Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
309 · Mar 2019
Magdalena
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2019
Magdalena,
  your beauty known

Magdalena,
  your wisdom shown

Magdalena,
  firm and steadfast

Magdalena,
  communed repast

Magdalena,
  so loved a man

Magdalena,
  his blood in hand

Magdalena,
  though history scolds

Magdalena,
  your heart withholds

Magdalena,
  much more than friend

Magdalena,
  —the truth contends

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)
308 · May 2019
Complexity Denied
Kurt Philip Behm May 2019
As warlord of the ticking count…
  time marches uncontested

Avoiding every scrutiny,
  defending every lie

All seasons caught within its grasp,
  each day a slave in training

Order becoming disorder again
  —complexity denied

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)
307 · Apr 2022
Your Voice Reversed
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2022
You can go anywhere as someone else,
the masks and jesters play
invisible to sound and touch
the Lords and Creatures pray

To rent the future—sell the past,
the landlord still unnamed
invulnerable to what they sell
the real prize still unclaimed

To cry out once your voice reversed
lone echo at your back
the Landed Gentry comes and goes
—the crossroads blackest cat

(The New Room: April, 2022)
306 · Dec 2023
Leap Of Faith
Kurt Philip Behm Dec 2023
Looking out
he took that step
intrepid
and risked it all

Faith to act
as his belay
one last piton
in the wall

Descent set free
in motion
a true heart
to guide him down

For love of life
and moments gone
belief once lost
—refound

(The New Room: December, 2023)
305 · Jan 2017
The Eighth Gone Astray
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2017
Seven dark prodigals approached in the night,
  saying: “One has escaped and
                  journeyed into the light”

Seven dark prodigals with shadows now gone,
  longed for he who had left them,
  —for he who was strong

Seven dark prodigals wandered the dark,
  no safety in numbers,
  in search of their heart

“We must look till he’s found,” I heard two of them say,
    seven sins unforgiven,
   —the eighth gone astray

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)
305 · Sep 2024
Over The Rainbow
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2024
Beauty and truth
forever embark
Born of the moment
together apart
To mountains unclimbed
and oceans unsailed
Beyond the horizon
— where prescience unveils

(Dreamsleep: September, 2024)
305 · Apr 2021
Tail Of The Dragon
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2021
Love regrets,
promises return,
comets in mourning
—meteors burn

(Dreamsleep: April, 2021)
305 · Nov 2016
Do You
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2016
Do you have the key
  that will unlock a new door

Do you have the words
  that will heal an old wound

Do you have the eyes
  that can share in the tears

Do you have a heart,
—not yet wrenched from your soul

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2013)
305 · Apr 2024
Eddie's Gift (unedited)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2024
Chapter One: The Awkward Encounter

It was September, 1972, and the fall semester had just started.  Tonight was the first day of class.  I should clarify that as evening instead of day because this was night school.  I was a student majoring in English and Philosophy at Saint Joseph’s University in Philadelphia.

Only two weeks ago, I had moved into an old Victorian apartment building across the street from the University Field House at 54th St. and Woodland Avenue. Everything in Philadelphia is referenced as the intersection of two streets or thoroughfares.  Saint Joe’s was always referred to as being at 54th Street and City Line Avenue.  My apartment was a ramshackled old building in the middle of a black neighborhood.  I was the only white resident in the old three- story apartment building, and my apartment was on the second floor facing front. Every one of my new neighbors treated me great. There was a Baptist Church just to the left of my building and every morning at 8 they held services.  I never needed an alarm to get up in the morning because the singing and ***** music coming through the windows and walls were a reliable wake-up call.

I was working days in an Arco (Atlantic Refining) gas station about 15 miles away in North Hills Pennsylvania.  This station also rented U-Haul trucks, and my job was to pump gas and take care of the truck and trailer rentals as the owner of the station, Bob, was busy with mechanic work.  This worked well for me because between gas fill ups and truck rentals I got to sit in the office and finish my schoolwork.

Since moving back to Philadelphia from State College Pa., where I had been a student, all I brought with me was my most prized possession — a 1971 750 Honda.  I had customized it with café-racer accessories from Paul Dunstall because in those days you couldn’t buy a bike that looked like it belonged on a racetrack like you can today.  You had to build it.

I worked at the station five days a week (Mon – Fri) from 9:00 a.m. until 5:00 p.m.  Then I hopped on my bike and headed back to my apartment to quick shower and change and then walk across the street to campus and hopefully make my first class by 6:00 p.m. On days when I got stuck in traffic or couldn’t leave at exactly 5, I would go straight to class wearing my Arco jumper with the smell of high-octane gasoline going with me.

Tonight, I was sitting alone on the first floor of Villiger Hall which was where my third level Shakespeare course was supposed to be held.  It was almost 6, and I was still the only one in the room — but not for long.  All of a sudden, I heard a high-pitched voice giving orders: “Yes, Dad, this IS the room.  Just push me in and drop me off.”

And that’s exactly what happened. A kindly older gentleman in his late fifties or early sixties pushed his son into the room. I say pushed because his son was in a wheelchair, and he parked him right next to me.  This made me very uncomfortable, and I actually thought about getting up and moving to the other side of the room, but my mother had raised me better than that. The boy in the wheelchair was in a full body brace with a special neck harness to keep his head upright.
If I had been uncomfortable before, I was beyond that now.  We both sat there in silence as the big industrial clock on the front wall ticked 6:02.  It was then that a proctor rushed into the room and wrote on the blackboard in chalk: “THIS CLASS HAS BEEN MOVED TO THE BARBELIN BUILDING, ROOM 207.

Chapter Two: Time To Move

As soon as the proctor had finished writing on the board, I saw this as my chance to escape.  I grabbed my bookbag and started to bolt for the door.  I only got halfway to freedom when I heard the loudest and most commanding voice come out of the *******’s body … “All Right Moose, Let’s Move!

I couldn’t help but hear myself saying (to myself) … “The ******* Really Can Talk.”  I was surprised, blown away, and his voice had frozen me in place.

“All right Moose, let’s get this show on the road.  Do you know where the Barbelin Building is up on the hill?”  I told him I did, and he said … “Put your book bag on the back of the wheelchair so you can push me up the hill before we miss too much class.” Again, his voice had a commanding effect on my actions and in robot fashion I put my bag on the back of his chair, grabbed the two push handles, spun his chair to the right and headed out the door. I was careful not to touch him directly because I didn’t know if what he had was catchy.

As I headed to the stairway to go down the 6 steps leading to outside, I heard that voice again … “No, not that way, toward the elevator” as he pointed off to the left with an arm that was not much bigger than my fingers. “The elevator key is between my legs.  Reach in and get it and then put it in the key slot and we can take the elevator down.”

                      THE KEY WAS BETWEEN HIS LEGS!

At this point, I was totally disoriented but had fallen under his spell.  I took a deep breath, reached between his legs, and found the key.  I then put it in the semi-circular keyhole and turned it to the right.  “Good, he said, it should come quickly, and we’ll be outta here.”

