Pop was stationed in Greece during the Vietnam War. Gramps was a fairly big mucky muck in the Air Force, and pulled some strings so that my pop had a non lethal tour of duty in the Mediteranean. I have a feeling if conscription was immenent for me that he would not perform the same act of nepotism. Don't really know if he's got that kind of juice anymore anyway. So I spent the first three years of my life in Greece on the island of Crete.

Soon after I turned three pops had served his time in the military, and we headed back to mom's hometown of Oshgosh Wisconsin. We had a run down house in the ghetto part of town. We lived there for a year before pops got a job for Switzer's Candy in St.Louis.

Across the street in Oshgosh lived a family of five. I had a puppy dog crush fascination with the oldest daughter. Samantha. She was six or seven, and she claimed me as her pet. She would dress me in silly outfits. We would play house. She would leave invitations for tea parties at our doorstep.

She was gorgeous. She had luxurious flowing ebon hair. She had deep olive skin. I remember staring at her beauty mark above her lips as she would sing her made up melodies. She was naughty, and loved getting me in trouble. We used to play pranks on all the mean old ladies in the hood. She made me giggle so much, and I loved giggling in front of her cause it made her beam with her perfect teeth.

I remember the day we moved. My face full of choking tears, pushed up against the window. Her waving to me with an expression of pain that I had never seen on her. I hated seeing her face like that. Was the last time I saw her.

Pops had made this life sized pea green paper mache gorilla. They stored it at the top of the steps of the attic. Its menacing brow always the first thing to greet me as I would intrepidly ascend the stairs. It scared the living fuck out of me. I despised any task or reason that would force me up those blasted stairs. They stored the fucker in the basement in the house in St.Louis. So besides closets, attics and basements became places of horror for me as a kid.

The nightmare.

Samantha sits on wooden chair expressionless, hands resting in her lap. Wearing a flowery light blue summer dress. A cone of light surrounds her. Pitch black around her. I can tell we are in the attic or basement cause I recognize the musty smells. I call out to her. She doesn't respond. And I'm frozen, unable to move, to reach out to her, to embrace her.

Slowly a figure nears her from the darkness. All that I can see is the outline, but I know what it is. The fucking gorrila lurks up on her. I am shreiking for her to get out of there, but she reamains seated, unmoving. When he gets right on top of her, towering over her, he begins to wrap her up in his wide green arms. He's smothering her. She doesn't even let out a peep. I am ruining my vocal cords screaming for her, I struggle against the force that holds me back. Eventually all that can be seen is the giant ape, engulfing his prey in the cone of light.

This is always the point when I launch from bed sweating, often crying, often shrilling. Of course now at thirty I just sit up, breathing hard, grab my head, and wonder why the fuck my mind decided to bring that lovely play to the forefront.

I'm considering seeking help.