the unknown God in his letter to the Ephesians (Religious Tolerance).  He combined "a" which implies negative, with "gnostic" which is a Greek word meaning knowledge (Stanford Encyclopedia).  Three main meanings have been associated with "Agnostic" since Thomas H. Huxley invented the term in the mid-19th century(Stanford Encyclopedia).  Huxley defined agnosticism as follows: "... it is wrong for a man to say he is certain of the objective truth of a proposition unless he can provide evidence which logically justifies that certainty. This is what agnosticism asserts and in my opinion, is all that is essential to agnosticism." and  "... an agnostic is someone who not only is undecided concerning the existence of God, but who also thinks that the question of God’s existence is in principle unanswerable.  We cannot know whether or not God exists, according to an agnostic, and should therefore neither believe nor disbelieve in him." (Stanford Encyclopedia).  In 1899, he wrote:

"...every man should be able to give a reason for the faith that is in him; it is the great principle of Descartes; it is the fundamental axiom of modern science. Positively the principle may be expressed: In matters of the intellect, follow your reason as far as it will take you, without regard to any other consideration. And negatively: In matters of the intellect do not pretend that conclusions are certain which are not demonstrated or demonstrable. That I take to be the agnostic faith, which if a man keep whole and undefiled, he shall not be ashamed to look the universe in the face, whatever the future may have in store for him (Stanford Encyclopedia).”

He also wrote:

"When I reached intellectual maturity, and began to ask myself whether I was an atheist, a theist, or a pantheist; a materialist or an idealist; a Christian or a freethinker, I found that the more I learned and reflected, the less ready was the answer; until at last I came to the conclusion that I had neither art nor part with any of these denominations, except the last...So I took thought, and invented what I conceived to be the appropriate title of "agnostic". It came into my head as suggestively antithetic to the "Gnostic" of Church history, who professed to know so much about the very things of which I was ignorant... (Stanford Encyclopedia).”

 

Thomas H. Huxley is not the only notable Agnostic. Other Agnostics include Robert G. Ingersoll, Francois M. Arouet, the French 18^th century author and playwright who worked under the pseudonym Voltaire is often considered the father of Agnosticism (Stanford Encyclopedia), and Bertrand Russell.  Robert G. Ingersoll is perhaps the most famous American Agnostic of the 19^th century.  He commented on the problem of theodicy -- the presence of evil in a universe that many people believe was created and is run by God(Stanford Encyclopedia).  Ingersoll said;

"There is no subject -- and can be none -- concerning which any human being is under any obligation to believe without evidence...The man who, without prejudice, reads and understands the Old and New Testaments will cease to be an orthodox Christian.  The intelligent man who investigates the religion of any country without fear and without prejudice will not and cannot be a believer....He, who cannot harmonize the cruelties of the Bible with the goodness of Jehovah, cannot harmonize the cruelties of Nature with the goodness and wisdom of a supposed Deity.  He will find it impossible to account for pestilence and famine, for earthquake and storm, for slavery, for the triumph of the strong over the weak, for the countless victories of injustice.  He will find it impossible to account for martyrs -- for the burning of the good, the noble, the loving, by the ignorant, the malicious, and the infamous." (Stanford Encyclopedia).

  

Bertrand Russell was a well known British philosopher of the 20th century.  He was arrested during World War I for anti-war activities(Stanford Encyclopedia).  He won the Nobel prize for literature, and wrote over forty books(Rosten, 1963).  When asked if Agnostics were Atheist, Russell said “No, an Atheist, like a Christian, holds that we can know whether or not there is a God.  The Christian holds that we can know there is a God; an Atheist, that we can know there is not.  The Agnostic suspends judgment, saying that there are not sufficient grounds either for affirmation or for denial.”(Rosten, 1963).  Russell went on to answer questions regarding the Agnostics views of the Bible  and Jesus, stating that he does not think that it is divinely inspired, and the teachings of Jesus as told in the Gospels are admirable but no more that those of other men like the Buddha, Socrates or Abraham Lincoln(Rosten, 1963).

