Our Father

© 2013 Ron Lombardo. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/26/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-2597-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-2596-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-2595-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013904270

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Author Biography

This book is dedicated to anyone who has and continues to suffer or perish under the yoke of Religious conflict.

Our Father, who art in Heaven,

hallowed be thy name…

…Lord’s prayer…

Chapter One

There’s something magical about a sunrise in early Spring. It breathes new life, excites the senses, allows mankind another chance. The emerging ball of fire caresses all with a pinkish glow, while birds pierce the silence of the crisp morning air with their rhythmic song. Peace and tranquility…humanities elusive prize…flows abundently from nature.

Morning light awakens a town in the suburbs of Long Island. A town, like the many others is an uninterrupted maze of suburban streets and houses. Concrete ribbons of sidewalk outline the large oak and maple trees flowing along the streets. Soon their spidery presence will be replaced with leafy foliage, engulfing the smartly landscaped dwellings into sheltered privacy. The town, as many others, is a Mecca for commuters who endure the agony of the daily trek to work in New York city.

Harry Brennen is one of their kind. His neatly landscaped home merges with the tree lined, New England motif of his street. The uniformity of his neighborhood exudes the identity of the commutting breed…so intertwined, It’s difficult to distinguish one street from the other…one neighborhood from the next.

Quickly grabbing his briefcase while downing his last sip of coffee, Harry races for the door at the sound of his friend’s car pulling up to the curb. Pausing briefly, he’s greeted by the brisk morning air and vivid sounds of birds. Mother Nature’s medication always works. He’s totally awake.

Eddy Peller’s old Buick patiently sits by the curb. He and Bob Greggs are Harry’s dearest friends and commuter partners. Five days a week they endure the long process of commuting to work in Manhattan. Often on weekends, they share time with their families or helping each other with projects around the house. Harry loves them, they’re his environmental family and apart from Alice and the kids, his only kin. The bond they share grows in the soil of their lifestyles.

They remind Harry of Laurel and Hardy. Eddy is in his mid 30’s, tall, thin, neat and scholarly in appearance. His horn rim glasses and immaculate attire project a very positive selfassured intellectual. He’s a very warm caring person, although his monotone voice gives one the impression that Eddy’s as cool and deliberate as the computers he works with. He lives by a methodical plan, becoming excitable if it’s not executed with precision…a regular Mr. Intensity. If he lacks anything it’s a sense of humor, although something will occasionally strike his funny bone.

Bob on the other hand, is a horse of totally different color. In his early 40’s, his short, stocky appearance, ready smile, balding hairline and average face, project a very warm, friendly demeanor. A real natural for his job, Bob works in the public relations department of their firm. His warmth and sense of humor fit perfectly into the mold. He’s always clean, confidant, and smoothly self assured, although he’s mastered the fine art of being a bit eccentric. Bob has a thing about ties and there is never any doubt that he hand picks every one and has yet to master the art of tying or centering the knot. He spends the entire day yanking and tugging but never gets it right. Clever as he is there is always an interesting or humorous story involved with his ties.

Walking hastily down the driveway, Harry knows Eddy will be upset if he slows them down. Approaching the car he chuckles to himself…Eddy’s wired already, his eyes blazing while nervously tapping the steering wheel. Grabbing for the door, Harry’s distracted by a lumbering form jogging along the sidewalk.

Heeeeeeey…how ya doin this morning Harry…ya know you should be out here with me getting your cardio vascular system revved up! Gasp’s Tom Whitmore, his neighbor, struggling to breathe and talk at the same time.

Whatta ya say coach…see you’re getting in fighting trim for the season? Chuckles Harry.

Carefully looking for an excuse to rest without confessing exhaustion, Tom stops by the curb. He pauses to wipe the profuse sweat from his face with a towel tucked around his neck. Tom Whitmore’s 6’6" frame and 300 pounds dwarf Harry, but he finds mild comfort in that Tom’s no longer the whipcord muscular athlete he once was. In his late forties, much of the muscle has given way to signs of the good life, although his heart is as competitive as the day he wore pads and performed heroics on the gridiron.