The problem is it didn’t come.  Seconds felt like minutes and minutes like hours as we waited for the elevator door to open. Finally, after an excruciatingly long time the elevator door opened and standing in front of us was the last thing I expected to see. It was another ******* in a wheelchair being pushed by a healthy student about my age.
As they tried to make their way out into the hall the ******* I was pushing said … “Don’t move!  Don’t let them out! And then he said … “I don’t know who you are or where you think you’re going, but this school’s only big enough for one ******* — and that’s me. For seven years I’ve been the resident ******* at St. Joe’s.  The next time I go to use this elevator and you have it *******, my big friend behind me is going to kick your measly friend’s ***.”

By now, I was in a kaleidoscope wrapped inside a time warp spinning at the speed of light. I had never been around anyone who seemingly had so little and acted so grand.

We made it up the hill that night in time to hear Professor Burke say … “Be prepared on Thursday (our next class) to talk about your favorite Shakespeare play and why.”

As I wheeled him toward his next class which also happened to be mine — we were both English majors —he reached out with a tiny hand and said: “My name’s Eddie, what’s yours.”


Chapter Three: So Different Yet So Alike

For the next fifteen months we were inseparable on Tuesday and Thursday’s nights.  We adjusted our Spring course selections to make sure we took the same classes.  Eddie was taking two courses each semester and I was taking four. It was a real struggle for him to take notes, but luckily, he had what many would call a photographic memory.

Many weekends he would visit me in my meager apartment, and we would listen to Van Morrison and the Hollies until the early hours of the morning. Eddie had two good friends named Steve and Ray who would drive him back and forth from my apartment.  My motorcycle wasn’t an option, although we fantasized about how we MIGHT be able to rig something up so he could ride on the back.  Eddie was a magnet and drew everyone into his circle.  He had defied the odds and not let the polio that he contracted at 4 dominate his life.  He slept in an iron lung because it was hard for him to breathe while lying down.

Eddie was bigger than life and bigger than ANY of the obstacles that tried to take him down.  Many times, I tried to imagine myself in his situation, but it was impossible. God had given Eddie a special power, and it allowed him to leverage the people and circumstances around him to make it through. I noticed early on that Eddie lived his life vicariously through the lives of others that he would have liked to have been.

Let’s say that my backround was at least colorful and unconventional.  I had been on my own since age 18 and had wandered the eastern half of America by motorcycle from Maine to Florida.  Eddie got to where he could tell my stories better than I could and when he did, I could tell he had actually lived them in his imagination.

Eddie and I had another connection.  We were both poets and loved to write.  He understood at a quantum level that to be a great writer you have to experience the words.  He had the remarkably wonderful ability to be able to do that through the actions of others. He also recreated the great stories of the famous authors we read.
  
Two weeks after meeting him I stopped thinking about him as a *******. Many times, it seemed like he had advantages and strengths that those who knew him could only envy.  The longer I knew him, the more I felt that way.

Chapter Four: The Invite

We had just returned to classes after a long Thanksgiving weekend when Eddie said: “My dad wants to talk to you.” My mind immediately wondered:  What’s wrong, have I done something I shouldn’t have.

At 10:05 p.m., when our last class ended and I wheeled Eddie down two flights of stairs, (this building had no elevator), his father also named Ed was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.  He had that big smile on his face that he always greeted me with as I handed the wheelchair over to him …

“Kurt, my wife and I are having a little party at our house the night before Christmas Eve, and we’d like you to come. All of Eddies friends will be there and you should be there too.  Please think about it, it would mean so much to my wife Margaret.”

I thanked Eddie’s father and told him I’d have to check the holiday schedule with my parents and then get back to him.  Being the oldest of 21 grandchildren, who were brought up in an enclave or compound of five adjoining houses, the holidays were always jammed packed with activities the week before Christmas.  Those activities though were not my main concern. I had nothing decent to wear.

My wardrobe consisted of 2 pairs of jeans and 4 t-shirts plus one pair of quilted long johns that I wore on the motorcycle when the temperature dropped below 40 degrees.  Add my brown leather WW2 surplus bomber jacket to the ensemble and that constituted my wardrobe … not very impressive for a 25-year-old man. In fact, staring into my closet that night, it brought home to me in a way it hadn’t before that my life was about to change.

I had recently decided to take a sales job with a local company that specialized in selling home furnishings to local department stores and general merchandise retailers.  This would be a major departure for me, but the salary would be four times what I was making at the gas station.  I hadn’t told anyone about this because inside I felt like I was selling out.  The company had advanced me $250.00 — a large amount in 1973 —to buy suits before I showed up for my first day of work on January 3rd.

I still didn’t have a car but that was another perk of the new job. They would be leasing me one after my period of orientation was over in early February.  But now, back to my quandary about Eddie’s party.


Chapter 5: E.J. Korvettes

Brightly lit with fluorescent lighting, the store seemed enormous as I walked from aisle to aisle.  I wasn’t shopping for suits. I was trying to find something suitable to go to a holiday party and meet people I had never met before.  As I got to the end of the aisle, I looked into the mirror that marked the end of the men’s department and took stock at what I was seeing.

My hair was shoulder length, and my beard was at least 4 inches long.  I had told my new employer that I would cut my hair and trim my beard before starting in January but hadn’t done it yet. In all honesty, I was still having second thoughts about making such a drastic lifestyle change, and I would wait until the last minute to radically change my appearance.

I stared into the racks of men’s sportswear until I found what I thought might work for me.  It was a beige, fisherman’s knit sweater in size large.  The sweater looked great, but the price did not.  It was marked $10.00, and unlike many of the garments surrounding it — it was not on sale.

I had $24.00 to my name that night, and $10.00 would mean I would be eating oatmeal and peanut butter until my next pay at the gas station.  I walked around for at least a half-hour until someone came over the loudspeaker saying that in 15 minutes the store would be closing.  I started to walk out but something dragged me back.  I put the sweater under my arm and headed for the register. I had made up my mind not to use any of the advance money from the new company until any doubts I had about taking the job were dispelled.
The next night at class I told Eddie and his dad that I’d be happy to join them on December 23rd.


Chapter 6:  December, 23rd

It was 6:45 on Sunday, December 23rd, when I arrived in front of Eddie’s brick row house in what is known in Philadelphia as the Great Northeast.  Every house on the block looked alike but the front door to Eddie’s was open with just the glass storm door closed.  I could see the house looked packed from the outside.

I didn’t stop but decided to go around the block.  I had one more problem to solve — what do I do with the motorcycle?  I knew Eddie’s dad knew I had a motorcycle, but I wasn’t sure about his mother.  Some people had bad impressions of motorcycles — and their riders — in the 1970’s, and I terribly wanted to make a good impression.

As I circled the block, I found an empty spot on the street about 5 houses away from Eddie’s house.  I parked the bike and hid my helmet inside the hedge that was separating the street from the sidewalk. I tried to flatten my hair, took off my bomber jacket and walked to the front door.  I never made it …

Before I could even get to the front door, a petite, silver haired woman dressed in red and blue rushed out on her front walk, put both of her arms around my waist, squeezed tightly, and said … “Oh Kurt, we are so glad you’re here!”

