_
Without
by
cornwallace
Gun on the table, sitting idly by an unopened box of bullets.
Thesis statement.
You ready for it?
Why settle for worthlessness when you can become legendary?
Nobody saw this coming. Not even me.
I can't help what I am.
What I've become. There was a time, long before this, when I had my shit together.
I was a smart kid. No shame in admitting to it. An all-A student.
Times like these, I think of Zack.
I can only hope he's doing okay.
We don't speak anymore. You could say that this is my fault, and I would have to tell you that you were right. However, what's done is done, and the past cannot be altered, no matter how much you might want it to.
They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Say that to someone who's been paralyzed from the waist down, and they would get up and kick your ass if they could. Someone like me.
That's the irony of said philosophy. I'm living proof that it's bullshit.
"How are you holding up?"
"Oh, I'm just dandy, Zack. Just fucking dandy."
He goes silent again. Looking at his shoes. Twiddling his thumbs very slowly. His leg bouncing up and down, toes planted firmly, heel tapping against the rug that blankets the wooden floor. A nervous tic that's always gotten on my nerves.
"You know," he starts, not bothering to look up. "The situation sucks. I know that. You really don't have to take it out on me.."
...
Sigh.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay, man. I understand. I'm fucked up about it, too."
I don't know how to respond, so I don't.
He buries his face in his hands.
"What are we gonna do, Cody?"
"I don't know."
"Funerals aren't cheap. Not to mention her debt. We don't have this kind of money."
"I know."
"How are we going to pay for all of this?"
...
"I'll think of something."
Face beaten and swollen. Bruised. Missing teeth. They found four in her stomach. Two on the floor. Finished her off with a kitchen knife to the jugular. The cops had to pry it out with bloody gloved hands and confiscate it as evidence.
They didn't find anything.
They suspect that it was a burglary gone wrong. She gets up to get a glass of water at just the wrong time. The robber panics and takes her out, hurriedly gathering what he can before disappearing into the night.
No finger prints. No witnesses. Not a trace of usable evidence.
Mom.
Some people are lucky. Some people just aren't.
Poor mom..
"What the fuck do you mean? ... Can't you check again? ... The fuck do you mean, a fine-toothed comb? There must be something there. ... No, you're just not doing your fucking job. Is this why I pay taxes? So you can let murderers wander the streets? ... No, I'm not being unreasonable. You're just a bunch of goddamn amateurs. ... I don't fucking care what it takes. Find him."
The phone slams down on the cradle. I can hear everything through these paper thin walls.
Zack emerges from his bedroom, feet coming down hard enough on the floor to echo slightly off the walls of the hallway.
Sitting at the bar separating the kitchen from the living room. Bottle of jack sitting next to a tumbler with three melting cubes.
"He's still fucking out there," he says.
"I know," I tell him. "I heard."
"We have to do something," he says, pacing back and forth on the other side of the bar.
"There's nothing we can do, Zack."
"We can't just let that piece of shit walk, Cody!"
"You think I want him out there? Do you really think that I'm okay with any of this?"
He stops pacing and crosses his arms, leaning against the refrigerator. Tapping his foot.
"Alright, Zack. Alright. Round up the posse, and grab us some shotguns," I say, imitating the cocking and shooting hand motions and sound effects. "Let's go on a manhunt."
"Your sarcasm isn't appreciated."
"What do you want me to do?"
"You're smart, Cody. Think of something."
Sigh.
Unscrew the bottle and fill the glass halfway.
Set the bottle down. Pick the glass up and glance at the scowling expression on Zack's face before averting my eyes back to the glass. Swirl it around. What's left of the three cubes, clinking against one another.
"Yeah, Zack," I say, taking a sip from the tumbler and setting it on the counter, next to the bottle. "I'm smart. Smart enough to know there's nothing we can do about any of this.
They put her in the ground on a Tuesday.
It was a closed casket funeral.
The distant family members and friends of hers vainly trying to console us for our loss. Cheap offerings of insincerity. Telling us that if there's anything they can do for us, don't hesitate to ask.
I can think of a few things. Why bother, though?
It's not like they mean it.
These people are more worried about being reminded of their own mortality than they are about what we might be going through.
They're not sorry she died. They're sorry they're going to.
A sunny day.