Harry gets a kick out of Tom he’s a unique individual. His slumped over posture, boyishly small face and curly red hair, create the sensation of witnessing an oversized leprechaun. He acts like an excited little boy on his first fire engine ride.

Yehhhhh Harry me boy, big season coming up and I gotta be ready if I expect the players to put out! His excitement and motor gaining speed. See Harry we gotta do it with defense, quick and aggressive! Our offense will be ball control with a lot of off tackle stuff and some play action, but the defense is gonna win it for us! Got it all worked out…let me show you some plays that’ll mask the blitz!

Yeah Tom, I’m sure Harry wants to here all about it, but if we leave any later for the train, Eddy’s stomach won’t be right all day and we’ll never hear the end of it. Proclaims Bob, pointing toward Eddy, who’s impatiently tapping the steering wheel.

That’s it…that’s it…joke and carry on, but if we get there any later then I plan, parking at the station won’t be for shit and we’ll be tracking through the mud of satellite parking. Oh shit look at the time! Will you guys’ quit fooling around and let’s get going!! Nervously notes Eddy while pointing to his watch.

Tom I really gotta go…but thanks for planning the season with me…I’ll catch you this weekend when we have more time to chat.

Aaaaah, I understand Harry me boy…gotta go ya gotta go…sure…sure you better get going. Got to get running myself before the muscles stiffen up. Replies Tom, wrapping the towel around his neck like the Red Baron flying off to combat. See ya this weekend Harry. He mutters, while laboriously continuing down the walk.

Throwing his briefcase in the back seat, Harry quickly leaps in. He barely enters before Eddy drives on.

It takes only an instant to realize Eddy’s in his usual behavior pattern when driving; wired to a hyper state. The timing and perfection of the whole commute is resting on his shoulders. One problem, just one little wrinkle, and Eddy will feel like a failure for the entire day. Nervously he pushes his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose while squinting in thoughtful pain. Damn I hate to get behind on our timing.

Sprinting along the street, Harry looks out and notices Tom waddling down the sidewalk, unaware the Johnson’s dog is dashing after him. Oh shit, poor Tom is about to set a land speed record!

How’s that buddy? Asks Bob, hardly looking up from the newspaper he’s intently reading.

Oh, he’s about to get an incentive from the Johnson’s dog, Blacky. Poor guy puts up with more shit from that dog even after all the complaining he’s done. Think they’d learn to show a little consideration for other folks. Explains Harry while gazing out the window thoughtfully.

Maybe sending Blacky to doggy heaven will teach ole man Johnson a thing or two about consideration for others. Resolve’s Bob, without breaking concentration with his paper.

Turning, Harry looks back at his little corner of the world, overcome by a weird sensation. A feeling he would get as a child leaving for school. He best remembers it as an insecure feeling, not fear, but one of emotional departure from a place and loved ones. His trance, rudely broken, while in the midst of peaceful thought.

Eddy…watch out for the idiot in the pickup…it looks like he plans on running the stop sign! Alerts Bob.

See, see, what did I tell you…you guys goofed off too much and now we have to contend with the commuter traffic…Just because of a few extra minutes you both put us into all this extra hassle and it was all avoidable! Complains Eddy, his face blushing in anger.

A few minutes…a few minutes…my empire for just a few more minutes! Snickers Bob.

That’s it, joke if you wish, but it’s like riding a wave. One must stay just beyond the crest or you’ll get sucked into the wave itself. Those few extra minutes keep us just beyond the initial crest of the commuter wave.

Surf’s up! Wax your boards’ boys and get ready to hang ten!

C’mon Bob, I’m serious about this and you’re just sitting there joking. Playing in all this traffic isn’t fun…it’ll make me nuts all day!

Aaaaah Eddy don’t panic buddy, we’re right here to guide you along…to inspire you…to help you rise to heights you never dreamed of…to go where no man has ever gone before…to…

Okay Bob you made your point, how about we bullshit for a while and leave Eddy to carry the torch without the benefit of your golden tongue. Lectures Harry, hoping Bob takes the hint and allows Eddy to settle down.