I’ve been greeted and hugged many times in my life, but nothing has ever come close to the hug I got that night from a stranger.  By the time she walked me through the front door we were strangers no more.

Eddie’s immediate and extended family were as warm and inviting as both he and his father had been.  I felt immediately welcome, and the night passed quickly as I met one family member after the next.
At 10:30 Eddie said, “Let’s go downstairs and listen to some music and we can talk.” I picked Eddie up off the sofa he was laying on and carried him down the 13 stairs into a finished basement.  You knew right away this was Eddie’s domain.  His stereo was against the stairs and pictures of the local Philadelphia sports teams were up on the walls.  

It was good to see him at home in his own element. That night we talked about the, once again, lousy year the Eagles had had (going 2-11-1) and the state of the war in Vietnam.  This was standard stuff for young men in their twenties.

At 11:20 I heard the basement door open at the top of the stairs and saw a girl with two legs covered in white stockings come down only 5 steps, sit down, and look over at us. I could tell immediately from the look on her face — she was not impressed.  She then got back up, headed into the kitchen, and closed the basement door.

“Oh, don’t mind her.  That’s just my sister Kathryn. She works the 3-11 shift at Nazareth Hospital. She just wanted to see who this guy is that she’s heard so much about.”

“I don’t think she was very impressed by the look on her face,” I said back.  “Oh, don’t let that bother you, you know how girls are — she’s just my sister.”

She may have been just his sister, but she was now inside my head, and I couldn’t get her out.


Chapter 7: Force Majeure

“My God, what is all that racket upstairs?  It’s a woman’s voice, do you think she needs help?”

“No, that’s just Kathryn screaming at her boyfriend over the phone.  They haven’t been getting along lately, and this has become a regular occurrence.”

There are watershed moments in life, and I knew this was one of them.  “I better go check,” I said. “You’re out of coke anyway.”  Without waiting for an answer, or tacit permission, I grabbed his empty glass and headed up the stairs two at a time. I opened the basement door and stepped into the kitchen just in time to hear … “Ok then, we’re OFF for New Year’s Eve.”

Kathryn’s mother looked at me and with a twinkle in her eye gave me the ‘Irish Wink.’  Having an Irish grandmother, who had always been the love of my life, I knew what that wink meant, and a voice deep inside that I had no control over started to speak … “So, you don’t have a date for New Year’s Eve? What a shame!” She immediately glared back at me with venom in her eyes. “Well, as it happens, I don’t have one either. Why don’t you go out with me unless you’re afraid of a guy like me.”

I could see her mother standing behind her shaking her head up and down as if to say … “Ask her again.” “I’m not afraid of anything — especially a guy like you.”  “Good I said, then I’ll take that as a yes.”  Kathryn stood there by the phone with a look that was a combination of anger and intrigue.

“I don’t know. Where would we go, and I’m not going on the back of any motorcycle.”  “We can go wherever you like, and I promise it’ll be in a car.  I hear Zaberers in Atlantic City has a great New Year’s Eve party.” Kathryn was still silent as her mother Marge answered for her: “That sounds like fun, I know you’ll both have a great time."

At every point in my life when I needed saving, it was always a special woman who saved me — they didn’t come any more special than Marge Hudak.
As she walked me to the front door that night, she hugged me again as she said … “Next time, just park your motorcycle in front of the house and bring your helmet inside …

                                    How Did She Know


Chapter 8: The Aftermath

That New Year’s Eve would be the best night in my entire life.  We danced and talked, laughed and gazed, and I think in both of our hearts and minds — we knew.

I went on to take that new job because now I could see a clearer pathway to the future, and it included more than just me,
Sixty days later, on March 5th, I asked Kathryn to marry me, and she said, YES.  Six months after that we were married on September 22nd, and this year, 2024, we will celebrate 50 years together with our 2 children and 4 grandchildren.

We lost Eddie, and both of his parents, several years ago, but their memory lives on inside of us growing stronger with every passing day.

There’s no telling where my life would have gone had I ‘escaped’ out of that classroom that night and gotten away from the *******. Meeting Eddie confirmed what I think I already knew deep inside — that it is our own insecurities and fear that handicap us the most.
That night, Eddie offered to me more than just his friendship, his wit, his intellect, and his great strength of character. Meeting him turned into the greatest of all of life’s gifts …

                                        His Sister Kathryn
304 · Mar 12
The Greatest Myth
Returning to my past
effects became causes
Finishes became starts
descended upon

The light there to spin
in spheres of infinity
Time the impostor
— beginning to end

(Dreamsleep: March, 2025)
304 · Mar 2019
Prisoners Of Time
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2019
In three thousand years of philosophical thought
  what in fact’s been changed

Has a sorrow been healed or steeple been built
  resulting from the game

The essence, the theory, the logic, the proof
  all couplets lacking rhyme

In the end all victims chained unto themselves
  —prisoners of time

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)
304 · Dec 2016
The Twilight Reclaimed
Kurt Philip Behm Dec 2016
I meet with three faces
   that come in the night

In dreams that preplace,
  masks of darkness and light

Their voices once spoken,
   remain in my head

Until words are then written,
  pitting joy against dread

These triplets were born
  in a harrowing storm

Only quieting down,
  if new offspring are born

And then able to sleep,
  once each orphan is named

Their breath I still feel,
—in the twilight reclaimed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2014)
303 · Jan 2024
Let It Go
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2024
Make sure you know
what you’re trying to say

But let readers figure it out
— for themselves

(Dreamsleep: January, 2024)
302 · Dec 2024
Ledger In Blood
Kurt Philip Behm Dec 2024
Paying hard
the money short
pockets empty
time aborts
A pound of flesh
bills remain
invoice closing
—  sealed with pain

(Dreamsleep: December, 2024)
302 · Apr 14
Don't Look Back
When artists
grow reflective
their impact
is stalled

All direction
is hijacked
momentum
recalled

Looking back
through their psyche
a tunneler’s
view

As horizon’s
lie waiting
with visions
— anew

(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)
302 · Feb 2017
Waterfall Unknown
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2017
Palliative to hospice,
  I jump from stone to stone

The river waits in silence,
—its waterfall unknown

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
302 · Jul 2021
A Day Late...
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2021
Proof in the abstract
as far as it goes
Ninety-nine cents to the dollar,
the penny to know

(Dreamsleep: July, 2021)
301 · Apr 2017
Muted Sirens
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2017
To recite it in a Poem,
  or sing it loud and strong

Their union an espousal,
  one by measure, one by song

Division casts adrift,
  as muted sirens fold their wings

This moment reinvented,
—words and melody one thing

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
301 · May 2024
'The Chief' (unedited)
Kurt Philip Behm May 2024
The woman in the blue Chevy said: “Just five dollars please,” as I pumped two more dollars of Sunoco 260 into the aging four door sedan.  As she paid me and then left, I looked at the Croton Chronograph Watch on my wrist that I had gone into hock for last fall.  5:15, SHOOT!!!, I only had 45 minutes to jump on my bike and make it the fifteen miles back to West Philadelphia to class.