Mom always loved warm weather.
After she was in the ground, everybody slowly left, one by one.
Everybody, save for Zack and I.
As they were shoveling dirt onto her casket, that's when it hit me.
It hadn't seemed real, at first. I just went kind of numb.
Sitting there in silence, next to my brother, I suddenly feel as if I've been kicked in the chest by a horse.
That's when I started to cry.
Zack silently hugged me and I followed suit. His tears soaking through the fabric on my shirt.
Suddenly, it started to rain.
Sun still shining brightly down on us.
I guess the devil was beating his wife.
It rained until the following Tuesday.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing really. Just got off work."
"How's the new job?"
It takes everything in me not to literally groan.
"I don't really want to talk about it. How's school?"
"It's killing me. Finals week. I have like, six tests here in the next three days. I think I'm gonna die, baby."
"You're not gonna die," I say, chuckling. "I hope you do well on them."
"Thanks. I've been studying my butt off. I'm gonna have to pull another all-nighter tonight."
"I'm sorry, baby."
...
"Cody?"
"Yes?"
"Are you gonna be okay?"
"I... I don't know."
"I'm so sorry, baby."
"I wish you could have been here, Bailey."
"Me, too, Cody. But you know I couldn't leave school. Not now."
"Didn't stop me."
"Yeah, and you lost your scholarship."
"Whatever."
"Cody?"
"What?"
"How much have you had to drink today?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm really worried about you."
"Well, don't bother. It's not like you care enough to do anything to help out in this situation."
She doesn't say anything, and I feel like shit.
"I'm sorry, Bailey."
"I have to go. I've gotta study."
"Please, Bailey, don't do this. I-"
"I have to study, Cody. Goodbye."
"Are you still coming down when you go on break?"
Silence.
"Bailey?"
"Yeah. I'll be there."
"Okay. I love you."
"Bye."
Click.
Bailey didn't arrive when her break started.
I called her three times on the day she was supposed to arrive. It was a Tuesday.
She never picked up, so I left a message.
The next day, I tried calling again. No answer.
The following Tuesday, a package showed up at the front desk of Zack's apartment complex.
In the package were all the the things I had left at her place, along with a three page note about how much of a failure as a boyfriend I am. How she doesn't love me anymore. How she doesn't want to watch me destroy myself. How I'm not going anywhere, while she's on the fast track to success. Signed with a lipstick kiss.
"You going to work today, Cody?"
"I had to quit yesterday."
"Had to quit? What the hell do you mean, had to quit?"
"I was doing all the managerial work up there for minimum wage. I'm not going to do more work than everyone else for less pay. That makes no sense."
"Jesus Christ, Cody. We have bills to pay."
"I'll think of something."
"How much money do you have?"
"Thirty."
"Thirty dollars? Thirty fucking dollars? Are you serious?"
"You wanna check my wallet?"
"How much did you drink and literally piss away in the past six days?"
"It took somewhere around three hundred and seventy dollars to get us both drunk and keep us alive for another three weeks. Also got a speeding ticket."
"Driving drunk, no doubt."
"Don't you think I'd be in jail if that were the case?"
"Jesus, Cody. Fuck you. You're fucking pathetic."
"I'm pathetic? Sorry if I'm spending all my money on food and drinks for us, instead of spending it on expensive bullshit for random floozies to get my dick wet once and never call them back ever again. Sorry if I have integrity, and have finally had enough of being a pizza parlor's slave for the lowest possible pay."
"No, you just don't go out and meet people. You just sit around the house, floating your goddamn liver and crying about how much your life sucks when you don't even have one. Excuse me for having a life, Cody. Excuse me for not being a pathetic excuse for a miserable human being, just like yourself."
I don't know how to respond to this.
So, I don't say anything.
I just get up and put my shoes on. Grabbing the half empty bottle on the counter, I head for the door.
"And just where the fuck do you think you're going?"
The door slams shut behind me, and I walk down the steps to my car.
Open the driver's side and toss the bottle into the passenger seat. Get in and slam it so hard that the window shakes in its frame.
Goodbye, Zack.
If it is black, it is not white.
This statement works both ways.
If it is white, it is not black.
In this life, the only way some people get what they want is through fiction.
You can write your own happy endings on the page, but that doesn't make them any less fictional.