For the first time Bob looks up from the paper and winks at Harry. Eddy knows I’m kidding…just trying to loosen him up when he gets a little tense on himself. Proclaims Bob, emitting a warm smile.

That’s it, try to be nice after you piss me off…you bastard! Responds Eddy, failing to suppress a smile. Nervously, he pushes his glasses back on his nose. Holy Christ this traffic makes me nuts!

You’re doing great Eddy, just don’t let all these idiots get to you…each of those bastards cutting you off and showing no consideration will get theirs…you’ll see. Assures Harry, philosophically.

Bob peeks over the top of his newspaper with a bewildered, suspicious expression. Gee, is that some sort of fucking prediction or just another of your casual death wishes?

Harry gazes out the window at the masses of cars and people rushing about frantically, when Bob responds to his statement; a shot of cold water upon his thoughts. Oh, ah, actually neither Bob, it just seems that some of these inconsiderate idiots should get their rightful treatment. I mean it’s just not fair that so much wrong can be done and not have any justice.

Yeah I know you’re right, but I couldn’t resist busting your chops with the way there was such venom in your tone.

I just get pissed off with all the injustice. You know the worst part, it’s the people with the nerve, who don’t care who they step on or who they hurt… seem to get whatever they want!

Yep, that’s it, the good guy always finishes last and you know why… because he doesn’t have the emotional mechanism to deal the dirty blow. You know yourself…as pissed off as you get with all the rail and subway crime, if you had one of those slimy little bastards on the ground and had a knife or gun in your hand, you couldn’t kill him…Pissed off as you are…you couldn’t take his life!

Oh gee Bob, I don’t know, I think in the heat of the moment and in a state of anger I could easily do it.

"Naaah, bet you couldn’t! You’d come to your senses just before the final blow…our minds work like that…or at least the healthy ones do.

Harry continues gazing out the window, deep in thought. He ponders the topic he’s trying to resolve. Without breaking fixation on the scenery he rubs his chin in careful deliberation. Christ Bob, isn’t it kinda early to be involved in such a heavy topic like the workings of the inner mind?

You shitting me buddy, it’s never too early to question and resolve some mysteries of the inner mind! Glancing back at Harry, Bob emits a half grin and challenging expression. He knows Harry far to well…he can’t resist getting into a bit of philosophical mind-boggle.

Breaking his trance with the scenery, Harry impatiently looks at Bob. You trying to get me worked up or what? What does anyone know about the human mind and spirit…are they even related or do they both just live in the same skull? How predictable is the mind and do we really understand it or just pretend? Shit…we’re just like a goddamn crossword puzzle…fill in what you know and guess at the rest. That sort of thing doesn’t prove shit and until someone comes up with a better, fullproof method, I don’t think anyone understands!

Lurching back and breaking into a tremendous grin, Bob playfully slaps Eddy on the shoulder and starts to laugh. I love it, I love it, I love it…it just takes a little probing and we get all the neat philosophy we could ever hope for…and always put in a way that is easy to understand! Harry, you have enough philosophy to write a book or start a religion…or how about a cult following?

Rolling his eyes in wonder, Harry radiates a combined expression of embarrassment and anger. Attempting to regain himself, he sits back in his seat, looks thoughtfully out the window and emits a long breath. The air makes a slight hissing sound as it passes through his teeth, creating a soothing escape for his thoughts. Looking back at Bob, he breaks into a sheepish grin. You giving my philosophy some shit this morning?

Who me, I wouldn’t dream of doing that! Snickers Bob, returning to the newspaper he’s crumpled beyond recognition. After a few moments, he twists around in his seat to face Harry, crumpling his newspaper further as he pushes it aside. His expression and tone grow serious. You know, there is a side of you I find totally intriguing. You have a great sense of balance between humor and seriousness, knowing instinctively when to turn one on or off. What blows my mind is how you sit there and claim to be totally lost in understanding the meaning of life or the inner mind. Your questions and explainations are living proof that deep within Harry Brennen…you do understand what it’s all about. I’m not going to rest until I get all the answers. Feeling quite satisfied with his little pearl of wisdom, Bob winks, slowly turns and begins to uncrumple his paper.

