taknebivaet (snufkin_schatz) wrote in coffeehouseclub,

it's one of my first experiences, so i'd be really interested in opinions, constructive criticism etc
it might seem to be 2 long though... oh, well...
and thanx beforehand)

“What do you love in others? My hopes.”

– I won’t stay here long, you know! My mom just called, she said she’ll come and get me in a couple of days! I mean, not that I don’t like it here, but…
– It’s ok, sweety, I understand! Don’t you worry! Now, why don’t you drink this…


I’ve ruined my mom’s life. Totally, completely and irrevocably. I mean, if only she didn’t get pregnant with me 16 years ago, she’d be the biggest Hollywood star by now. She was the most beautiful and charming girl in Bayview Hunters district, San-Francisco, CA. Admired by the half of the local guys (the other half was simply too shy or ugly to make her a declaration of love), she was unable to chose just one. John was rich, but Caleb was much more handsome, whereas witty Steve was always able to make her dazzling smile shine on her face. Et cetera, et cetera… and she went on delaying the moment of the final decision, until one day she got pregnant. With me. Kevin, my dad, that I’ve never seen, was neither rich, nor witty. He was the best handicraftsman in the neighborhood though, and his biceps and triceps were magnificent. Unfortunately, the physical force took away some of his mental strength, I suppose. My mom kept on blaming him in ruining her life and career, and so he tried to find a quite haven in the local bar. After about a year of everyday rebukes, on the cold winter morning he was found dead on the side of the road. Felt down and froze to death, I guess. I was the new target.
This story, in different words and variations, I’ve been listening to every day of my life, as far as I remember myself. It was usually followed by the slap in the face from my mom, and then she would cry near the kitchen table, bewailing a young talented girl she once was, killed by “wrong handling”.
I wanted her to be proud of me so much. I hated her tears, hated myself to be the reason of her weeping. I couldn’t stand looking at myself in the mirror; it’s cold impartial surface was reflecting a monster, the grave digger of hopes.


Another completely occupied day. As usual, fitness, then a visit to my hairdresser. Shopping. The new “Minolta” (I’ve crashed my previous one during this wild party yesterday). “Queen’s night out”© in my headphones. Is it a song about me?...
Nice day! The evening will be even better!..
My driver hands me an envelope. “Miss Chelsea, your dad’s secretary, asked to give it to you.” Bad presentiment. I unfold a paper. “Liz, your parents asked to let you know that they have to go to a very important meeting with Mr. Harrison tonight. He is about to entrust our company with this outstandingly profitable case, so they hope you’ll understand...” Sure I will! I mean, they did promise me (like, a month ago) to devote this evening completely to our family, but this business stuff is so much more important. I understand. And I hate it! I hate them! I hate those tears in my eyes, hate myself for being incapable to understand, that such thing as “my family” does not exist any more. It died, drowned in the whirlpool of meetings and stock exchange and was afterwards (just to be sure) strangled by the endless chain of business clients and partners.
They say the majority of people would give up everything to have a life at least a little bit similar with mine. I say I’d give up all those tons of money, out damn huge mason near the ocean and all those retarded glamorous rich friends of mine for just one evening with my parents. For chips, coke, old couch, good old comedy. And us. Together, like before.
Not gonna happen… I have to get used to the voices of my parents’ secretaries’ on the phone and forget those of mom and dad. I’m getting there, no problem!...
Damn it, I’m gonna get drunk tonight!
“she doesn’t want to save her soul”©... It is a song about me!...


I don’t give a damn about what you think of me! I might look as an unprincipled vulture for you, but for my “clients” I happen to be the ultimate guidebook, the arrow, pointing to light. And it’s not my fault, if they can’t bear the stunning luminosity of this light. Remember, “it’s nothing personal, it’s just business”©! Yes! I love ya, Mike Carleone, a wise fox!
People tend to lose stuff. And it doesn’t matter, whether it’ll be their notebook or their mind, hope, even dream. I am a brilliant detective, you know! I’m able to give it all back to them. For a token payment, of course… Would you work for free?..