Dreams. Dreams are more trouble then they're worth.
Some people figure out ways to test themselves, to see if they're dreaming. After finding out they're asleep, they become a god of their temporary universe.
I mostly just dream about the ones I lost.
Mother.
Father.
Bailey.
Zack.
You're all there, but so is the distance.
If I could control my dreams, I would catch up to you, and for awhile, everything would be okay.
But I can't.
You always elude me.
If it is alive, it is not dead.
This statement also works both ways.
If it is dead, it is not alive.
Raining.
Countryside.
Night.
Can't see anything beyond the glow of my headlights. The road stretching out into the darkness past vision's reach.
Lightning strikes in the distance, temporarily revealing the trees around me with a quick flash of light.
Bottle resting in between my legs. Cap already off, and discarded somewhere in the floorboard.
Ready, able.
Take another hit from the bottle.
I don't know where I'm going. Not sure I will, even when I get there.
Following this long and windy road down its twists and turns only to end up nowhere.
This is the path we all ultimately venture down. I'm just getting a head start.
Take a deep breath and hold it, pushing the oxygen in my lungs as far down as possible. Starting to get light-headed.
Hand fumbles for the lever next to the wheel. Fingers locate the dial at the end. Turn it back towards me, and the lights cut off.
I wonder just how far this straight-away goes, but I suppose I'll find out soon enough.
Lightning flashes in the sky as I begin to fade away.
"I had this dream last night."
Bailey's eyes locked onto mine.
That beautiful smile of hers flashing at the bottom of my line of vision.
"Oh? Do tell."
Those beautiful green eyes.
"I had lost everything. I had lost you, my scholarship, my mother, my job, even my own brother."
Her smile fades as she slowly closes in and cradles my face in her right hand. She plants a kiss on my cheek and whispers softly in my ear. Her breath sending chills down my spine.
"You know I would never leave you, sweetie."
"I know..."
She pulls back. Her dark blue eyes, like blueberries.
Smiling again.
"What did you do then?"
"I left what little life of mine was left, and I drove into the void."
She blinks and her eyes are a gorgeous hazel.
"Bailey...?"
"Yes, dear?"
"What color are your eyes?"
She acts as if she didn't hear me. She just stares at me as if she understands.
"You aren't real... are you?"
Her tight-lipped smile fades and she blinks once again.
Her eyes, solid black, like giant pupils.
I would tell her that I love her, but I'd only be talking to myself. And if I say it to me, I won't mean it.
Leaves falling around us in the park on this autumn day.
I always loved the fall.
The ground begins to shake violently beneath our feet as the universe around us begins cracking at the seams.
I can't help but stare at you as this world collapses, because I know deep down in my heart that if I avert my eyes for even an instant, you won't be there anymore.
My Bailey...
At least here, I can almost pretend.
Flash.
"Wake up, Cody."
Flash.
"Please, Cody. Wake up."
Flash.
"Please, Cody. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean all that shit I said."
Flash.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Martin. You'll have to come back some other time."
Flash.
"Please hang in there, Cody. If not for me, than for yourself."
Darkness.
Light.
Too bright. Eyes force themselves closed before I can even focus.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Where am I...?
What is this?
"Mister Martin?"
"Nnnh..."
"That's it, Cody. Open your eyes."
"Who...?"
Eyes try to open, but can only handle a second or two at a time. Vision unable to adjust.
"Too bright," I say.
"Give it a minute."
"Where am I?"
"You're in the hospital, Cody. You've survived a very terrible accident. You're very lucky to be alive at all."
Bright blurs come into focus. The doctor is standing at the end of my bed, scribbling something down on a notepad.
"Where's Zack?"
He stops writing and looks at me.
"Excuse me?"
"Did I.. have any visitors?"
He stares at me blankly.
"Visitors?"
"Oh.."
Spinal injury.
The doctors tell me that I'll never be able to walk again.
Just like that. Stating facts. No attachment to them whatsoever.
They just sit me down in a wheelchair and show me the door. They told me they'd send me a bill.
Once outside, I just sit there a moment and watch the cars drive by from the sidewalk.
Wondering what I'm gonna do. Where I'm gonna go.
This is worse than dying.
"Mr. Moseby?" she calls out, knocking on the door. "You have a visitor."