I was taking night courses at St Joseph’s College (St Joseph’s University now), and my first class started at 6:00 p.m.  Why? I asked myself again did I always cut it so close?  Deep inside I knew the answer, but I told myself it was because I was a good employee.  I had been pumping gas and renting U-Haul Trucks at an Arco gas station in North Hills Pa. for the past two years. The station was open till 6 p.m. every day, and it seemed I never got out of there until after 5.

It was owned by a good friend of mine, Bob, whom I had met in Ocean City New Jersey while living in the rooming house that he and his wife Pat owned at 14th street and Asbury Ave.  Every day at five o’clock, Bob would yell out to me on the gas island — “time to leave!” He knew how long the ride was back to school during rush hour and that I never seemed to get out by 5.

The real answer as to why I was always late was that I liked the challenge. I loved the ride through the small section of Fairmount Park and then the river town of Manayunk always trying to get back to my apartment at 54th and Woodland Ave in the Overbrook section of Philadelphia before six.  54th and Woodland was right across the street from St Joe’s, and I would literally race into the driveway in front of my apartment house, drop the bike’s kickstand run inside to change and then head for class.  Many times, I would not even change out of my Arco jumper (uniform) before heading over to campus.  I often didn’t have the time.  I wondered what some of the other people, especially girls, must have thought of the strange aroma that I brought to the class on the nights when I didn’t change.

            To Their Credit, No One Ever Complained

I had always secretly wanted to road-race motorcycles, and this twenty-minute ride both to and from work every day gave me a chance to indulge my fantasy.  Tonight, I would be cutting it very close and not even have time to stop at my apartment.  I would have to park under the tree in front of my classroom building and run up the stairs to the third floor and do it all before six o’clock. It was an advanced Philosophy class, Ethics and Morality, and the professor, Dr. Larry McKinnon closed the doors promptly at six.  If you were late, you didn’t get in — no exceptions!

I raced through the park on Bells Mill Road and hit the cobblestone hills of Manayunk with 15 minutes still left on my watch.  I then raced up City Line Ave and caught only one red light as I saw the lights of 54th and City Line straight ahead. The light was yellow as I leaned over hard and made the left turn on 54th St. I raced up past the basketball arena and turned right on Woodland Ave. I would normally have gone straight a half block to my apartment, but I had cut it too close and didn’t have the time. I pulled up in front of the Villiger Building, chained my bike to the tree I always used, and ran for the stairway door around back by the track.

This building had no elevator, so it was up two flights of stairs to the top floor and then left down the hall to where my classroom was the one farthest on the right.

As I rushed through the back door of Villiger, the first flight of stairs was blocked.  An elderly man with a Gulf Oil Hat on was struggling to pull his son in a wheelchair up the 26 stairs.  He had the entire stairway blocked, and I had less than two minutes to get by him and into McKinnon’s class.   His son in the wheelchair was in really bad shape.  He was in a total body brace that went clear to his head, and as he looked down at me, I heard him say: “Hey Moose, grab the front, and we’ll both make it to McKinnon’s class before he shuts the door.”

With that, I grabbed the small front wheels and lifted, as we both carried the wheelchair up the two flights of stairs to the third floor.  We entered the hallway just as Dr. McKinnon was shutting the door.  The kid in the wheelchair yelled out, “Wait for us Doc” as we raced for the closing door.  I took the handles of the chair away from his dad and pushed the chair inside.  We had made it but not any too soon.

I wondered to myself if McKinnon would have denied entry to this kid who had been stricken with polio if he had arrived just two minutes later. It would have taken at least that long if his dad had tackled those stairs alone.  I parked his wheelchair next to my desk on the far left as the professor started his lecture.  When it was over, I pushed his wheelchair outside to where his dad was waiting.

“Ed Hudak,” his father said, “and this is my son Eddie.  Thanks so much for helping us up the stairs. I got out of work late and had to race home to the Northeast section of Philadelphia, pick Eddie up, and then race back down here to get him to class.”  Mr. Hudak worked at the Gulf Oil Refinery in South Philadelphia.  To leave work at four o’clock and get all the way up to the Northeast, pick up his crippled son, and then race back down to West Philadelphia made the little twenty-minute jaunt that I did every day seem like child’s play.

His son Eddie then asked me where my next class was. “Dr Marshall’s ‘Rational Psychology,’ I told him” as he said, “mine too, you can push me over there and my dad can go to the student union and get something to eat and rest for a while.”  School had only started last week, and somehow I had missed seeing this crippled kid in both of my classes.  He told me he had seen me though because of the strange jumper I had on and the helmet I carried into class.  When he told his father about me his dad said: “That kid must work in a gas station and be paying for school himself.  Cut him some slack if he doesn’t look real presentable on those days when he’s late.”

Eddie and I finished both classes together and I got ready to push him back outside.  As we passed the vending machines on the first floor, I told him that this was where I usually stopped to have dinner before going home.  He asked me, “What’s your favorite?” and I told him, “the Dinty Moore beef stew.”  The machine had three different varieties and that was usually all I had until breakfast the next day.  Eddie said he would like to wait while I ate and that his father would be fine outside for a few more minutes.  He seemed to know something about our new relationship that would take quite a bit longer for me to discover and sort out.

                  Eddie Always Seemed To ‘Just Know’

I asked Eddie what his major was, and he said Literature, and that he had been a student here for almost six years.  Again, I wondered, how could I have missed him in that wheelchair with someone always pushing him to where he needed to go?  I hoped I hadn’t refused to see him in his diminished condition with my eyes always looking away.  These kinds of things always bothered me, and I was squeamish around handicapped people, especially children. My mother had volunteered at the St. Edmond’s Home For Crippled Children in Rosemont for many years, but I was still uncomfortable when I saw those kids, not much younger than I was, in wheelchairs and leg braces.

                Eddie’s Condition Was Much Worse

The only thing handicapped about Eddie was his body. His mind and spirit were stronger than any five, so-called, normal people.  His father had made sure of that.  His dad had been racing from work to home and then to school for almost six years devoting whatever spare time he had to what his son wanted to accomplish.  He would drop Eddie off at class and then, most nights, go sleep in his car in the school parking lot.  Many nights, the temperature in that parking lot was below freezing, but this sixty-year-old man NEVER complained.


        Who Was Really Handicapped, Eddie Or Me?

As much as I marveled at how well Eddie did in spite of being disabled, his father amazed me even more.  He was like so many heroes that we never hear about standing off in the shadows so that someone else can thrive.  After I finished my stew, I pushed Eddie outside to where his dad was waiting.  He shook my hand and said: “Son, without your help tonight, we’d have really been in a terrible fix.”

                               He Called Me “Son”

As I watched him wheel Eddie back toward their car in the parking lot, I pushed my long hair back and pulled my helmet over my head.  The chinstrap I left unbuckled on these short rides because it always got tangled in my beard.  I rode the two short blocks back to my apartment with the sight of Eddie and his dad burned into the front of my psyche.  I knew I had witnessed something special tonight, I just didn’t know yet how special it truly was or would then become.

