Rebel’s Escape and Exercise

March 23, 2020, Monday, I am reading about girls that aren’t shaving, watching boys grow beards, and the stories are funny, inspiring, but I am still inside with my locked baby in quarantine as my daughter is learning that this is the world she entered a year ago? Then I am washing dishes, watching her, folding laundry as I am looking at my little girl as she climbs up towards the window to push the window shade away to see what is outside, and the social commentary on the social media threads really inspires me to find a solution. My daughter is looking outside. She sees. She knows there is a world out there. Telepathically she asking, “What is out there? Why can’t I see it?” We are all problem solvers. Well, I always believed that the government leaders I interview and work with are either problem makers or problem solvers. I want to be a problem solver. I want my clients to this so. I help them get votes. I promote them. I help them get elected. I got to show my daughter the world. I got to take her out for a few minutes. There is no one in front of our house. No one in the backyard. So I carry her as we walk towards the flowers with purple petals. The bees are flying into the purple centered flowers as if flying down into an airport runway. Birds are chirping. My daughter’s eyes get annoyed by the sun light when it strikes them. I tell her, “The sun will hurt your eyes. It is like knowledge. Too much will hurt you. You have to know when to cover them.” I hand her a bottle of milk. My baby is more interested in the milk than what I have to philosophize. She doesn’t understand what I am saying as I pull down the baby strollers sun shade to cover her eyes. The birds are chirping, singing loud, and dogs are barking far away. My daughter’s face and eyes dart back, forth, towards every sound. She looks as if to wonder, “Am I imagining this sound, feeling, or is there something going on outside this stroller that I can’t see?” The stores at the strip mall across from the university Students Union have entered the stages of pre-apocalypse. Vacant without life, which is good for us, because we are alone and close to no humans for a threat from the virus. We return home, but we are still restless with movement, so I look at the treadmill, and then walk into the library at the end of the house, and realize, “We have a gym.” On the local news, it said that all gyms were closed for certain. Well, we have stuff. I remember the books about Conan the Barbarian that I read as a high school student. As a kid, I read the chapter in the Conan the Barbarian book named The Wheel. Conan was chained to a giant wheel that went into a circle. He walked the circle his entire childhood. Walking the circular circumstance of the wheel made him strong. Painful but true. So I picked up my daughter, put on music with the speakers, and started jogging with her in a circle. She started giggling as if daddy thought of a new game to play. We listened to Rhianna, Peter Murphy, “Cut You Up” old music from my underground college days, and my daughter and I danced around the room while I picked her up for dumbbell squats. This wasn’t my idea, but I have watching people work out on TV and social media. The girls like Autumn on Twitter and Facebook take these dumbbells that look like metal water jugs. The one gallon milk containers but with steel metal instead of liquid milk. My daughter is small. About the size of the dumbbells these yoga instructors and weight trainers are using to lift, squat, and so I start following the girls like Autumn and I lift Rebel. I get on the carpeted floor and to music by The Cure I lift her side to side for stomach and rib muscle exercises. Rebel is havoc blast as if riding a roller coaster. Exhausted, I get her a large bottle of milk. As she drinks her bottle, I take the hand wraps for boxing off the punching bag. I realize that I have pink hand wraps for a girl like Rebel. I used to teach her mom how to punch the bag. I used the black colored hand wraps, Rebel’s mom used the pink colored hand wraps. Then I start weaving in and out if the bag while jabbing it to the beat of The Cure song “Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me”. Rebel is laughing. She is loud with a belly laugh as if I am a crazy comedian dancing with a heavy bag to the beat of an imaginary live alternative band in an underground basement nightclub locked away under a building South of Market Street in the after hour darkness of San Francisco. Rebel’s excitement is contagious. I pick her up and start jogging again. I figure this quarantine is not going to be easy, but Spring is coming. Spring may even be here. Maybe we can exercise together? For the next few weeks to hide from the virus, we will imagine the swimming pools at the casinos in Las Vegas, Nevada, being open with swimmers, sun tan lotions, and water slides, and so Rebel and I will work out so that we are prepared for Spring, Summer, short shirts, and walking outside. Instead of using dumbbell weights, I will life Rebel over my shoulder for push ups, side to side for sit up, and jog in circles as if pushing an imaginary wheel. We will find a way. We will find a solution. We will write. We will read about our life in isolation one day. And we will watch Sesame Street with baby bottles full of apple juice or glass bowls full of peaches and cherries with white plain yogurt. Rebel was actually having fun. Maybe I am teaching her something as well. Girls do box. Now. Not when I was young. Not my generation. But girls wrestle, karate kick, box with punching gloves, especially in the Entertainment Capital of the World. Las Vegas is home to the UFC Headquarters. With the name, Rebel Lover, my little girl could