Once you get used to it, it doesn’t seem to be so impossibly tiring any more. I mean, not that working on three jobs is fun, but I can deal with it. It gives me the opportunity to stay away from home for almost the whole day (“where the hell have you been? Don’t lie to me, you, leech! I know you’ve been hanging out with those disgusting friends of yours instead of helping me and doing your damn chores!”). Besides, it gives us the money we need so desperately (“what, are you hoping I’m gonna thank you for your damn money? Do you think I don’t know where you get it from, whore! Such a shame! Even the neighbors try to avoid me because of you!”) They did avoid her. But I wasn’t the reason. Neither was I a prostitute. I worked as a cleaner in a kindergarten (9.00 a.m. – 2.00 p.m.) and helped in a local library (3.00 p.m. – 6 p.m.). They didn’t pay the whole lot, but at last it was better than nothing. My third job, which I’ve found only about a couple of weeks ago, was a windfall though! A waitress in a small cafe called “Acorn”. A pretty big salary, plus I got the tips! You start to even enjoy this job, once you learn to dodge from the endless hands, trying to smack your bum, and to shut your ears to the bawdy compliments.
You might think I was trying to pay off my mom. And you’d be right. The poverty, that deprived my mom from what she really deserved, made me wanna try to give her as much, as I could, for I was a reason of our misery. It hurt me so much, when she spent all the money I gave her on booze. It was understandable, since she wanted to forget, but it made me think, than there’s no way I can actually help her and everything I do is bound to destroy her. Over and over again.


“Acorn”. Sounds good! Simplicity and unpretentiousness. Both inside and outside. A bit untidy. Dirty tables of “Acorn” or wormy souls of my usual pals? Let’s fillip a coin, Liz. Heads – “Acorn”. Heads… Grrreat! Hey, waitress, can I get some martini, please? No, I’m not hungry…


I have a magnificent intuition! A little mallet in my head, that starts to hummer every time the smell of money is around. It always works this way. It did so when I first saw “Acorn”. From the first sight this tiny cafe looked totally usual. But it happened to be just an ugly shell with a beautiful pearl hidden inside. To have an opportunity to keep my eye on this “pearl” I kept on spending money on horrible food they served there every evening for about a week. Although a taste of lasagna or ravioli didn’t matter, when she was serving them up.
The girl was extremely beautiful. But what’s more important – there was something in her eyes, that made my neurons go crazy and my olfactory receptors shiver in foretaste of the smell of delicious green papers with Franklin or Grant on them. An unbelievable mixture of pain and loneliness, determination and recourse. Yes, recourse. Her eyes were begging those, who were able to see: “hide me, take me away from this world, for I suffered enough”. Incredibly weak was she, but simultaneously unbelievably strong. Jim would love her, no doubt!
Tonight is my time to come into play… I’ve scrutinized you thoroughly, my love, and tonight I’m going to save you. The name tag revealed me a secret of your name. So give me your hand, Kristine, and I’ll lead you to a quiet haven of your secret dreams.


It does sound good, damn it! Stupid, weird, crazy – yes, but freaking alluring… What a great opportunity to hurt them. What if my disappearance is the only way that’ll make them think about me? Darn it, I’m too drunk to think…
The guy sitting at the table next to mine has been trying to convince this cute waitress of the existence of the place where she “will be loved”, some “ultimate home, where people live in peace and blissful solitude”. “Our father will lead you to happiness, show you the way to light”. I mean, wtf? What is it, some kind of sect or something? “We are going to build the new world, based on truth, justice and ultimate love”. So you guys are heading to Guyana?... perfect! I can imagine it: my empty bed with a short letter on it. “Mom, dad, don’t try to look for me. I’ve found my conciliation …” It worth at least trying… I mean, I’ll be able to run away any time, right? Damn it, I’m gonna stub them in the back! Maybe this shock therapy, this electric discharge will make the heart of my dying family beat again…
I’m sorry to interrupt you, but…


Today is my day! Minimum effort. Two fishes completely tangled in the charming net of my alluring words. Get your charming smile ready, Jim Jones, they’re coming!...

1978.	Series of armed conflicts in Africa. 
            The comic character Garfield first appeared in the newspapers
           The Solomon Islands become independent from the United Kingdom.
         The remains of  the Great Pyramid of Tenochtitlan were found in the middle of Mexico City
        Jim Jones was 47 years old…

Jim Jones.

He was born in a quiet little town in the state of Indiana, in a completely ordinary poor family. While not being religious themselves, Jim’s parents didn’t mind their neighbors, who were Pentecostals (*some say it’s a sect-like cult, others consider it to be a branch of Protestantism) taking little Jim in their prayer meetings. Since his very childhood Jim was trying to find some specific characteristics within himself, that would differ him from others. And he did. Being an extremely charismatic person, he aimed his talent at becoming a pastor. However, a rendez-vous with such phenomenon, as death, changed his mentality, his psyche, and, therefore, his whole life. The very meaning of the process of living vanishes, he thought, while one has to die at the end anyway. The obtrusive paranoia became his fixed idea. The first step on the road, that later on would lead to the events of 1978, was made.
Jim Jones created his own “church”, a cult, called “Peoples Temple”. It was an odd farrago of socialist and Marxist ideas, Christian dogmas, the principles of some east religions and occultism. Jim Jones, the charismatic leader of all this “madness” (that happened, however, to be extremely appealing to some people) was at the center of this “hand-made” cult. And the people trusted him…


Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is the only possible way for me. I mean, if I’m the very the root of all evil, that happened to my mom, maybe I have to be eradicated. Guyana is far. Far is good. I have to make her this last present. Mom, I hope you’ll be able to start over. And I hope you’ll try to forgive me for all I’ve done.