Now, I had an entirely new reason for getting to school on time.  I was not going to let that diminutive older man pull that wheelchair up those stairs one more time — not if I could help it.  I was never late again for the rest of that semester, as Eddie and I became fast friends with he and his dad even visiting my apartment on more than one occasion.  I became a real master at pulling that sled of his up the stairs, and we often got help from other male students as we made the climb.

Eddie told me in confidence one day that I had been good for his dad.  I thought he was referring to the physical exertion I had save him, and Eddie said: “No, it’s more than that. My dad has never liked anyone with long hair and a beard, and he told my mother the other night that you were the first.  He then went on to say that maybe it was just hair and that he shouldn’t let things like that bother him anymore.”  I was both flattered and gratified that he saw something in me, something that I still may not have seen in myself.

Mr. Hudak had been a World War 2 veteran and participated as a Chaplain’s Assistant in such major conflicts as D-Day and The Battle Of The Bulge.  His Jeep had sunk in deep water during the D-Day landing, and he and the Chaplain had to swim two hundred yards to shore amidst enemy fire.  He was a great man in the tradition of all great men who provide unselfish and heroic service while asking for nothing in return. In many ways, I secretly wished that he had been my dad too.  

My father had also been in World War 2 as a Marine and fought many engagements in the South Pacific.  He was a hero to me, but the difference between my father and Mr. Hudak was, my dad loved me, but he didn’t seem interested in my life now.  He didn’t approve of my studying Philosophy, and he couldn’t understand why I hadn’t chosen a more conventional career path like the sons of so many of his friends.

  In Ways I Couldn’t Understand, I Think I Embarrassed My Father

What my dad didn’t know was, that underneath the long hair and beard, my beliefs were a little to the right of Attila The ***. Unfortunately, we never had a serious conversation where he could have discovered that.  

The semester finally came to an end and the Christmas holidays were now upon us.  It was cold weather to be riding a motorcycle but, when that’s all you have. then that’s what you ride. On the last day of class before break, Mr. Hudak pulled me aside.  “My wife Marge and I are having a little party next Saturday night, and we’d like you to come.”  Everything inside me was trying to find an excuse not to go, but all I was capable of was shaking my head yes and thanking this great man for the kind invitation.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to meet his family. It was that I literally had nothing to wear and only the motorcycle to get me there.  My entire wardrobe consisted of two pairs of jeans, three t-shirts, and one beige fisherman’s knit sweater that I had bought at a local discount store.  I still hadn’t worn the sweater, and the tags were still on it.  I kept telling myself I was saving it for a special occasion.  Well, what could be more special than meeting Mr. Hudak’s family. The afternoon of the party I removed the tags from the sweater and ran down to the Laundromat and washed my newest jeans.

Eddie had told me that the get together would start around seven, but I could arrive anytime I wanted.  As I pulled the motorcycle up in front of their brick row house, I looked for a place to park the bike where it wouldn’t stand out. I already looked like a child of the sixties, and the motorcycle would only give them something else to focus on that might be misleading.

My fears were totally unfounded as I walked through the front door.  Mr. Hudak greeted me warmly, as Eddie yelled out in a voice all could hear: “My buddy Kurt’s here.”  My buddy Kurt! Those words have stayed with me and have provided sustenance during times when I thought my life was tough.  All I had to do in those moments was think of Eddie and what he and his family had been through, and my pity party for myself ended almost quicker than it began.

                         “My Buddy Kurt’s Here”

No sooner did I wave to Eddie than Mrs. Hudak came bouncing out of the kitchen.  Literally bouncing! This tiny woman of 5’1’’ came bounding across the dining room floor and immediately reached up and threw both of her arms around my neck.  She squeezed hard and it felt good.  It was real and she wanted me to know that.  Eddie had also explained to me how physically strong his mother was. It was the result of having to carry him up and down two flights of stairs from his bedroom to their recreation room in the basement below.  She did this several times a day.

I don’t know how high the heat was set to in their house that night, but I had never felt so warm — or accepted.  To an outsider like me it even looked like love, which I was to find out shortly is exactly what it was.  I wanted to take my heavy sweater off, but I had nothing on underneath but an old t-shirt.  Mrs. Hudak’s name was Marge, and she was from an old Irish family named McCarty. When she first saw me earlier, after I had removed my jacket, she said: “What a lovely sweater, shorin it tis.”

                                It Felt Like Love

I spent that night getting to know everyone, and in no time felt like one of the family.  At ten o’clock the guests started to leave and Marge took me into the kitchen.  “Can you stay a little while longer, because at eleven there is someone who I want you to meet?”  I said sure, as she fed me more cake and cookies telling me that they were baked special by the evening’s mystery guest.

At eleven fifteen the front door opened with an “I’m home,” coming from a young woman’s voice.  As I stood up, a flash of white turned the corner and entered the kitchen.  There in her finest nurse’s regalia, stood Eddie’s younger sister, Kathryn, who had just finished the evening shift at Nazareth Hospital in North Philadelphia.

“WOW, WAS SHE SOMETHING,” is all I could hear myself saying as she took her first look at me.  “So, this is the guy I’ve heard so much about huh,” she said as she walked to the refrigerator.  “Based on my brother’s description, I thought you would have been at least ten feet tall.”  Mildly sarcastic for sure, but I was smitten right away.

Later, I heard her on the phone with someone who sounded like her boyfriend.  They seemed to be fighting, and I sensed from the look on her dad’s face that they weren’t crazy about him either.  He said: “I hope it’s over,” and in less than a minute Kathryn came into the living room with tears in her eyes.  As she ran up the stairs to her bedroom, you could hear her say, “What A ****!” I prayed she wasn’t referring to me.  

Her mother ran up the stairs after her but before she did, she asked me not to leave.  Ten minutes later she came back downstairs and said: “You haven’t finished your cookies and cake in the kitchen.”

Marge was right, and I really wanted to finish them, but I was now starting to feel uncomfortable and in the middle of something that wasn’t for me to see or hear. Not wanting to seem rude, I followed her back to the kitchen table and sat down as she refilled my glass with milk. “So, what are your plans for the holidays,” she asked, as I wolfed down the sweets.

“Oh, nothing much,” I said, “just schoolwork and my job at the gas station.”  “And how about New Year’s Eve she asked?”  “Oh, nothing planned, probably just go see my grandparents and then watch the ball drop on TV in my apartment if I make it till twelve”.  “Why don’t you ask Kathryn out” she said, as her eyes twinkled? I thought I must have been hearing things and looked baffled, so she repeated it again…

                  Why Don’t You Ask Kathryn Out

This kindly woman, from this great family, was suggesting that I take their pride and joy daughter, Kathyrn, out for New Year’s Eve.  I didn’t know what to say. “Why don’t you think about it?  I’ll bet the two of you would have fun. I think based on tonight she is now free for New Year’s Eve too.”