end up being an engineer, medical scientist, or boxer, singer, musician, so this might teach her to enjoy boxing. The exercise is sweet. Rebel will also learn to defend herself. No girl of mine will be taken advantage of. I read these girl’s stories about being abused by men. The social media sites are filled with scary stories about domestic abuse. Rebel should learn boxing. I don’t want her to take shit from any man or woman. The example can’t hurt. And she is laughing hard as if I have clown makeup covering my face to prepare for a show in the circus with ponies, acrobats, and lions. Maybe we should make cotton candy and popcorn? We are lucky. We have each other. We have enough equipment to consider ourselves a health club. Afterward, when we finished. When the adrenaline, laughter, and thrill of trying something new subsided, we sat down on the couch to watch Sesame Street. Something was new. We moved. We did something. We tried to break the habits that were boring us. Rebel fell asleep. She napped. I went to the computer to write my friend. Then I took notes, prepared my taxes, whipped up some buttery mashed potatoes to prepare for when Rebel wakes up. I got an email returned from a friend. That was exciting. Many people are reaching out to each other online due to the isolation caused by the infectious disease. I have not been watching the news for fear that Rebel would get restless without her children friendly hand puppets. I had no idea the catastrophe was so bad in Italy. I was unaware of the cases in Nevada or the United States of America. Rebel and I have distanced ourselves from the reality, which is what the government leaders are asking of us when they say, “Stay away. We will take care of this.” We had no idea members of Congress were infected. Reminds me of a short story by Edgar Allen Poe that I had to study in San Francisco State University with Dr. Herb Feinstein. The morbid doom of the character Death car to town. The government leaders and church ignored Death. This is exactly what Death wanted. The biggest lie the Devil pulled off is convincing people that he didn’t exist. Mark Twain wrote about this Devil in his last masterpiece, The Mysterious Stranger. Mark Twain was plagued by the death of his wife at the end of his life. Before meeting Mark Twain, his wife went to church everyday. One week after marrying Mark Twain, she never returned to church again. At the end of her life, she was worried about being doomed. She worried about what she had done. Mark Twain had convinced her that God didn’t exist. He was an agnostic. Their daughter had died. Maybe two of them. I read the book at the university in 1992. Mark saw the doubt in his wife’s eyes as she passed away. He went on to blame himself as he wrote the novel he never finished known as “The Mysterious Stranger”. Stranger comes to town. The Stranger is the Devil. Like the novels by Dostoevsky, Anne Rice’s Memnoch the Devil, and Robert DeNiro’s performance from the book, Fallen Angel, known by the film named Angel Heart with Mickey Rourke, the Devil returns to pay audiences a visit with his philosophies. Many movie fans don’t know that Robert DeNiro played Hollywood’s greatest devils as Louis Cypher also known as Lucifer in the movie Angel Heart that was based on a book taught in the college class at San Francisco State University Nexa 369. The class was known as The Devil’s Pact. Only in San Francisco can students take a full credited class on pacts throughout history with Satan. We learned about Mozart, Alice Cooper, and Milton. I wrote my final term paper on Motley Crue’s Rise and Future in 1990 to 1991. Motley Crue’s video Live Wire was the first video I had every seen on a big, large machine in the arcade at Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. My friends and I paid $1.00 in 1985 to see four young rock stars run around a white room playing Live Wire. Tommy Lee hit a cow bell with a drum stick. We thought they were so cool. Their energy was unlike any other rock band. Madonna played on the second video, Borderline. Remember the MTV Revolution when at 12:00 am, Midnight, Madonna sang “Like a Virgin” for a global audience. Parents reacted with rage following that night. Teenage girls in my high school drove two hours to park in dangerous neighborhoods at clothing stores in San Francisco to dress in Madonna colored clothes. The only stores with the fashion Madonna wore were south of Market in what is notoriously known as the underground scenes SOMA. The BDSM Club, Eagle, DNA Lounge, and Holy Cow were across from Paradise Lounge where pedestrians danced on a plexiglass stage over the water of a swimming pool. Hot days, the owner opened the pool and we danced as we fell in the water with wallets, 501 Levi Jeans, Edwins, and ink colored black leather boots. We were young enough to not even know how to hold hands with a girl without the art of finger touching being awkward. French kissing was new to me. I was consumed with surfing and learning how to balance my body on a surf board with a roaring wave underneath me. Affection? Affection was new to me. It still is. Every girl is different. Each kiss feels like the beginning of a new experience. I have only kissed two girls since September 11, 2001 when the World Trade towers were attacked. The girls in my teenage high school wanted to escape. They weren’t Rebels. They only wanted to be Outlaws by dancing to Madonna music. Teachers had problems with the clothes they wore. Teachers called it a distraction to learning their lectures. Madonna and Motley Crue replaced modern education. We escaped to the beach to surf. We escaped to the City of San Francisco to learn street smarts. Every child wants to escape. My one year old daughter looks