Life was spiraling downward, falling further and more quickly than it ever had before. He thought there was no place to go but up…he was wrong. He was out of control. Watching the world spin on its axis, he was just trying to find something to grasp onto…something to keep him from sinking into oblivion. But, there was nothing.

He saw the world as a place of blurry confusion…unfocused, unfeeling, so cold…all he wanted to do was wrap himself in the warmth of something…someone. His heart wasn't even warm…if it existed at all. That was still debatable. It had to have been the way the Peter Manning's and Victor Lord's of the world felt, just before they fell over the edge.

Was that what they felt? So goddamned mad at the world they just wanted to destroy it. 'Cause I want to destroy something. 'Cause I want everybody to hurt as much as I do. They fucking said I was "crazy" and "loony" and "out of control"…they need to walk a mile in my goddamned shoes. Walk a mile in my shoes and see how "sane" you turn out to be...motherfuckers.

Todd had just returned from his doctor's office. He only needed a refill on his medication, but they made him come in for a "routine checkup." As if something could actually be routine about going to be poked and prodded like some lab animal. They were all a bunch of "experimenting quacks."

His quack informed him that his "ulcer condition" was worsening. "Ulcer condition," as if it was a something delicate…like a pregnancy. Whatever. His small intestine full of holes…any more damage and it would have to be completely removed. Who said Todd Manning couldn't be holy?

Holy. Reverend Andy. My wife. Reverend Andy fucking my wife.

The doctor mentioned surgery. It was completely out of the question for Todd…he'd rather die first. All he could think of was being "put under"…forced to sleep. The nightmares would be in control…running rampant. Peter Manning would be able to do exactly what he wanted while Todd lay helpless. What if they weren't able to bring him back from "lala land?" What would happen then? Would he be stuck in "limbo" forever with Peter "doing his thing?"

If there were a guarantee that only dreams of Tea would invade his mind, he'd elect to have the surgery in a minute. If he couldn't have the real woman, that was the next best thing. If he could only dream of her, he would wish to lie in a coma for the rest of his life. There were no guarantees in life, so all he could do was live with the pain and hope that in time it would lessen.

He was hungry. That was another thing the doctor mentioned, changing his diet. You have to be eating something in order to change your diet, doc. He had lost weight, quite a bit. Twenty pounds to be exact. When he bothered to eat, hardly anything agreed with his stomach. He threw it back up just as quickly as he ingested it.

The refrigerator was practically empty. What was there was spoiled, unidentifiable, or just plain did not appeal to him. He sniffed the milk, turning his nose up at the sour smell. Poured it down the sink. The week old pizza had begun to grow mold; it went into the garbage. Chinese food had fur sprouting out of the top, went down the garbage disposal. Fruit was brown and mushy, like a basketball, he shot it into the garbage. Item after item was tossed away. When he was finished, there was nothing left but the sticky substances that stuck to the shelves.

Good thing he stopped and bought a ham sandwich and a beer on his way home. It was too early in the afternoon to start drinking…but everyone had to start somewhere…sometime. One wouldn't do him much harm anyway. One day, he would have to give it up…but for now…he was going to enjoy it.

His black trench coat fell into a pile on the floor as he shrugged it off his shoulders. He plopped himself down on the couch, in front of the television…sandwich in one hand…beer in the other.

Between bites and sips…he channel surfed. There wasn't much on…mostly daytime talk shows and cartoons.

"Montel…yuck." Click. "Judge Judy…ugh…hate judges." Click. "Oprah…oh no!! She can take her sancti-"

"On today's show…women who have put their lives back together after having their hearts broken." Oprah's voice resonated throughout the apartment.

"Why the fuck did I have to stop on you?"

There was no way that his fingers will allow him to change the channel…or any way his eyes could pull themselves away. In between sarcastic remarks, he listened to the stories of women who were abandoned by men they loved. Women told of gradually falling out of love, and making the heart wrenching decision to leave in search of true love. Any other time, he would have made fun of those "pathetic losers," but not this time.

*****

He lay curled up on the couch, underneath a thick blanket…sleeping. The beer had made him drowsy. As soon as he closed his eyes, he began to dream. Not of Peter, or Tea, or even Starr…but of Oprah. He didn't even like the woman and there she was, the star of his dreams.

All eyes were on him. He sat in a chair in the middle of the stage, bolted down, like an electric chair. The audience booed him incessantly. On the outside, he didn't care. He just slouched down in his chair…legs open…periodically pushing his hair behind his ears. The audience was judge and jury. They were going to determine whether or not he was salvageable. Whether or not he was redeemable for the sake of his wife or himself.

"Todd, what made you leave? You had it all…up until…when? The time of the murder?"

"Yeah…yeah…yeah…uh…it…was…you know…things were better."

"You had, in fact, proposed to her for a second time…for real. You both went home…and then what?"

"Well…you…you…you…know. We…uh…talked and she went upstairs. Um…I…uh…stayed downstairs and poured a couple of glasses of wine."

Oprah's eyes penetrated his soul…straight to the ugly truth. "You put something in her drink…didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?!"

Shit! He tried to avoid her gaze, but his head would not move…nor could his eyes. "Well…you…it wasn't like that."

"Audience, he said, "it's not like that." Her tone is mocking…the audience booed even louder.

Feeling faint, he unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt. He needed air. "I did put something in the drink…but it was for me. She took the wrong one. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it."

"Then why didn't you take it back?"