In order for an Agnostic to accept the concept of a higher power, the term “God” needs to be clearly identified.  Defining God is not as simple as it would seem.  The question of knowing God is not the same as the question of defining it (New Advent).  The two do not stand or fail together(New Advent).  By identifying the two, the Agnostic confounds "inability to define" with "total inability to know", which are distinct problems to be treated separately(New Advent).  The Catholic conception of faith is a firm assent, on account of the authority of God to revealed truths.  It presupposes the philosophical truth that God can neither deceive nor be deceived, and the historical truth of the fact of revelation(New Advent).  Faith begins where science ends.  The fact that none of the truths which we believe on God's authority contradicts the laws of human thought or the certainties of natural knowledge shows that the world of faith is a world of higher reason.  Faith is consequently an intellectual assent(New Advent).  The word knowledge is restricted to the results of the exact sciences; the word belief is extended to all that cannot be thus exactly ascertained(New Advent).  The Agnostic denial of the ability of human reason to know God is directly opposed to Catholic faith.  The Council of the Vatican solemnly declares that "God, the beginning and end of all, can, by the natural light of human reason, be known with certainty from the works of creation"(New Advent).  In short, in order to define the term “God” an Agnostic needs a clear empirical definition of whom or what “God” is.  Since many religions hold very different meanings for what God is, it would be acceptable to ascertain that “God” is not definable. 

Agnosticism is a concept that God cannot be defined, and thus the existence of God is unknowable.  Agnosticism is usually regarded as radical skeptic thought and at best is regarded as a fringe belief.  It is because of false generalizations that Agnostics are given a bad rapport.  Its radical classification and apparent skepticism cause Agnosticism to be lumped together with Atheism and Atheism with Satanist.  And further more Agnosticism and outright Atheism are usually webbed with Socialism (Jacoby, 2004).  Satanic heretics and socialists have historically been the advisory to the American way of life.  Agnostics, however, do not hold such beliefs and are there for incorrectly identified as “Bad People”.   Agnostics simply reserve the right to reserve judgment on the existence of god until knowable evidence proving a higher power is found.

 References 

Jacoby, S. (2004). Freethinkers: A History of American Secularism. New York: Metropolitan Books.

New Advent. (n.d.). Retrieved April 5, 2009, from http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/01215c.htm

Religious Tolerance. (n.d.). Retrieved April 5, 2009, from http://www.religioustolerance.org/agnostic.htm

Rosten, L. (1963). Religions of America: Ferment and Faith in an Age of Crisis. New York: Touchstone Books.

Stanford Encyclopedia. (n.d.). Retrieved April 5, 2009, from http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/atheism-agnosticism/

Haiku #2

This Disappointment

Has left me feeling bitter,

But what else is new.



Anywhere but Here (part 3)

            I was transferred from the gurney in the ambulance to a wheelchair.  The cuts to my face and head pulsed with pain.  A female EMT walked with the admissions nurse as she pushed me through the emergency room door.  The hospital was crowded.  I could see their faces as I was wheeled past them.  An old woman watched me.  Her face was loose and her eyes were deep black with pain.  She never took her gaze from me as the medic recited my vitals to the nurse.  A chorus of coughing and mumbles rippled from the room.  Several children clung to their mother in the far corner.  Another child began to cry from somewhere behind me as I was pushed through a second set of door.

     The next room was full of hospital beds and pink and grey curtains.  Several of the curtains were drawn, concealing other patients.  I was parked in an area near the wall next to the nurse’s station in the middle of the room and was strapped to a blood pressure machine.  The machine’s motor kicked on and the bag inflated tightly around my arm.  Crash carts and waist height rolling supply cabinets lined the room.  Every supply cabinet was topped with a jar of long stem swabs and handfuls of individually wrapped alcohol squares and gauze pads.  The room smelled of antiseptic.  Even a smeared orange mess of iodine on the floor near the waste bin seemed oddly sterile. 