I was literally in shock and not prepared for this.  I had recently broken up with a long-term girlfriend who I had dated all through high school and college.  I had convinced myself that I needed a break from girls for a while, and now here I was faced with dating Mr. Hudak’s only daughter.  In a few minutes, Marge walked out of the kitchen and Kathryn walked back in. She was now dressed in her pajamas and robe. If I had been smitten before, I was totally taken now.

I knew the first thing I said might be my last, so after a long pause I uttered: “So, I hear you’re not doing anything for New Years Eve?”  Not the best ice breaker as she yelled out to her mother: “Mommmmm, what did you tell him.”  Her mother didn’t answer.  I said again: “Kathy, please don’t take it the wrong way, I don’t have a date for New Year’s either.”  She looked at me for what seemed like an eternity, that in reality lasted for just a few seconds, before saying: “And just where do you propose we should go, Mr. Wonderful?”  Thank God I had an answer.

                           The Ice Had Broken

“Zaberers,” I said: “They’re open twenty-four hours. They have dinner and dancing and then a big show right after midnight.”  “Zaberers, huh,” she said, as she looked at me once more.  “All right, you can pick me up at eight.” With that, I didn’t want to push my luck.  I thanked her parents for the wonderful evening and wanted to say good night to Eddie, but he had already gone to bed.  That was what Marge was doing on her second trip upstairs — what a woman!!!

                          What A Woman Indeed!

Kathy and I had a great time on that first date on New Years Eve. All we really talked about was her father and about how hard he had struggled to keep the family together and how lucky he was to have found a woman like Marge who was the love of his life.

Kathy and I were engaged to be married just nine weeks later on March 5th,, and then married that fall on September 22nd 1974.  I was now a real part of the family that I had admired from afar.  Kathy and I had two children, and Marge and Ed were the best grandparents that two kids could ever have hoped for. They were lucky enough to see both of their grandchildren grow into adulthood and attend their college graduations. They were also able to proudly attend the wedding of their oldest grandchild, our daughter Melissa.

We lost Ed Hudak, my father-in-law, my guardian, and my friend, last December, and the world has been a little less bright with only the memory of him here now.  In many ways, he was the best of what we are all still trying to become, and his spirit remains inside us during the times of our greatest need.

For me though, I’ll never forget the time of our first meeting. That late September afternoon when I looked up those stairs at St Joe’s and not a word needed to be said. Here was a Saint of a man doing what real men do and doing it quietly. With humble dignity, his spirit reached out to me that day and filled an empty place inside of me with his love.

Now, forty years later, that same spirit occupies a bigger and bigger place in my life. From somewhere deep inside my soul it continues to live on, and I know for as long as I can remember — it will never let me go.

                           And I Called Him … ‘The Chief’
300 · Mar 2021
Silence
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2021
Keep your words close
—but silence closer

(Grantham New Hampshire: July, 2016)
300 · Mar 2022
Antigua Sonos
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2022
A wagon wheel across the stones
—ancient sounds

The death of night, the birth of dawn
—ancient sounds

The blood of my enemy drips from my sword
—ancient sounds

A voice from beyond, heard from within
—ancient sounds

(Dreamsleep: March, 2022)
299 · Sep 2016
To Transverse
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2016
The only time I am truly honest,
—is in verse

The only time I clearly hear his voice,
—is in rhyme

The only time my salvation appears,
—to transverse

The only time my heart really bleeds,
—so sublime

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)
299 · Jan 1
Legacy's Cost
Oh to be
remembered
Not to be
forgot
Excuses lost
in borrowed time
Reasons
— dearly bought

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)
299 · Jun 2017
Crown On Loan
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2017
The Muse in the tower,
  whose debt you enthrone

Those jewels that you borrow,
—her crown still on loan

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
299 · Sep 2016
One Day Beyond Mourning
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2016
One day beyond mourning, a new sun to shine
a promise remade, not a cloud in the sky

One day beyond mourning, your spirit still warm
your flesh now at rest, on the hill past the barn

One day beyond mourning, the bed sheets unfold
your shadow uncovered, and now mine to hold

One day beyond mourning, the sun in my eyes
  new words in my heart—a mockingbird cries

One day beyond mourning, my soul free to roam
  your paintings surround me, among them I’m home

One day beyond mourning, I walk to the field
our blanket still hanging, the oak that concealed

One day beyond mourning, I reset my sights
  the day I’ll rejoin you, that heavenly flight

One day beyond mourning, all will broken free
  my name on the wind—as you call out to me

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2017
Her hair blown free,
  with eyes ablaze

She walked toward me,
  through morning haze

Her steps unmeasured,
  her cutoffs tight

Eyes palest blue,
  the lightest light

Would I speak first,
  would she respond

In ten more seconds,
  her image gone

Our shoulders brush,
  she passes by

My arm goes numb,
  my heart on fire

I had no choice,
  I’d lost control

My breathing stopped,
  I’d play the fool

And looking back,
  all fear defied
  
An all-star waited,
—her ‘Chucks’ untied

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
298 · Apr 2019
No Longer Free
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2019
Bring your lover into your world,
  don’t hide inside of hers

    ‘A mistake too often made
       with respect to women’

Self inflicted homicide…
  men die of good intention

A modern age hormonal trap
  —loves truth no longer free

(Greensboro North Carolina: April, 2019)
298 · Nov 2019
Never To Yield
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2019
The miles I’ve walked,
the verses I’ve rhymed

The demons I’ve fought,
the mountains I’ve climbed

Each word as a sword,
its meaning a shield

To ward off the darkness
—and never to yield

(Dreamsleep: November, 2019)
298 · Nov 2016
Daylight
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2016
The older you get,
  the lighter your shadow becomes

Daylight, constantly giving birth
  to new—and ever increasing promise

(Valley Forge Pennsylvania: September, 1976)
  Fron 'An Anthology Of Perception' Vol.#1
297 · Aug 2023
Verba Artis
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2023
Words are like paint
your voice is the brush
The image though spoken
both vivid and lush

Each page but a portrait
your canvas when bound
Today and tomorrow
—eternity’s sound

(The New Room: August, 2023)
297 · Jun 2019
This Life I Live
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2019
I don’t know if I’m good or bad,
but I’m not for loan

I don’t know if my words will rise,
but these thoughts I own

I don’t know if the questions asked,
will in death rename

I don’t know if this life I live
—will the past reclaim

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)
296 · Aug 2018
The Sun Will Come Up
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2018
The warts are ugly
  the wrinkles deep

The flesh now sagging
  deprived of sleep

The eyesight failing
   the hearing gone

But words still call
  —from tomorrow’s song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
295 · Sep 2016
Imperfectly To Song
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2016
Like me,
my Poetry is far from perfect,
—a verbal oxen gored

Like me,
my words are often frail and broken,
—still crying to be heard

In me,
the message has found its student,
—to very humbly expound

In me,
the truth can accept a birthmark,
—for a promise more profound

Unto me,
the burden is left to finish,
—my life to pledge headlong

Unto me,
  the words now free—unsentenced,
  change imperfectly to song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
295 · Oct 2018
As History Laughs
Kurt Philip Behm Oct 2018
The Citizens danced
  Romulus cried