Hmmmmmm, really, maybe I was a prophet or something in a past life…Maybe even Aristotle or somebody really big! Mutters’ Harry, sporting a sly grin.

Don’t let it go to your head! Retorts’ Bob, without glancing up from his reading.

Oh…okay…then we’ll save the philosophy for a better moment. Until then, how about passing the sports page back here.

You got it Pal. Replies’ Bob, sliding the section over the seat without looking.

Holy mackerel Bob, what did you do to the paper? It’s not even an hour old and you have it looking like it’s been through the wars! Cries’ Eddy, excitedly trying to scan the mess yet fearful of taking his eyes off the road.

Now just you relax Eddy, when we get on the train I’ll have it all in one piece and ready for you. Explains Bob, intently perusing the crumpled pages. Holy Christ, how could that idiot look the jury in the eye and proclaim such innocence with the shit they’ve got on him! Mumbles Bob.

What are you talking about? Mutters’ Harry, his eyes and attention buried in the sports page.

Oh, you know that guy whose on trial for raping and mugging those 15 women in Brooklyn over the last 5 years. Well that bastard has the weakest case I’ve ever seen and his lawyer is leaning on every piece of crap he can find to get the creep off the hook! Proclaims Bob, tapping the article in a vigorous display of anger.

You see on the news last night, where his lawyer wants the positive identification by all 15 women not admissible as evidence, because it will impair the kid from getting a fair trial?

No, I missed it, but that’s what they’re talking about in this article and that kind of shit really boils my ass! Replies Bob, now completely distracted from the paper and ready to discuss the case with abandon.

I’ve really got to agree with you Bob, that kind of stuff is uncalled for and renders the whole process inept. If evidence provides conclusive proof of guilt, they should never be allowed to exclude it, under any circumstance. I hate when they say it’s an obstruction to a fair trial. Isn’t that what evidence is all about?

That’s right Harry, there’s almost no sense in any of it! Just like if I murdered Eddy and 40,000 people saw me do it on television. Those testimonies and the fact that so many saw it on the tube would become prejudicial against me getting a fair trial! That’s bullshit!

You have to realize that it’s the American way of doing things. Injects Eddy, enjoying a momentary lapse of pressure while waiting for a red light. One is always innocent until proven guilty, in a court of law, under the proper circumstance, without kangaroo justice.

I knew it, I knew it, Eddy can’t remain silent for this one. Mr. everything is black and white and let all creatures live Peller has to speak out against our verbal accusations! Retorts’ Bob, disturbed by Eddy’s reply.

Gee Bob, give the man a break, he hasn’t been found guilty of anything yet and you and thousands of others are sitting there getting the rope ready to lynch the poor bastard!

Don’t you realize Eddy, they’ll never find him guilty if they keep dismissing positive evidence because it might incriminate him?! What kind of shit is that?

What you don’t understand Bob is that…OOPS…here we go…I can’t talk anymore, the light’s green and I gotta drive. With that, Eddy pushes his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose and begins to concentrate only on the traffic outside, dropping the conversation with the suddenness of a puppet having its strings cut.

Bob looks back at Harry with a quizzical yet humorous expression. Can you believe this shit Harry, I’m telling you the man is a fucking communist! Let’s just drop our bombs and walk away like nothing ever happened! That’s it Peller, just leave me hanging till the proper moment…okay?

Please Bob traffic is really getting heavy, I can’t concentrate on this and hold a conversation at the same time. Pleads Eddy, apologetically.

Yeah, yeah, sir Eddy, you just drive on, this conversation wasn’t getting anywhere fast anyhow. Mumbles’ Bob, unfolding his crumpled paper, feverishly searching for an article of interest.

Harry can’t resist glancing at Bob and Eddy. They’re truly a study in contrast. Bob already appears to have put in a hard day; tie loose, jacket wrinkled, he’s in total disorder. Harry envies Bob’s ability to unwind and not let things get him down. He’s a picture of total relaxation; slumped down, shoes off, foot up on the dash, totally absorbed in the morning paper.

