The servants are watching.
They are always watching.
That feeling on the back of your neck, when the hair raises and it feels like you are being watched but there is no one there…the servants are watching, they are always watching…that feeling is their breath on the back of your neck, their fingertips caressing your skin so lightly you almost wouldn’t notice. Except for the voice inside screaming to flee, that they SEE you, that they are WATCHING you, but they shield that voice and all that seeps through is the slight feeling of being watched.
You think you know the story; people throughout the ages have come up with explanations to put their minds at ease, or to distract. The truth is so much simpler, and vastly more complicated.
There is no god…
There is no devil…
There are only the servants
There are only those that see
There is no god, no devil…
There is only the ONE
Chris McQueeney 10/21/12 2:02 P.M.
Some of my earliest memories are of me playing alone, feeling alone. There was always that feeling in the background...alone. In a lot of ways I was alone. I developed intellectually much faster than most of the kids around me; while at the same time my emotional development was far behind theirs. And my ability to communicate with the children my age was non existent.
The world spoke to me of amazing things and I didn't have the voice to tell those around me. When I tried the flood of information/observation and questions would overwhelm my ability to speak and all that would come out was a stream of gibberish and incessant questions.
Growing up that way was hard, but there were two saving graces. The only real friends I had growing up...the only two people I never felt uncomfortable around, Wally and Brent. of the many people that I have met in my life they stand out because of the ease and power of their friendship.
We moved into a new home, on Smith street, in Nampa Idaho. My mom and Doug were inside signing paperwork (I assume...I was 5 and had no idea what adults did as adults, but now I can guess) and doing the walk through. They left me outside playing with the landlord's grandson. In the course of playing he threw a handful of sand at me in a fit of childhood anger...so, I responded by kicking sand in his face. All hell broke loose. He, the grandson, was screaming, the landlord was yelling at me and my mom beat my ass...
Later in the day I was in the front yard alone, as usual, when I looked over the fence to the yard next door and their was a boy standing there. I can't remember if he said hi first or if I did but we started talking. He asked me why I beat up that kid, I told him that I didn't beat him up, and proceeded to ramble out my huge long explanation about the situation (which took all of thirty seconds because I was so animated). When I finished he said something like "I know him, he is a winy little brat...My name is Wally." I met my first real friend that day.
A few months later while playing in the back yard I met Brent. His Aunt had just moved into the house behind ours and he was playing in the back yard. We talked through the fence like two prisoners in different jailhouse yards; that day I met my second true friend.
I talk often about the trials I have had in my life...but I have also been gifted with rocks to cling to while life tried it's hardest to break me for good.
Without those two best friend on first site I would not have survived my childhood.
I don't think I ever told you but there were days that I wouldn't have made it through with out your friendship...
Thank you Wally for being my friend
Thank you Brent for being my friend
I ask for crème Brule
Not this semi-sweet
Almond chocolate soufflé
Butter pecan would have been nice
Or even a firm sorbet
A second bite of this…
About that I will have to think twice
I don’t think so
No thank you
For once my picky tastes
Kept me alive
One more day
Chris McQueeney 9/26/12