Friday, August 17, 2012

Don't Leave This Way

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August 17th, 2012


Place your hand in mine, so that I may hold you again. Allow me to feel the power of your touch as your blood pulsates through my palm. I want to feel the softness of your skin and the contours of your fingers as they fold into mine. Touch me, send chills through my arm and make me melt.

Pull me in and hold me close. Touch your shoulder into mine as you embrace me. Feel my muscles flex with desire as your skin burns mine and we fuse together. Bend your neck away so I may tuck my head into you. Feel my breath as I breathe heavy from your touch. Allow my hand to rub your back letting the friction of my hands create a relaxed state of pleasure.

Look at me. Tell me that you miss me. Remind me how things use to be. Whisper something in my ear, so I may giggle like a kid again. Let me smile and brighten your day, as it slowly forms on my face. See me teeth constantly, because I am happy. Pull away but keep me near by holding my hips. Gaze into my eyes.

Talk to me without saying a word. Examine the details of my eyes as I examine the details of your face. Give me the sign so I may lean in and kiss your cheek. Turn your head so I can raise me hand and touch your chin. Allow me to softly tilt it back towards me, as I look at your lips. Guide me to you and draw my lips in.

Kiss me like you use to, and remind me why we were meant for each other. Tell me how special it is and how your hungry for more. Glide your lips across mine and feel my tenderness. Lock your lips sealing them with love. Hold your breath until you have to exhale and breathe new life into me. Have me feel the vibration of your lips as you tremble with delight. Let me know you’re all right.

Rub my face with heartfelt compassion and caring fingers. Lull me to sleep with your dedication for my well being. Let me know I’m your only one, even if it’s for just one night. Speak the language of love by showing me your desire. Remind me what we use to be and who we are. Care for me more then just making love. Give me your attention above everyone else, so I know I still matter, and remind me of our possibilities.

Help me to never forget and never regret by showing understanding. Think before you talk before letting me go. Pull me in before you push me off. Tell me you love me before you cast me away. Kiss my neck instead of being so mad you’d rather wring it. Let me know you still care without saying a word, so you don’t have to force me to believe. Don’t allow your blood to boil when your heart should let it flow pulsating with happiness and not despair. Tremble not out of fear but out of your butterflies. Hold my hand tight, because you know I’m always there. Don’t just stand there and look at me with disgust, please keep me near. Don’t turn your back on me because I can’t see your smiling face. Don’t fade away, don’t leave this way. Stay and talk to me even if it’s just for a little while. I’m sorry you want it this way, but now your too far and can’t hear these words I say: "I love you."
 









Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.


Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Move Forward

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August 15, 2012

I'm nervous as shit. My heart races non-stop when I think about it. I knew this time was going to come and yet, it overwhelms every fiber of my being. I need to get it together and embrace my new start. I hate how I got to this point in my new period of this life, but now I have no choice but to get my shit together, and be normal...I laugh- normal. I wish I could be far from normal. Maybe I could pretend to be Father Time and right wrongs in my past. But that isn't going to happen so normal it will have to be. This very day marks five months since she is gone. Today, I'll start my first day, in my old job as a cop.

It has been 150 days since I lost her but most people could give a fuck less. People have moved on without us so, I guess it is my turn now to move forward. I got to this point on my own since her her death with help from no one. I'll just push harder until I reach a point where I can be satisfied that I have done my best and maybe I'll be content then.

So, now I hit the road at work. Back in my uniform, my badge on my chest, my gun on my hip, my fear shelved deep down within me as I hunt the bad people on patrol and rebuild camaraderie with my guys that I lost contact with since the day I fell out of the blue circle. 

I'm doing what I have to do for my boys in order to continue the comfort that I have given them before the loss of their mom. The first half of their life with me was one-dimensional. I worked to supply them with money for financial freedom. And now I work to be a dual player in their life. The breadwinner of the family back then prior to March 15th. And now, I am the constant provider of full-time parenting, love, understanding, and admiration for my sons. A role I took for granted before, that my wife did very well as her full-time job. 

Now I sit in this fucking police car humping the beat in the city, in order to sustain life in more ways then one. Isn't that truly the American way? Trying to sustain your life today, so that , tomorrow can be more tolerable then it was the day before. It’s a vicious cycle that never seems to end. 

Returning to work is a major feat for me. But for others, who are knee deep in adversity, work is a necessary evil so, their return after a losing someone is quicker then what I took. My five months off of work was a test for myself as a person and someday everyone will know how hard those five months were on me. How extreme my life had become.

But like most, I have to return to work in order to live.  Not all is lost for me. I do find satisfaction of providing reliable help to those in need. That is not a bullshit answer because, I'm not running for congress. It's a fact of my life.  It’s a fact that I keep telling myself anyhow, to ease my pain into my reality of life, so that I can transform my anger, hurt and pain into something positive. At least that is my plan.