     The last time I set foot in this place was the day I learned of the accident.  I arrived with Detective Winston and the other officer.  We entered through a non-descript door on the backside of the building.  A small sign by the door read ‘Morgue’.  The Detective held a white card up to a black box mounted below the sign.  A little red light quickly turned green and the locking mechanism clicked.  The other officer stepped forward and opened the door.  The Detective led me down a corridor.    The hall was well lit.  Tan glossy tile covered the bottom half of the walls on either side.  The tile was capped with a ten inch thick mahogany handrail that ran the entire length of the hall.  The top portion of the walls was papered and floral prints hung every fifteen feet were framed in correlating mahogany frames. 

     The hall was long and the tapping of our shoes on the hard floors filled the air.  The three of us walked silently inline, the Detective, me, and the officer.  A brandywine colored sign above us directed us to a small alcove to the right.  The Detective waved his white keycard over another black box, another light turned green, and the doors unlocked.  The doors opened to a little room.  A reception counter was immediately to the left as we entered and six empty waiting-room chairs filled the room opposite the counter.  Detective Winston signed a clipboard and rang a bell that was placed on the counter with instructions to sign in and ring the bell for service. 

     A woman with grey hair and round glasses pushed through a free swinging two way door behind the counter.

     “Ah, Hello George.” The woman addressed Detective Winston.  Her jowls shook as she talked.

     “Hey Alice, I brought the survivor of the vics from this morning’s head-on collision, out on I-8” the Detective replied. 

     “Oh, well then, take him to viewing room three and I will prep the bodies for identification.” She craned her neck to look around the detective’s thick body.  Her eye looked sympathetically at me,   “I am sorry for your loss dear.”  I nodded my head gently.  I found it hard to make eye contact with her. 

     “Follow me, son.” Detective Winston pushed the two way door open.  The woman stepped through first, I followed, then the officer, and finally the Detective.

     “Third door on the right.”  The officer instructed.  The door had a large black ‘3’ painted on it. 

     Room 3 was empty except for two black folding chairs, a small round table, and a box a facial tissues.  The far wall was mostly a large window into another room lined with stainless steel work tables, a sink, and a bedside table.  Large fluorescent light fixtures bathed the room in bright blue light.  I watched through the window as the woman began rolling beds into the room.  Each bed carried a white sheet covering a mysterious lump. 

     “This is more of a formality, son, so we can be sure those we found at the scene are who we think they are.” Detective Winston placed his hand on my shoulder the same way he had hours earlier at my home.  I stood staring through the window at the three beds, now lined up like cars in a parking lot.  The Detective nodded to the woman on the other side of the glass.  She folded the sheet down uncovering the largest of the three lumps.  I saw Lisa lying on the bed.  Her eyes stared up colorless and dim.  She was pale and stiff like a wax doll.  My knees buckled and I collapsed to the floor.  The officer quickly came to my side and helped me to one of the black folding chairs.  I could hardly think. I buried my face into my hands and sobbed.

     “That’s all we need.”  Detective Winston nodded again to the woman.  She recovered my wife’s face and in moments the bright blue fluorescent lights went dark.   

     Sitting in that hospital again, and thinking back on that day made my blood run cold.  I sat in the wheelchair against the wall.  The blood pressure machine ran through several cycles.  A young nurse with dark hair came and wheeled me to an area where a bed should be and pulled the curtain around.  She removed the gauze wraps from my arms and head.  I could see them in the small waste can, they were cover in blood.

     “Don’t worry,” she said, “It looks worse than it actually is.  You are really lucky.  Most of these are superficial cuts and will heal on their own.  You do, however, have a nasty gash over your eye and another ‘round the back here, but I am going to stitch ‘em right up.  Do you know when your last tetanus was?” the young nurse was standing in front of one of the rolling storage cabinets preparing several syringes.