Shady Oaks rest home. The man who once managed both a hotel and a cruise ship, reduced to this.
A place for people at the end of their rope to go and dangle awhile before losing their grip entirely.
This place smells like death.
The dead and the dying.
Hopelessness
I feel as though I fit right in.
The door opens to reveal a man that vaguely resembles what he used to be.
Grey beard, hunched over a cane. He adjusts his thick glasses and stares at me. A smile stretching across his face.
"Thank you," he says to the nurse. "I'll take it from here."
She turns and walks away without saying a word.
"Do these tired old eyes deceive me?"
"Depends on what you see."
"Cody Martin. Come on in, boy. How the hell are you?"
Wheel past him and turn around to face him.
"I'm alive. That's the best answer I can give, I guess."
"Alive's not too bad," he says, slowly walking past me and sitting down. "I'd offer you a seat, but it looks like you've got that covered. Zack's laziness rubbing off on ya?"
"Ha. No. Car accident last year left me paralyzed."
"Aw. Don't take offense, kid. You gotta learn to laugh at the hand you're dealt. That way you can smile your way to victory."
"I guess so."
"Gravity takes its toll on everything, on this here planet."
"No kidding. Drink?"
"What you got there, Cody?"
"Whiskey," I say, removing the personal sized bottle from my jacket pocket.
"Sure," he says, reaching for it.
The skin on his hands like worn paper. I hand him the bottle and he takes a swig.
"What brings you out here, Cody?"
"I live nearby. Heard you were staying out here, thought I'd come see how you were doing."
"That's awful kind of you, Cody. I'm doin' alright," he says, taking another drink and handing the bottle back over to me. "Just livin' my life, one day at a time. What are you up to these days?"
Grab the bottle and nod before taking another hit.
"You're looking at it," I say.
"Happens to the best of us," he replies. "How's Zack doin'?"
He fishes a pipe out of his pocket, along with a small pack of matches.
"I wouldn't know. We're not on the best terms right now. I haven't spoken to him since my accident."
"That's too bad," he says through harsh, cloudy breath. "But it happens to the best of us. I guess you could say that's why I ended up in a nursing home."
"Happens to the best of us.."
"Sure enough," he says, chuckling. He bites down on the mouthpiece of the pipe to hold it in place while he strikes another match and starts puffing. "You know, it's a long and weary road people like us walk down."
"Yeah.."
"At the end of it, you're dead tired, sore, your shoes are worn out and you're starvin'. Dyin' of thirst. Best you can do is enjoy the scenery."
"What scenery?"
"Just look out yonder window," he says, pointing to the curtains on the other side of him.
Make my way over and slide it back.
An empty alleyway, save for a few trashcans and scattered pieces of debris.
"It may not look like much," he says, removing the pipe from his mouth and exhaling plumes of thick smoke. "But it's definitely somethin'"
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Give it time, kiddo. You hang in there long enough, and you'll see."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I can't. I can just tell you what works for me."
A stray cat emerges from behind the dumpster to my left and trots through the alleyway, and out of sight.
"Just know," he says, striking another match. "At the end of that walk, no matter how long or short, you finally do get to rest."
"Heh."
Close the curtain and turn back to face him.
"How's your mother doing?"
I take another hit from the bottle.
"Fast asleep," I say. "Way of the road, right?"
"Right," he says, smiling at me. "Exactly right."
For whatever reason, this makes me smile, too.
"Come back an' see me sometime, Cody. I enjoyed your company."
"Sure thing, Mr. Moseby."
"And, Cody?"
"Yeah?"
"Try to keep your head above water. It'll never be as good as it should be. No matter how much you want it to, or how hard you try. It's just not in the cards for people like us."
"...Thanks."
That was the last time I spoke to Mr. Moseby.
It was on a Tuesday.
Three days later, I got a call.
He must have seen it coming, because he instructed the staff to contact me, and give me everything.
Everything he had.
There wasn't much. Most of what he had held no other value than sentimental.
I was the only one at his funeral. There was a ceremony, but he was cremated. They asked me if I wanted to keep his ashes. I didn't have enough to pay for an urn, so I dumped him in an empty whiskey bottle. I figured he'd be alright with that, long as there was a place he could look out.