"I tried, but it was too late."

"That's the story of your life Mr. Manning. You're always a day late and a dollar short…isn't that right? Let's talk about your panache for faking things…shall we? You are obviously very good at lying. Let me see here," she skims the top page of his rap sheet. It reads like a work of fiction…so many crimes yet he was still walking the streets. "You faked a personality disorder and avoided going to jail. You held fourteen people hostage-"

"But-"

"Mr. Manning…DO NOT INTERRUPT ME. You will have your chance to respond when I am finished. Now, where was I?"

A member of the audience speaks up. "The hostages."

"Yes, thank you. You assaulted a reporter, a police officer…we could go on for days. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Well, see…you gotta look at the whole thing. See those things weren't my fault"

"Is that your mantra…"not my fault?" Okay, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. So tell us…why do you think your wife should forgive you? Why should she come back to you after everything that you've done? You punched her, for goodness sake. But you want another chance? You couldn't even make love to her…why should she return to a man who can't even satisfy the simplest of her needs?"

"Because I love her. I need her in my life. Because she makes me want to be a better person. I screwed up…I admit that…but I only did what I had to do so that we could start all over and make a life for ourselves. Look…about me…about me…hitting her…I was out of control. Everything was just spinning out of control, and I lost it. Believe me, I want to make love to her, but there are things she doesn't know. There are reasons that I can't. I don't want to hurt her-"

"But all you've done is hurt her-"

"We had some good times. We did…it just got so messed up at the end. If she comes back to me, I promise to try. I promise to do whatever I gotta do to make her happy."

"Do we believe that audience?"

The audience responds with a resounding "No!"

"We're meant to be together. I love her like I have never loved another woman in my life. Oprah, just give me a month…a week…24 hours…anything to prove to her that I love her."

"Mr. Manning, I'm sure she has heard it all before. Nonetheless, this is not my decision…it is up to the audience." She turns her back on Todd and walks to a woman in the back row. "Have you reached a decision?"

"We have Oprah."

"And what is it?"

"We the jury find Todd Manning, unredeemable and unworthy of the love of Tea Delgado."

"Thank you." She turns back to Todd who has tears streaming down his face. "There you have it. I sentence you to a life of hell…in other words…I sentence you to a life without your wife and daughter. You are to spend your remaining years…alone…and…unloved."

"No!!!!!"

"No. No. No," he woke himself with the sound of his own voice. "God, it was just a dream. Fucking Oprah…shit!" He kicked the blanket onto the floor and ran to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror…sweaty hair matted to his face…eyes puffy and red…he had been crying in his sleep. "Get yourself together you dumb fuck."

*****

That familiar feeling of claustrophobia began to take hold again. It was similar to a constriction around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. He needed to get out of there before he went completely nuts. He had heard about some new preppy bar in downtown Manhattan. It was where the Wall Street types hung out.

He decided to wear a pair of black slacks, matching jacket and vest, and a white t-shirt underneath. Just his style. He shaved the stubble that had grown in around his goatee and combed his hair. He usually didn't take such care with his appearance, but he could feel something different in the air.

*****

The doorman downstairs asked Todd if he wanted a cab. At first he said "okay," but as soon as the cold air hit his face, he decided to walk. Didn't want to be confined again…in the back of the cab. He could breath outside…it the bitter cold air. He pulled his coat tighter around him, lifted the collar, and began the long walk to the bar.

A few blocks of cold air was all he could take before hailing a cab.

"Where to?"

He gave the driver instructions, and settled into the heated warmth of the car. The dream kept replaying in his mind. The more he tried not to think of it…the more he thought of it.

I sentence you to a life of hell…in other words…I sentence you to a life without your wife and daughter. You are to spend your remaining years…alone…and…unloved.

Fuck you Oprah "Fucking" Winfrey. Who the hell do you think you are anyway? You don't know a goddamned thing about me. My daughter will always love me. Tea too. She can deny it all she wants, but she'll love me forever.

He figured that eventually he would start to believe that Tea and Starr would love him eternally…no matter what he did. They had taken vows, after all. She couldn't just stop loving him…just like that. She couldn't.

*****

Upscale Bar

It was way too crowded for his taste. It was bursting at the seams…an obstacle course just to get to the bar. The music, combined with the chatter, was deafening…and sickening. It should have been against the law for people to be having so much fun. Everyone should be miserable, just like him.

He ordered a beer, and looked around for an empty table. There was a couple in the corner getting ready to leave, so he stood near it, ready to pounce as soon as the grabbed their coats and left.

There was a circle of people surrounding someone on the dance floor. People were clapping and hollering...cheering whomever was in the middle. He sat down at the table as soon as the couple left, stretching his neck to get a better view of the dance floor.

The song ended, but the crowd did not disburse. He was curious as to what could hold a New Yorker's attention for more than a couple of minutes. Must have been something really special.

He ordered another beer, drinking it before the song ended. He had a strange "Tea" feeling in the pit of his stomach. He felt her presence and it was unnerving. Taking a deep breath, he attributed it to the dream he had earlier. Fucking Oprah, he thought.

Like the Red Sea, the crowd on the dance floor parted. That's when he saw her…holding another man's hand. The scene was oddly reminiscent of another time…New Year's…1997. He watched the burgundy dress hug her curves like a second skin. Her hair was different…shorter…but physically…she hadn't changed that much. Soft and beautiful as ever, he thought.

"Tea," he whispered.

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