D Gave Machi's Address in Palmivilia

D Gave Machi's Address in Palmivilia
Week 181

O god. Machi sent me his story he’s been writing, in the mail.
I am happy.
I love my son.
My son loves me.
There was no return address. But there was a post mark. Southstate. So he must believe Ori’s being held at The Base. He’s trying to get as close as he can to his father.
In the story there’s always a moment when the hero finds himself stranded, in danger.

O my god.
I am dead. Today was one of those mornings when I woke up and the words forming in my mind as my eyes tried to pry themselve s open, were, I am already dead. I can’t live.
And then I think of Machi and his friends. Of Ori. And I think, is it any wonder? We are all among the expendables. Targetted for destruction. Is it any wonder I have taken in the killing, made it my own.

Ju st now an instant of panic. At the meeting yesterday I said things that when they are quoted will make me even more of a target at work than I already am. I said, “I think lying would be fine. I also believe parents should do their children’s homework sometimes.” I was trying to say, “let’s know these rules are idiotic and agree to subvert them.” There were enemies in the room.

I went to meet with Solly and Xiomara, to tell them how my work coaching Lucha is coming along. They were enraged. Not about to acknowledge she’s succeeded, and popped up another hydra head: Lucha needs to work on communication. I said, ‘her whole report is about her improved communication at the site.’ Xiomara, who had barely looked at me up till that point said, “but what about her communication with her colleagues, here? She’s rude and intimidating.”
So Xiomara who has all of us in states of terror, who marches into my half office with her nostrils flared and only then do I find out we are at war, is saying Lucha is rude and in timidating. Xiomara who listens to nobody, then tells me Lucha goes into meetings not to listen but to ram directives down people’s throats.
This is a set up, then, a set up to use me to put a stamp of credibility on Lucha’s firing.
Well, I’m not complete ly stupid. I am only limited by my desire to assume good faith. My trust impairment. I was programmed to be a mark and those two are terrible grifters.

How will I find Machi? Where will I look? Will I have to go city by city in Southstate? If I don’t ge t going this moment I will be late to work. If I’m late I must stay late. If only I could make those hours I spend there smaller and the rest of my life bigger. If only I didn’t need sleep, or hours to lick my wounds, recover from work.

O my god. On the way to the train I ran into Big D who is now driving a car service and took me to the express stop.
And told me Machi’s address in Palmivilia the Southernmost spot in Southstate. And gave me Machi’s cell number. And said. “It’s not right, hiding from his Mother. Not a Mother like his Mother.” Maybe if I’d asked somebody would have told me where Machi was months ago. Now Big D wants to be called Dario. It was his mother, sitting beside me at a school performance when the boys were maybe 12, who said to me. “If only I can get this one in one piece and out of prison to the age of 25. Sometimes, if they make it to 25, they make it.” Maybe Dario would make it to 25.

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