One hundred and fifty days. Two holidays, three birthdays, one season, in the books. And I’m scared that now I have to move forward. She was the woman I moved out of my parents’ house to be with in 2000, after meeting her in 1998. The one that cleaned my credit. She was the one there for me during the Coast Guard, police academy, fire academy, EMT academy. She was the one that stood by me through all of life’s hardships, the one I spoke to everyday of our life together, my first true girlfriend, my first love, my movie companion, my restaurant connoisseur, my juke box, my only wife whom I married on August 9th, 2003, the mother of my children, my best friend, and now for the first time in this life, I am all alone.

I sit in this car and I think. I replay things in my mind. I rewind the past over and over pressing pause now and again. The last time I was in this police car was exactly five months to the day she was lost forever. The last time I sat in this seat I couldn't sustain life not even hers. Today is new and I have to move forward and I must try my best to sustain life in this moment because, life is better now, then it was yesterday, because I I am here to live another day, and I must try and move forward into my tomorrow to appreciate what I had yesterday.











Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.


Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

One in a Million

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August 14th, 2012



Free falling from the sky, I am but one of millions, upon millions, of tiny rain drops searching for my place to land. Drawn from the deepness of the ocean, I rise above the sea towards space, expanding myself into a vapor that searches for its relative humidity, that will form the clouds, where I will rest until I am released. I immerse myself in the pillow soft, white caps that slowly darken into a Nimbus cloud, high in the sky, and I bounce in my heavenly place. Waiting for my time to quench the land below, my little contribution to the world.

Finally the floodgates open, and I start my decent to the promise land. The air is cool as I glide along its jet stream letting it push me around from side to side. I get tangled up with the other drops of rain that have joined me in my free fall in liquid transparency. Like on a dance floor, we dance round and round. I imagine each dance different from the next: First we square dance and do the dosey doe, we spin around and move into a line dance, I grab my partner and swirl around, as we tango towards the ground.

My velocity increases, elongating me as strive for great things. I become heavier then the air and leave the swirling wind behind. I make my way closer to the ground frantically searching for my safe spot to land. I can’t think, I can’t blink, and I can’t rest. I must rely on my instinct and strike the ground at the best possible location that I find will fit me best. 

Once my location is decided on, I eye it with the best of my ability trying to remain focused. I zero in on that perfect spot. I close my eyes, but I can still see, because in this moment, everything is so clear to me, as clear as a glass pane window. I stretch out and land on the scorching hot ground. I miss my mark but, I feel refreshed and at peace.

I welcome the other raindrops as they land around me. I seek out old friends and make new ones, as we pool in to a puddle, forming as one. Our perfect place begins to lean with the weight of the other raindrops joining in and we begin to flow at a rapid pace, moving into a line, but we don’t separate.

The molecules in our soul are joined, as we head towards the river as one.

We are one and continue to be so, as we join the flood of water to our new adventure. No longer does the wind guide us down into our destiny. I am now on my own. And rely on the water that surrounds me to guide me into the place I want to go. I mingle with the fish and plants while supplying them with much needed energy to sustain their life. But I do not stay long because, I need to find my way back to the deep blue sea and to my own vitality.

The water behind me finally pushes me into the large ocean. I am here facing the darkness of the deep alone. Only seeing what’s in front of me, not knowing what is beyond the shroud of deep blue darkness that the light up above can not penetrate. It’s calm, but I can hear the roar of the sea above me as it pushes against my life down below. The current attempts to push me back to where I began but, I must move ever forward, disregarding what I left behind me, anticipating what I’m facing in front of me.

I allow myself to sink down into the under current, letting it push me further out to sea. With every move forward the darkness in front of me moves away, never allowing me to get close enough to see beyond it, unless…there is nothing there. The current stops and in blind faith I rise to the occasion, I rise to the top of the ocean to get a look see where I am, but again I’m absorbed into the air and lifted into the clouds to begin a new. I am born again. I live in the clouds until I am sent back down to earth to find my place. 

The good thing is during my free fall I have lived and learned from before and I am in control of where I will go. Choosing the destiny that will define myself in the years to come. I will separate myself from the rest because, even though I may be clumped with the millions of millions of other raindrops, I am but myself, and there is only one of me. And I am one in a million.










Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.


Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com

Monday, August 13, 2012

Ice Cream: Don't Treat on Me

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August 13, 2012

I’ve already been here done that, so it seems. I am reliving this moment from about five months ago, it's like part deux. My son finds security in the American flag. Don’t we all? I think it's because of the picture of his mom hanging in the hallway. The picture shows her holding her college degree with the American flag in the background. I have noticed him gravitating to the picture in the days after her death. I believe the flag represents her and thus it has become his “wobbie” his cape, shield, best friend,best bud, confidant, blanket, security, joy…well you get the point. It is the one thing he holds dear to him the last several months.
I decided to take a friend to a local ice cream establishment that I love to share with people when they are my guests. Its fun, exciting, and well, oh so yummy. Yes, I wrote yummy. It's an institution in the area where I grew up, and everyone who visits me has to go there at least once.   
I pull the car into the parking lot and in that moment all seemed right with the world. Good times seemed possible for all of us. I said to my friend, “Here we are! And as you can see by the length of the line, its gotta be good.” 
The ice cream establishment has an old time feel. A throwback to the 1950’s with its old fashioned lights on the marquee that blinks one after the other. The lights are made to chase themselves in a line dance. One would turn off, then the other one next to it would immediately turn on, then off, then the next one on, and so on. You get the point. 
To entertain the masses in-line waiting for their favorite flavor of choice, there were entertainers all about. One performer would walk-up to you and make an annoying balloon animal, or a live one-man-band who plays his harmonica to funky 80’s and 90’s music clearly a salute the 50's. The screeching of the harmonica would make anyone long for a drunken karaoke singer to put on a future show. 
To make matters worse, the Florida heat and humidly was playing havoc on our patience. My sweat usually beads on top of my skin, then combines together with the other droplets, where it gains weight and gravity pulls it down. Not in this weather, not tonight, the sweat would just immediately begin to draw out of me, like wringing a sponge and pour off my skin, as if my body decided to quench the thirst of the Serengeti Plain. It was almost miserable, but it made me crave their tasty cool treat even more.
Everyone one who was standing in line tried their best to ignore the live one-man-band and the clown, that obviously flunked out of Clown College, by diverting their attention to other areas of interest, whether it was their iPhones, smartphones, traffic, or the local police giving an escort to an arriving football team to play the Miami Dolphins. As they past by I wondered to myself- Why do they need a police escort?
However, my son decided to go against the grain and zero inon the two lifeless American flags that hung stagnate on the light pole in the stale air, just out infront of the ice cream shop. 
He wanted those flags as if they were the cherry on top of a sundae. I let him scurry over there to marvel at the sight of old glory and give his respect to the red, white and blue. He was so motivated by them he decided to scale the pole like an Army ranger. I made my way over to him and guided him down which didn't make him happy. He wanted those damn flags. Through his unhappiness we walked out of the parking lot and into the store to take our seat from some ice cream bliss.
We walked through the enterance trying our best to catch up to our party, but the line formed at the register thwarted are attempt. This place has a line everywhere. I forgot how great the atmosphere is though. There was a lot of families and friends fiesting on ice cream and soda shop snacks like pop corn, hot dogs and fries.
Littered on the wall are licence plates of diffrernt stateswith funny says on them : FLORIDA- 2 Nuts; New YORK: IDOMAGIC; MICHIGAN -LATELY etc.  If the sweet flavors of ice cream isn't enough then you can enjoy the candy shop to sweeten that tooth. It can truly be a good time in the right setting, but not on this night.
As we walked to our seat my son grabbed a little plasticAmerican flag that was for display only, that was pushed in the little holesacting as slots to place the lollipops stems inside. He loved that flag and proudlydisplayed it as we sat down. Once our order was put in, Nico wanted to walk around the tables of the kid friendly restuarant waving old glory.
While we waited for our eight dollar milk shakes the managerof the resturant walked over to our table and notified us, "That flag is purely decorative and not for sale."
With that she pulled the flag out of my sons grasp and walked away. She left my son behind to cry as he watched his beloved flag disappear into the sea of patrons.
Well, let the flood gates open. Tears flowed from his eyes as he chased her down for the $0.60 item. It wasn't for sale, that was my assessment. I chased my son down as he followed the manager begging for the flag. She ignored his cries and my pleas the whole time while placing it back to its rightful place.
The manager looked tired. For a Thursday night that establishment was busy. You could tell the night was wearing on her. Her hair was a mess, her skin pale and clammy and she looked like she was done,  all together. I begged her for the flag as my son carried on in front of everyone that were seated within that area. The manager looked at me, turned her back and walked out the front door and stood among the masses trying to get inside for their ice cream and shielded the manager from my pleas.
I stood next to my son as he carried on, wanting the flag, needing the flag. I felt bad because I knew the restaurant wasn’t responsible for giving me the flag but I was hoping deep down they would. My son continues tocry and the restaurant tried to drown out his tears of sadness by playing a funny soundtrack over his sadness. I made an announcement to the patrons of the restaurant asking them to, "Please forgive me and my son. He may be on the spectrum of autism and managment took this little American flag from him." When the goofy sound track didn’t work, the manager walked over to me and asked me , “are you done putting on your show?”
“This isn’t a show, my son possibly has autism and he is obsessed with the flag. Can I buy it for ten dollars?” I asked frustrated.
“No,” she replied.
“I’ll give you twenty dollars,” I said in desperation, as my son wailed for the plastic flag handing her my credit card.
She looked at me angrily and removed the flag; handing it to me she stormed off. I walked up to my waitress and asked for the milk shakes to go. After standing in the long line to pay the bill, I added a ten dollar tip in addition to the regular tip added to the final bill, and told the cashier to inform the manager that I provided extra cash for the flag.
It was a long night but we were together as a family. It’s sad that I have to explain to people who my son is and why he acts out the way he does when he does at times. You’d think that the ice cream shop would be more understanding in such a kid environment, but I guess that is too much to ask. But then again, my kids aren’t  their responsibility.










Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.


Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com