Centurions posed
  in Legions wide

“The world is ours”
   they said in glee

“And death to those
  who don’t concede”

The past unyielding
  future loaned

The present flew
  like David’s stone

Their party ending
  candles burnt

With spoils poisoned
  lessons spurned

And history writes
  that in a day…

What once was Rome
  was cast astray

Whose legend carved
  in stone reminds

What young Narcissus
  hoped to find

The glory that once
  ruled the world

Now left in rubble
  myth unfurled

As time awaits
  to stalk our path

That wolf inside
  —as history laughs

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2018)
294 · Feb 2017
A Smoldering Refrain
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2017
Straddling the candle,
  too close to the flame

A fiery benediction,
—a smoldering refrain

(Grantham New Hampshire: February, 2017)
294 · Nov 2016
At Your Spirits Behest
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2016
Do you demand my lies,
  instead of the truth

Do you hem and sigh,
  or stammer uncouth

Does the word unfiltered,
  get trapped in your brain

Does the message uncovered,
then wash down your drain

Does the time spent looking,
  measure time well spent

Does the verbal unlocking,
pay your spiritual rent

Are the memories you wished for,
  within the time you invest

Are the feelings you hoped for,
—at your spirits behest

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)
294 · Mar 2017
My Last Etesian
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2017
Forty years a Poet,
  sixty years a man

Calling to me distant,
  my last Etesian

Time at best deceptive,
  a trinity of masks

Present truth accepted,
  the one not first or last

The drums now beating softly,
  their rhythm stills my heart

My spirit free to chase the wind,
—this world I now depart

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
294 · Dec 2016
All Movement Stopped
Kurt Philip Behm Dec 2016
Like children, pages
  drift away adolescent,
  refusing what I offer

Defiant
  in their questions,
  beyond all answers in their parting

Forcing what’s left, to live trapped
  in the abandoned distance
  between us now

All movement stopped
  and estranged, from the very things
  we used to know

(Worcester Massachusetts: March, 2011)
293 · Jan 2017
This Present Mine To Own
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2017
The day now split
  drifts off unpromised,
  the dream remains with me

Our words as jewels
  now treasured pawn,
  their tickets burning free

The nights by measure
  mornings fled,
  those times you woke and lied

My heart remains
  my own to wed,
  your wound still deep inside

From spells you cast
   upon our gift,
   and quarried into stone

The past is black,
  the future gone,
  —this present mine to own

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)
293 · Jun 2019
Its Only Cost
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2019
Here today and gone tomorrow,
the worm can quickly turn

A sun last set, all vision spent,
the sum of what you’ve learned

The baton is passed, your race has run,
the finish line now crossed

With memories firm and wishes free
—your soul its only cost

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)
293 · May 2019
Now Unfelt
Kurt Philip Behm May 2019
Twas once a time you owned my heart,
  then Laura stole it back

Through all those years our hearts on fire,
  she waited and she sat

She hoped one day our lives would part,
  to never meet, as then…

Her voice so soft had cried at night,
  “I want you back again”

“You need to promise me this time,
  you’ll never leave me cold

“And even if you dally forth,
  your Muse I will behold

“To heal you of this tragic drought,
  you brought upon yourself

“And give you back the future-past
    —whose presence now unfelt”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)
293 · Mar 2017
A False Infinity
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2017
Is your memory a circle,
  or a trip straight out and back

A beginning and an ending,
  or one continuous track

Do you see the same things going up,
  that you pass when coming down

Is retention sealed and programmed,
  by things going round and round

Is there a finish where you stop,
  or perhaps just one last verse,
  
Or a rewind back to square one,
  the past to again rehearse

This flux of motion holds you tight,
  your perception never free,

Serving both to deceive and lie,
—in a false infinity

(Seattle Washington: March, 2017)
292 · Nov 2018
Last Moth
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2018
There’s a zone beyond safety
  where the timid can’t go

Beyond reasoned decision
  intuition to flow

Past valor and triumph
  past glory and fame

There’s a zone beyond safety
—last moth to the flame

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2018)
291 · Jun 2023
Timor Negavit
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2023
The death of tomorrow
rebirthed in stone
Its sculptor blinded
by fear unknown

The future vacant
the past denied
Where carved in darkness
—an image cries      

(The New Room: June, 2023)
291 · Jan 2017
My Dying Rage
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2017
Forever an outsider,
  a key without a door

Locked in your detention,
  its barrier secure

Always on the outside,
  forever looking in

My actions well intended,
  your eyes see only sin

I spend my time in silence,
  rejection now a friend

These years I serve in exile,
  one word from you could end

The walls now growing thicker,
  blank paper for a cage

My spark now just a flicker,
—to light my dying rage

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)
291 · Apr 2021
Forever More
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2021
If love had just one window
that was open, never closed

My verse would fly like turtle doves
—into your heart bestowed

(Thoughts Of Kathryn: April, 2021)
291 · Feb 2021
But A Promise
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2021
of a morning
of a window
singing freely
/once heard

of a longing
of a distance
in the memory
/wayward

of a darkness
of a warning
that prophetic
/sojourned

but a vow
but a promise
a betrothal
/returned

(Dreamsleep: February, 2021)
291 · Sep 2022
Leaving The Oasis
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2022
Greatness
is condemned to loneliness
as the desert calls
magnifying the instant
through the burning glass
unleashing its essence
in the fire of possibility
spreading old ashes reborn
—upon the sand

(Dreamsleep: September, 2022)
291 · Apr 2024
Libby's Retreat (unedited)
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2024
Libby’s Retreat
                                      January, 2056


It was January 2056, and Rays membership to Libby’s Health & Romance Retreat was about to run out in just two more weeks.  Ray had been a member now for three years but lately had started to feel very empty every time he left Libby’s.  It was a feeling that he couldn’t quite explain and one that he had never felt before.

Libby’s was a franchised location of the large ‘Cymax Personal Health’ system.  It had been on the corner of Snyder avenue and 14th street for the past seven years.  Since the fatal STD Porex had been discovered over twenty years ago, free and organic *** was almost entirely a relic of the past.  Now almost all singles got their ****** gratification from spa’s and clubs like Libby’s. They found in the androids and simulators there something that was now far too dangerous to find with someone else.

Porex was both dangerous and deadly for two reasons.  There was no early detection, or screening, to see if you were infected until the disease was already at stage #3, and there was no cure or treatment once you were there.  At that point death came early — and with much pain attached.

Aids had been cured over twenty years ago, and those same scientists and laboratories were now working on a cure for Porex.  Unlike Aids, which started with the *** virus, Porex had no early warning signs.  It surfaced almost overnight and killed 100% of its victims within ninety days.

Free *** among humans was still being practiced by the adventuresome few, but it was literally a life or death enterprise. Neither party could know for sure if their partner was disease free or not.  Many times, if not most, the infected party never found out until it was too late.  

