3:53 A.M.

Friday. 3:53 a.m. Old Man Jensen drives his ‘67 Pontiac GTO off the Steeplechase Pier into the Atlantic, killing himself and Martha Lemon.

Amidst the July jellyfish, the stench of used condoms, bloody tampons, and bags of Wise potato chips emanated from the rainy Coney Island shore. With the engine idling, Old Man Jensen sat in his car, admiring the pre-War red brick building on West 10th Street. Rain was falling so heavily that the raindrops stripped the blood red bricks of their tone. It looked like red paint running down a canvas. But to Jensen it was symbolic of his dead son helplessly bleeding in a murky war zone along the Persian Gulf.

Curt Jensen was twenty-six years old. Before enlisting in the army he lived a simple life. During the day he worked as a cashier at Key Food. In the evening he came home and spent time with his dad. They played gin, drank brandy, and reminisced about the 1986 Mets. When Curt left for Iraq, his father rediscovered the art of jerking off. Several months later, on a Friday, at 2:47 a.m., Old Man Jensen was watching Saving Ryan’s Privates when the phone rang. With a half hard on, he knew his son was dead. He got in his car, thinking it would clear his head.

* * * * * *

Friday. 3:53 a.m. Old Man Jensen drives his ‘67 Pontiac GTO off the Steeplechase Pier into the Atlantic, killing himself and Martha Lemon.

Eddie and Martha ran through the streets hand in hand, silent, as if on a covert mission. They snuck over the gate to Astroland and took cover in one of the cars on the Wonder Wheel. They were drenched. Eddie could make out the firmness of Martha’s small nipples through her shirt. Her hair lost its curls as it lay, long and shiny over both eyes.

“Damn.” He pulled out.

“That was uh-amazing.” She tried to catch her breath.

“Mother--. Dammit.”

“What happened?”

“I finished.” Panic and dullness mixed in his voice.

Her euphoric smile turned to horror. She reached over the metal bar and picked her black panties off the ground. She slid them back on, turned her back to him, and began to cry.

She hated herself. Four minutes ago Eddie was inside her. Forty-six minutes ago she straddled herself onto a man’s genitalia. Two hours and twenty-six minutes ago she left Peggy O’Neil’s with a drunken stranger. Four hours and fifty-seven minutes ago she let a man buy her a drink. Four hours and fifty-nine minutes ago she said “Hello” to a twenty something blonde hair blue eyed man. Six hours and twelve minutes ago she walked into a bar knowing she was going to screw the first guy she spoke to.

When her anger outweighed her fears, she stopped crying and ran. Her feet took her to the edge of the Steeplechase Pier. She grasped the railing as she heard the pounding roar of her heart. She would never know that the roar was a car speeding towards her.

Written 3/14/2007

The above is an original piece of work by the author of this page. Any attempt to reproduce it will be deemed plagiarism.