     “I don’t know when my last tetanus was,” my own voice seemed strange. Those were the first words I had spoken to anyone in, what seemed like hours.  “Do you know what time it is?”

     “Half past six.” She said over her shoulder.  It was later than I thought.  The events of my day were foggy at best.  The nurse continued to stand over the cabinet working.  “After I am done, there is a Detective wanting to speak with you.” as the nurse spoke I notice the silhouette standing guard outside the curtain. 

     The young nurse cleaned the cuts on my arms and wrapped them from elbow to wrist in clean white bandages.  Before long the gashes, too, were sewn shut and covered with clean dressings.  When she finished she disappeared around the pink and grey cloth.  I was left alone again, in the wheelchair, secluded behind a curtain.  

Anywhere but Here (part 2)

     Something seemed different that day.  A faint purple-orange glow shined through the sheer drapery hanging over the bedroom window.  I walked, still dazed with sleep, to the kitchen.  I remove the used coffee filter and grounds from the coffee maker and dispose of them.  I made the coffee and headed toward the bathroom.  I made my way through my normal Saturday morning routine, yet something still seemed different.  I poured a cup of coffee and strolled to the living room.  I sat on the couch and turned on the news.  The news castor ran through the overnight headlines in the usual fashion, yet something seemed different.
     I sat quietly sipped slowly on the hot coffee.  A loud knocking on the front door shattered the quiet morning.  I answered the door.  A police officer and a man wearing a tan tweed sport coat and thinning hair, stood outside the door.
     “Mr. Mullhaney?” the man in the sport coat spoke.
     “Yes, what’s going on?” I questioned back.
     “I am Detective Winston, may we come in? There has been an accident.”
     “Yes, of course,” I showed then in, “But, I don’t really understand.
     “Sir, do you know where your wife and children are?”
     “Asleep in their beds, I just left my wife there a moment ago. LISA!”  I shouted down the hallway toward the bedrooms. “I don’t understand, Detective, what are you getting at?”
     “Does your wife drive a Chevrolet SUV?”
     “Yes, but what does that have to do with anything? LISA!”
     “I am sorry to inform you, Mr. Mullhaney, but your wife, your son, and your daughter were involved in a traffic accident earlier this morning. They did not survive.”
     I shook my head.
     “That is not possible,” I turned and started down the hall, “My wife is asleep in our bed. LISA! LISA!” I opened the door to our bedroom.  What I was sure was my sleeping wife, was nothing more than a wadded up comforter. My mouth went dry.  I turned, rushing to my children’s bedrooms.  Their beds were empty and my blood ran cold. I turned around again and nearly collided with the Detective and the officer.
     “Mr. Mullhaney, I need you to come with us to the hospital.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and I stared blankly. “Sir, Sir, Sir,” His words echoed in my head. “Sir, Sir, Sir…”
     My eyes blinked open and those words still echoed, only not from the detective but from a paramedic.  My eyes and mind began to focus.  The replay of that warm April morning when I first learned I had lost my family quickly vanished.  The smell of liquor stung my nose as the paramedics slowly helped me sit up.  The cuts on my hands and arms felt like fire.  I glanced around.  From the little room behind the counter of the little convenience store four other paramedics carried a large heavy black bag.  They stepped gingerly past me. 
     I didn’t say anything.  A blood pressure cuff was strapped around my arm and pumped up.  My shirt was cut off of me and a stethoscope was placed to my chest.  The medics moved quickly around me.
     “Sir, we are going to have you transported to Mercy General to be checked out further.  Do you understand what I am saying to you?”  I looked up to see a man standing over me.  He was wearing a tan tweed sport coat.  I recognized him right off.  He was older and fatter, and his thinning hair was all but gone.  He now wore a thick grey moustache.  He was the Detective who, two year ago, informed me my life as I had known it was over.