When I got home, I cried for awhile, then sorted through the boxes.
Pictures of the old days. Plaques. Awards. Trinkets.
And at the bottom of the last box, an unloaded silver revolver.
I never would have thought him the type to own a gun.
For two days after the funeral, I sat by my window, staring out at the streets below.
Drinking and smoking out of Mr. Moseby's pipe.
They say he died in his sleep.
They say he went very peacefully.
It kind of breaks my heart that he left all this stuff to me. I've only seen him once in the past nine years.
He must have had nobody else to pass this stuff along to.
I think about his words. This road has been very long and very hard on me. My lifeless legs ready to give out on me. My body, every inch of it sore. Worn. I'm thirsty, hungry and tired. I consider myself at least a little bit lucky that there isn't anyone left to give a shit if I just lay down and rest at this point.
I smile, but it's not a happy one.
Haven't slept in three days.
Set the gun down on the desk and wheel over to my bed. With some effort, I drag myself up onto the mattress.
Stare at the cracks of the ceiling that I'm not longer even familiar with.
Hold my breath and wait for unconsciousness to take me away.
Flash.
The car swerves off the road.
Flash.
Tumbling through the darkness. Glass shattering all around me, digging deep into my skin.
My face. My neck.
Frame of the car crushing, compacting around me.
Body being tossed around like a ragdoll. Bones cracking and forcing their way through my skin.
Immense pain.
Then, everything stops. Everything is quiet.
Flash.
In my bed. Upper half convulsing. I can hear myself moaning and screaming.
Crying.
Convulsing.
The cracks of the door to the living room, spilling trace amounts of light in. Foot steps out of a shadow. Moving silhouettes obscuring what little light is peeking in under the door.
They seem to melt into a black cloud that slowly creeps through the cracks of the door and reforms right there, before me.
It almost looks human. But it's not.
At the end of its arms, long knife-like claws extend towards me.
It looks down at me silently.
Watching. Waiting.
Remember to breathe..
Flash.
"What are you?"
"I don't... I'm not sure I understand."
She looks at me, her eyes a bright yellow.
"What were you thinking, Cody?"
"What do you mean?"
She smiles. Her forked tongue dancing across the tips of her sharp, dingy teeth.
"Did you think any of it would last?"
"I..."
She advances, grabbing me. Pushing me over. Pinning me."
"Did you ever really think you deserved me?"
"N-no."
"Did you really think I wanted to put up with your bullshit forever, Cody?"
Her voice dry and ragged, like she's been smoking all night. Her breath hot on my face.
I can't stop crying.
I can't stop shaking.
"Do you think that anybody does?"
Her twisted smile getting closer and closer.
Please stop.
Please go away.
You've hurt me enough, why the fuck can't you just leave me alone?
Heart pounding.
Breath racing.
Am I dead? Is this hell?
I close my eyes and everything goes quiet, except for my own hyperventilation.
I go numb and slowly open my eyes to see-
Bailey.
Not like before. Not a monster.
Just Bailey.
"Oh, Cody," she says, looking sown at me with sorrowful eyes. "I love you so much, baby. Please don't ever leave me."
What is this?
Am I insane?
I look into her eyes and see sincerity.
"I won't Bailey. I promise."
"My Cody," she says.
I melt.
"My Bailey.."
She leans in and her lips meet mine.
Connection. My mind goes blank. Her tongue sliding between my lips. I accept it willingly. A soft moan escaping my mouth into hers.
Her teeth sinking softly into my bottom lip.
Closing gently around it.
And suddenly, it's like razors sinking into the skin on my face.
A muffled scream - from me, to her, as she tears my flesh away from my skull.
My hands shoot up to my mouth and I look up at her - back in her monstrous form.
My blood leaking down her chin. Staining her smile.
She's laughing hysterically - laughing at me.
I try to scream again, but there is no sound.
Flash.
She stands next to the shadow. My body still convulsing. I can't control it, no matter how hard I try. The window to my right, getting wider and wider and wider and lightening strikes from outside, flashes of light intruding my room and she's still laughing, fucking laughing at me with that stupid fucking grin on her face and I hear screaming, screaming from all directions, and it's driving me mad as i try try try so hard to get up to get out to FUCKING RUN AWAY to escape this hellish nightmare i just want it to stop i just want it to
Flash.