The growing paranoia was driving Jim to the south. He started off in Indiana, then headed to California and settled in Frisco. That’s where Kristine and Liz, seduced by honey-mouthed Dave (who worked for Jim as a sort of barker) joined the group. But Jim figured that sooner or later the officials would give an eye to his parish and practices, for they were way too different from the official church. And he got a “revelation”: why not go to a completely abandoned place, to the primeval forest with no signs of civilization whatsoever, and create the whole new world there? And he picked Guyana as a beachhead for his own little universe, called Jonestown.

Kristine and Elizabeth

- You know what, I’m getting sick and tired of it! Freaking work on those damn fields… I can’t take it any more! And than this Jim – look at him, the guy is, like, crazy!

- He does have a point though! Look around, Liz, we all have something in common: the loneliness united us, we’re all one big family now, and Jim – well, he might be cruel to us from time to time, but for me he became a father I’ve never had. He became a father for all of us, and its normal, when dad punishes his kids for whatever reasons, don’t you think? He only does it because he loves us, he wants us to become better!..

- No freaking way! The guy sleeps in his nice comfortable house, whereas we huddle together in hovels and sleep in plank bed. He wakes up at noon, while the others, even the 5 year old kids, bust their asses on those fields from 6 a.m. till, like, 8 p.m.! And than those so-called “wives”! He’s got the whole harem of them and still rapes one or two girls daily! Tina, he pretends to be a God, whereas in reality he’s just a damn freak torn up by an inferiority complex!

- You know what, I don’t care what you’re saying! I don’t care about Jim’s behavior and about the difficulties of out existence. I’ve been through some harder times! This place and those people gave me something I’ve never had: the feeling of family, cohesion and unity. I’m needed here! Never before have I felt myself so important! How can you, who grew up in luxury and splendour, surrounded be all you needed, how can you understand us? What right do you have to judge? You don’t know what it is, when you feel yourself like an old washed-up teddy bear with one eye and a foreleg torn off by someone cruel. You have no idea how it feels to lie in darkness under the bed, see someone’s feet pass by and hope, that this person will look under this freaking bed, get you out of your dusty prison and play with you, give you a life, love you... You don’t know how it feels, when a cruel bird of loneliness, imprisoned inside your chest, starts to dab your heart in an attempt to get out, and you just can’t help it, can’t let it go out of this cage, ‘cause a key is lost in the boundless ocean of human indifference…

1978. The US inspection team, headed by congressman Leo Ryan, visited Jonestown. Those who were not happy about Jim Jones attitude and the life in the “community” (people like Liz) told him about their real existence. The truth was uncovered. Jones got mad. As a little group of those dissatisfied was about to get into Ryan’s two airplanes, Jones accomplice, armed with rifles, shot all of them dead. It was the 18th of November. Jones’ “day X” finally came and Ryan’s commission served as a catalyst. On Nov, 18, Jim Jones gathered the rest of his congregation into the central square of Jonestown and ordered them to drink an amrita, an "elixir of life", that would take them away from this world, wallowed in capitalism, evil and sin. The red liquid contained potassium cyanide. 912 follower of Jones – a schizophrenic “prophet” – died in horrible and terrifyingly painful convulsions. 276 of them were children.


The place was nice. All those friendly people dressed in white doctor's smock. But she wanted to go home so desperately, for it was the only place, where they won’t be able to find her. She saw them dying, she saw their hands twisted in hopeless attempts to grab the air, to hold on to this life, saw the red froth coming out of their mouths, the glassy eyes, staring at her, following her.

– I won’t stay here long, you know! My mom just called, she said she’ll come and get me in a couple of days! I mean, not that I don’t like it here, but…
– It’s ok, sweety, I understand! Don’t you worry! Now, why don’t you drink this…

A kind-looking young nurse gave Liz a glass with a depressant. She has been working at this mental hospital only for about a year and the story of this young woman, no, this girl, shocked her.

This was the best and the most expensive mental hospital in Frisco. Liz’s parents accurately transferred all the money for her treatment. They never actually came to visit her. The image of Kristine, dying in the jungles of Guyana, and the reflection of the clouds in her cataleptic eyes, frozen forever, would hunt Liz every night until the rest of her life.
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