Eddy is the complete opposite, if such is possible. Always impeccably dressed, he punctuate’s his attire with a bold scent of cologne. His face taut, his eyes dance with intensity. His hyper, volatile nature, leaves one with the impression that Eddy is about to explode. Watching him drive is a vision of pure concentration.

They go at each other continually, fighting like cats and dogs, yet love each other like brothers. Funniest thing is, they never take each other seriously. Always going at it and saying some very mean things, but never an apology needed or feeling hurt. How they pull it off mystifies Harry, drawing him closer, he loves them,…they’re family.

The caravan of cars inches their way toward the commuter parking lot and as much as Harry hates to admit it, Eddy was right. Satellite parking is their lot in life today.

Entering, Eddy gives the money to a very unkempt, unshaven, mud up to his knees, parking attendant. A little guy with greasy uncombed hair and the manners and polish of Attila the Hun. Taking their money he coldly directs them to the, infamous, satellite parking area with a disinterested wave of his little red flag. A visual display of his vast power.

Shit, what did I tell you guys about being on time and getting stuck in this muddy lot!

Relax Eddy, maybe the mud is still frozen. Consoles Bob.

Are you kidding me, it’s been warm the last couple of days. Look at this gunk where the cars drive, it’s awful!

Harry can’t help laughing at the sight. Eddy, slowly plodding through the ruts and bumps in the mud trying to move quickly yet not muddy or destroy his car or splash the poor people walking along the side of the path. Bob’s actually attentive, holding on to the dashboard with both hands, absorbing the big bumps and gullies. Only partly serious, he is putting on a little act..adding fuel to Eddy’s excitement. It is hysterical. They look like an army tank crew, with ties and jackets, negotiating an obstacle course.

Hordes of well dressed people carefully negotiate the mud as they migrate to the station. All the nonsmiling faces with a look of destiny, tip toe, jump, leapfrog, doing everything imaginable to avoid the mud. Some are clever enough to wear boots.

What a joke it appears to Harry. The huge obstacle course they all endure, to get to work. Their primary consideration is to emerge at work as if they never had to endure the journey.

Eddy, watch out for that big puddle, it looks like a deep one!

Yeah Bob, thanks, I’ll stay to the left and miss it.

Ahhh, you guys got this under control or what? Asks Harry.

Hey, don’t bother us now, don’t you see we’re busy concentrating? Retorts Bob with a playful wink and sly smile as he briefly diverts his attention.

I take that to mean we’re gonna make it.

Yup…piece of cake!…Ooooh Eddy, there’s a good spot over there to the left,…see, next to that green chevy van. Ooops,…watch out for that flooded ditch in our spot! Proclaims Bob, wincing at the mere thought of their potential plight.

Oh wow, thanks Bob, we’d probably drown if we fell into that beauty. Responds Eddy, feverishly steering to avoid the ditch.

I swear I’m not gonna look, but if you guys kill me back here, I’ll haunt ya’s to the day you die! Mumbles Harry, clutching his briefcase while bouncing helplessly in the maneuvering vehicle.

Don’t worry this hole is big enough to do us all in, so you wouldn’t have anyone to haunt! Replies Bob, confident now that the car has stopped and missed the ditch. It wouldn’t have been a pretty sight; trapped in this old relic car, amidst all the muddy slimy water!!

Eddy quickly turns off and yanks out the ignition key. He breathes a sigh of relief, as would an astronaut, having completed a successful mission. Whoa, I hate to be late, we only have 5 minutes to get through the station and on the train!

C’mon Eddy, don’t worry, we’re in good company, just look at all these other panic stricken people running around the parking lot. Snickers Bob.

You guys gonna bullshit all day, or we gonna catch the damn train! Snorts Harry.

As if magicaly timed, all three are out of the car, the doors slam shut in harmony. Their final, hasty note in the concert of the auto commute.