The patter of rain against a window.
Open my eyes, and I'm in the passenger seat of Zack's car.
"Zack...?"
He's driving. He doesn't take his eyes off the road.
"You finally up?"
Adjust my eyes. Can barely see the road through the thickness of the rain.
"Where are we?" I ask.
"Are you okay, Cody?"
"You seem.. detached."
"Bad dreams."
"Oh? Wanna talk about them?"
"I wouldn't know where to begin."
"Suit yourself."
"Where are we going?"
"You don't remember, Cody?"
"No..."
A smile slowly stretches across his face.
He doesn't say anything.
"What..?"
I feel... funny.
Intoxicated.
Not drunk. This is unlike anything I've ever experienced.
"What's going on, here?"
His foot presses down hard on the accelerator, causing my body to jolt back in my seat.
"Zack?"
"We're almost there," he says, smiling. "Don't worry."
"Where?"
He turns and smiles at me, his eyes glowing a bright red. His jagged teeth spread across his face.
"The end of the road, Cody. The end of the road."
Flash.
THEIR LAUGHTER is like nAILs on a CHALkBOARD screeching incessant noise tearing me apart.
I've lost myself, the world around me and everything I held dear.
From the foot of my bed, a rotting blue hand stretches upward before me.
My mother's ring.
Her rotting corpse, rising in front of my eyes. Neck bleeding profusely.
She smiles with missing teeth.
Her blackened, bruised eyes swollen shut.
Twitching.
Screaming.
Convulsing.
Crying.
And
I
can't
stop
any
of
it.
if i'm not already dead
please just kill me.
Light flashing through the window and they disappear.
The window getting wider and wider until I am consumed by darkness.
Eyes rolling around in my head.
Still in bed. Rain begins pelting against my vulnerable body, soaking me. Soaking everything.
Lightning flashing above me. Bed begins to shift slightly, exposing the city lights beneath me.
Heart pounding.
Breath racing.
Scared witless of heights, but gravity doesn't take me. I just watch the buildings below pass me by, bed corkscrewing through the sky. The adrenaline rush that you experience on a roller coaster ever-present.
I begin to calm down, and I stop twitching. Body goes limp. Breath slowing, I start to relax.
Cars and people like ants living their lives before me. Stories of tragedy, comedy, horror and romance that I will never be able to experience. That I will never be able to know. That I will never be able to appreciate.
Sigh and close my eyes as gravity snatches me from the comfort of my bed.
As I fall, it finally dawns on me that there is nothing to fear in death,
save for the momentary pain.
By the end of all, fear will have been forgotten. All love lost. All emotions and experienced events rendered meaningless.
For the first time in my existence, I embrace this and close my eyes.
Eyes pop open.
Ceiling. Mine.
Drenched in sweat.
Hyperventilating.
Trembling.
Soaked.
Completely numb. Nerves paralyzed.
Too scared to even try to move.
Is this real...?
Slide the bullets into the gun one at a time. Each one with my name carved into the side of the casing.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
I'll only need one, but call me a perfectionist, if you must. Or obsessive compulsive.
Is a legend that nobody knows still a legend?
Hard to say.
One drink for the end of the road.
Drain the tumbler and set it down next to the gun.
Lean back and light one last cigarette. Smoke it slowly, enjoying it.
Fish a fresh stack of paper out of the drawer, and I start writing.
I tell my story to nobody in particular. Write my legend down in perfect cursive.
This is where I am now, this is what you're reading. Who you are, I don't know. What you make of all of this is a mystery as well. Perhaps you understand this madness better than I. If I was still alive by the time you read this, maybe you could tell me where I went wrong. Maybe you could fill me in on all the ways I fucked up.
But I won't be.
This gun, my god. I, the god of the content you are reading. Is it true? About as true as I'm willing to admit.
I will put the gun to the side of my head and close my eyes. Thumb the hammer back, and I will start to pray.
I am no longer a religious person, but I will pray anyway.
I will pray that it doesn't hurt too badly.
I will pray that this fixes things.
I will pray for rest.
I will pray for peace.
I will pray for everyone and everything in my lifetime that I've had an impact on.
And when I'm done praying, I'll pull the trigger.
Please forgive me.