The only fail-safe method was *** between two virgins,
and then only between those two.  Many prominent families were using ****** consulting firms to determine if their prospective daughters qualified, but there was still no concrete way of telling if their male suitors had been celibate or not. Many young women had paid the ultimate price for believing what their ‘hormone raging’ boyfriends had said in a moment of passion.  In more cases than not, these men didn’t even know they had been infected — the signs always showing up too late.

Personal stimulation devices had been available for home use for many years but were boring in their one-dimensional ability to give pleasure.  Clubs like Libby’s had over 55 different devices that could take you to the promise-land and all for the cost of a car payment every month.  

Ray’s favorite device at Libby’s was Amanda.  Amanda was a life sized, full featured, android, and the one Ray used was sculpted to look and feel exactly like the supermodel Alexis Andrea.  In the dark, and under blind test studies, over 80% of the males tested could not tell the difference between Amanda and the real thing.  Many, literally fell in love (lust) during their first encounter.

Amanda never said no, never had a headache, and was always available.  She was 5’7’’ tall and came in all races and nationalities. She was the most expensive ‘release’ mechanism at the club so appointments were always necessary to book a session with her.  Amanda was busy twenty-four hours a day and could actually be booked for in-home use for twice the hourly rate.

Ray had recently met someone he liked at the Coffee and Cake Emporium downtown. Her name was Elizabeth, and Ray thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.  Ray asked Elizabeth to play Cybernets one night, which was the virtual tennis rage that was sweeping the country.  Elizabeth said yes, and they walked together from the C & C Emporium to the Cybernets Room at Game-Central.  They had a great time together and scheduled a second date to play again.

Ray wondered what ‘real ***’ with Elizabeth would be like.  He was now having trouble going back to Libby’s, and his last two sessions with Amanda had been awkward and vacuous.  He kept seeing Elizabeth’s face on the head of the android and wondered what his grandfather would think if he could see him now.

Some Things Are Worth Dying For, Grandpa Had Often Said

Ray’s wrist implant went off one Tuesday afternoon. It was showing a ‘virtual’ of Elizabeth in her new bathing suit and sitting around the pool in her downtown modular building. Ray wondered why she had sent this to him. Could she be thinking the same things as me, he asked himself? For the rest of that day, Ray could neither work nor eat.  He was now obsessed with both the fantasy and the real possibility of having something that before seemed so forbidden. Elizabeth was now dominating not only his waking, but his sleeping thoughts too.

At 8 O’clock that evening, Ray video encrypted Elizabeth.  Video Encryption was as close to the real thing as technology had developed — creating a full scale and life-sized hologram of the two parties in three-dimensional form.  Elizabeth looked amazing!

                                Ray Was Falling In Love

Elizabeth told Ray that her office was shutting down for two weeks for cyber-regeneration and that she was thinking of going somewhere REAL.  The last two ‘virtual’ vacations she had been on had left her feeling empty and alone.  ‘Trans-Virtual Vacations’ was the largest company in this field. They allowed the visitor to experience any place on earth while in a dream-sleep state of consciousness.  They even had vacations to over 1500 fantasy locations, and all were available without ever leaving home.

Elizabeth said: ‘How about the Grand Canyon?’ Ray couldn’t believe his own ears. She was actually asking him if he would like to go along.  She then said that by booking a two-seater shuttle they could be there in less than an hour. They could still see the sun come up over the south rim tomorrow morning if they packed, and got to the sky-transport terminal, within the hour.

There was only one answer and Ray quickly said YES. Since he was already home, he packed in under five minutes, called the Inner-city Air Transport and was at the ‘Trans Shuttle Terminal’
in less than forty minutes.  Elizabeth was already there.  She was dressed in a blue taffeta shirt and slacks, and Ray thought he could see right through them as she moved through the waning light.

Elizabeth said she had booked a ‘Northern Star’ direct two passenger and was that all right with him?  Ray said: “Only if you drive.” These smaller two passenger direct shuttles were computer driven, but passenger monitored and controlled, with full override being available in case of emergency. Both Elizabeth and Ray had gone to civilian ‘flight’ school for certification and were both more than capable of getting to the ‘Canyon’ and back.

As they took off in a vertical lift, Ray asked Elizabeth where she would like to stay.  She said the ‘Old Lodge’ still had 7 rooms and they were holding two on the second floor overlooking the South Rim for them. Two ? Ray couldn’t help but wonder, as he heard himself repeating her words to him again.  As they flew over the eastern rim they slowed and dropped in elevation.  The Canyon never failed to inspire, no matter what technology its pilgrims took to arrive.  The panorama was breathtaking as they descended into Desert View.  The lodge was visible in the distance, and Elizabeth suggested after docking that they walk the final two miles.

The Lodge stood timeless and defiant against what the modern world had now become.  It had remained identical to its 19th Century design and harkened the visitor back to a time when life was more balanced and when most things were real.  Modern life had tried to remove all of the trials and challenges of previous generations while forgetting that good and bad would always be two dependent halves of the same whole.

Elizabeth and Ray entered through the large double front doors and walked across the immense lobby to the front desk.  Elizabeth gave the clerk their Transit I.D.’s and said she had booked two rooms earlier in the day.  The clerk said: “The two adjoining rooms that look out on the South Rim, right miss?” Elizabeth said yes, and then looked toward Ray and wryly smiled.

As a throwback to an earlier time, a live bellhop came and carried their two small bags upstairs to the second floor.  The view from Ray’s corner room was spectacular. Looking out the large canyon facing window, he realized that Elizabeth had taken the lesser room for herself.  As Ray was becoming transfixed, watching the remaining light emptying out of the canyon, he heard a knock on his door.  It was not coming from the outside hall but from the interior door that connected to the adjoining room — Elizabeth’s room!


Ray walked toward the door with a mixture of trepidation and delight. As he opened it, there in front of him was the most heavenly sight he had ever seen.  Elizabeth was standing before him and the taffeta was now gone. She was standing beneath the doorway that connected her room to his,  

               And She Was Standing In The Doorway Naked

Ray took a deep breath as he attempted to speak.  Elizabeth slowly shook her head and stepped toward him as she put her right index finger to his lips. Not now she said, as she wrapped her arms around him.  I’m a ****** Ray, so you have nothing to worry about.  I love you and can no longer bear the thought of never feeling you inside me.  

As Ray carried Elizabeth to his bed, he realized for the first time that life was ultimately good. What had been troubling him for all those years had only been a warning and a preparation for what was to come.  Ray thought to himself about love, real love, and the chance that Elizabeth had been willing to take.  He then smiled to himself, knowing that the inner voice that had been speaking to him for all those years had been telling the truth …

                                For Ray Was A ****** Too

In two more weeks, Rays membership card to Libby’s would
expire never to be reactivated.  The sterile and impersonal pleasure industry had been beaten by the timeless power of human love.
290 · Dec 2023
Final Due Date
Kurt Philip Behm Dec 2023
A moment of truth
a century of lies
The left hand deflects
what the right hand decries  

A little bit pregnant
the ending begins
A monster gestating
—and living within

(The New Room: December, 2023)
Next page