Harry is one of the world’s greatest people watchers. Checking them out, trying to figure who they are and what they’re like is one of his favorite preoccupations. He always has a ball at the train station. Men and women of all shapes and sizes, every type of wardrobe you can imagine, scurrying about, frantic to catch trains bound for the Big Apple. It’s all sort of a migration instinct, only on a daily basis. Harry scurries quickly with his friends, head down, he can’t help but chuckle at his thoughts. Migration instinct, he likes the sound of that, and it’s so befitting with the intensity and tempo of the routine. Shit, why not, the city is where all the good jobs and big money is, so it’s there they flock like moths to the flame. He reasons.

Hey Harry, you still with us or did we lose you? Asks Bob, jokingly.

Huh, oh don’t mind me, I was just thinking about a couple of things, nothing serious, but I just got a name for all of this.

That’s my boy…always thinking…always creating. Don’t leave us in suspense, let’s have it.

We’re victims of the migration instinct, flocking to the city like a bunch of moth’s to a flame.

Bob glances around at all the people scurrying to the station, indifferent, almost hypnotic expressions on their faces. Rolling his head back he lets out a rotund laugh. Aaaaah Harry, I love it, I love it, I love it..it’s perfect!

Eddy allows a slight snicker to spurt out of the corner of his mouth. Well I’ve got to give you your due on that one Harry, migration instinct fits this whole thing to a tee.

Ain’t the half of it buddy…it’s such a discriptive definition. How in the hell did you ever come up with such a gem? Asks Bob.

No big deal. Retorts Harry, shyly. I talk to myself a lot and in these little conversations…stuff pops out.

Did you hear that Eddy, the man says he talks to himself and stuff pops out?

Yeah I heard him Bob! Snorts Eddy in a quick irritated tone. But can we just knock off the joking and chatter until we’re on the train?

Okay, okay, gotcha covered Eddy, besides that’s a big irritable crowd struggling through the door…Saddle it up guys and watch your wallets. Comments’ Bob, his mood quickly changes to match the intensity of the crowd and the determination it will take to struggle through the chaos.

Harry can never adjust to the mood of indifference the crowd possesses. They crush their way through the main entrance, not even an expression on their faces. Maybe nobody is awake yet. Figures Harry. Or maybe the process is just so boring and uncomfortable that they simply turn their brains off.

They encounter the customary crowd as they enter the station. Most of the group, Harry calls the Herd. He feels that name appropriate for the masses of commuters who shuttle to the city. There’s a uniform concept in what they wear and how they wear it. They act cool and indifferent; however there’s an unconscious behavior in only feeling secure amidst their kind. Throw in someone with even a minor difference in acceptable appearance and they become edgy. Yeah, we got this shit all figured out. Thinks Harry. The enemy doesn’t stand a chance around this crowd, we can spot him a 100 yards away.

Flowing toward the turnstiles, Harry spots the other type he calls packers. A name given to the potential criminal element they mingle with. He conjures up the word from the term wolf pack. This breed of person reminds him of the Walt Disney documentary on the migration of Elk. Large herds of these animals migrate across the land, closely followed by packs of timber wolves. They live off the herd, never attacking the main body, but always preying on the stray, weak, or young, as they separate from the herd.

He marvels at the similarities between that wildlife scenario and the commuting crowd. The wolves casually roam about the herd, not attacking or provoking. The Elk, accustomed to their presence, are unafraid. This theme embodies Mother nature’s familiar stand-off. However, the moment one of the Elk stumbles or separates from the herd…he’s finished. The Elk’s safety is in the crowd; but alone…the helpless creature becomes a quick target for extinction.

Harry grimaces while shaking his head; their situation is identical to the Elk. Looking up, he returns to the reality of the train station. The pushing and movements of the crowd, combined with the steady drone of noise; produce an eerie vibration against his skin.

Amidst all these strange indifferent faces, the sight of Bob and Eddy is the only secure feeling Harry can enjoy. He can’t help laughing at the ritual that always occurs at the turnstiles. Eddy, as expected, always has his token ready…Bob, as also expected, does not. He is never ready for his turn. Bob will always stumble up to the gate and look at it in sudden shock…like it just appeared out of the clear blue. It’s amazing the junk he pulls from his pockets before that tarnished old token appears. Eddy never has any patience with Bob on this issue and there are times when one