out the window with longing at the yard grass, sun’s rays, and cement driveway with wonder, “What is going on outside these windows? How can I see? When do I get to experience life outside this room?” My baby daughter ran down the carpeted hallway. She stepped into the bathroom, paused in panic, afraid, and stared down in horror at her ten little toes attached to her feet. I was alarmed at her alarm. Her face was filled with misgivings. I studied her. She stepped back carefully. Afraid, cautious in her movements. The floor in the kitchen is warm. The floor is made of hard tan wood. The floor in the hallway and bathroom has warm carpet comfortable on the feet. My baby is observant. In her intensity to feel all things in the world around her, she noticed that her feet froze on the tile. Our bathroom floor has a new expensive tile imported to keep the water contained to the bathroom when leaving the shower. Usually I carry the baby to take a bath. Her feet never touch the floor when I carry her. The sensation of walking is refreshing, but shocking today, because the world underneath her feet is cold. Up to this time, I have sheltered her from the cold. Now she is walking and feeling the chilling tile for the first time underneath her feet. Her toes tingle. This is not a pedicure? She almost assumes that the new energy is pain because she can’t understand it. Rebel steps back. Feet planned firmly on the carpet, my daughter continues to stare at the tiles shape, color, as if observation will provide the answer over experience. She doesn’t touch the tile or walk in the doorway again as if it is a bed of coals aflame that she hasn’t learned to walk over yet with burning the bottoms of her feet with the meditation of mind over matter. What will Rebel learn when she finally does escape? She won’t need me. She will explore on her own. This early morning, Sunday, March 22, 2020, my daughter and I escaped the reality of the world. All around us was chaos, but we heard boxing gloves beating, flying birds chirping, and didn’t turn on the news for lack of mediocrity from the reporters’ repetition. The time is now 3:00 am. We will repeat the process. Taking one step at a time, until she forgets about cold tiles, birds singing, Coronaviruses, panic shopping, and maybe me. That is my job. To prepare her for a life without me, without protection, to be self sufficient and survive an emergency situation like the one we are experiencing now. My one year old daughter is in a war zone with an invisible enemy. North of us was an earthquake near Carson City, Nevada. Salt Lake City, Utah is four hours away. The experienced an earthquake last week. Las Vegas is built on an earthquake fault line. Visit the uneven Earth at Cashman Field where the City of Las Vegas is building a complex for sporting events. The uneven mound separating the giant parking lot on Las Vegas Boulevard is a fault line up that has had earthquakes for millions of years. Nevada gold miners will tell you. Nevada is one of the original land plates. My Rebel has to be ready for all kinds of uncertainty. Las Vegas has no productivity. There is no manufacturing, technology boom, system of higher education. Las Vegas is built in the middle of nowhere. The city is an island surrounded by sand. We have solar above our heads and minerals underneath the Earth, but alas Vegas is built on gaming, entertainment, and fun. This isn’t practical when we are isolated by a Coronavirus that respects no boundaries, borders, or man made laws. The planning department never planned for a pandemic because they didn’t study their history. Gaming has no respect for science, because the science of mathematics proves that gamblers will lose. Losers is what Las Vegas is built on. The lights you experience on the boulevard were given to us by the money collected in casinos by the people who lost to gambling. We have every addiction until the closure of non-essential business. Prostitution, marijuana, country western concerts with live events for rock stars at international conventions. All we know now was that the Entertainment Capital was Non-Essential. Sex, drugs, Rock and Roll, now you can’t pay your mortgage, car bill, or rent with the nightclub doors shut. Las Vegas is closed and my daughter and I are left holding the door to a town flooded with people filing for unemployment today as soon as the Welfare office opens at 8:00 am. What a lot of people don’t know is that the Welfare office is next to the city’s planning department on Rancho and Bonanza. The Welfare officials are not at work, not in the office, the government was unprepared in the comfort of a sound economy. Unemployed can not file in the Welfare office. Not unlike the Planning Department run by the City Leaders, the office is closed. No money. No filing. In the news Washington leaders have failed to come up with a package in the House of Congress and Senate. Our leaders failed us because our leaders work for corporations. Worldwide, China, Europe, North America, the leaders never planned for the history we were warned about by high school teachers and university professors. So we have to home school our children. Teach my daughter what she experienced in Las Vegas as a one year old child. Write. Take the time. Write your story. Not his story as in the two words combined together as in History. Write your children. Write your story. You are at home. Write. Thomas Chee
p.s. The rain is pouring outside. It is 3:40 am. What is going on with the weather in the desert?
p.s.s. This is not edited. This has not been proofread or corrected. Please understand that this document has grammatical mistakes, spelling errors, and has not been edited.

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