Little Margie's Demon

Little Margie had been living with a demon for the past four years, although in some respect it been a little over 20 years. This morning when I least expected it, Little Margie phoned to tell me, “I want you to walk away.”

I knew then it was over; the demon had won its coveted prize; Little Margie.

20 years is a long time to spend pursuing a demon, but there are women in this world who seemingly pursue passions that may never come to fruitarian. Such is the case with Little Margie.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked Little Margie. But I knew better than to ask. A cold shudder had already passed over my entire body and the rest of me just shut down, followed by a flow of silent tears.

In restless dreams I walked alone

Narrow streets of cobblestone,

'Neath the halo of a street lamp,

I turned my collar to the cold and damp

When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light

That split the night

And touched the sound of silence

My co-worker Cat, who sits next to me, knew something was wrong; she didn’t have to ask, as she had seen me behave like this a few times before. It was etched in my face; written on my skin, the grey hairs were popping out all over on the top of my head and beneath my chin within my beard.

Right away,
My hurt turns to anger for
I know what this means
There is nothing to look forward to
There is no future
When you’ve gone

Minute by minute I think and then ask myself aloud, “Why are you asking me to leave when it’s you that is really leaving?” There is no answer. Only the ripple of sounds in the air now gone soft.

I remember when I first met Little Margie a few weeks before summer. She told me to come over to meet her and she would look into my eyes and tell me if there was a match. After a brief walk around the neighborhood and then back up to her place, we talked and sang songs to each other. Mid-way through the conversation, I asked her if there was a match. There was, Little Margie said that night. Or so I thought.

Our times together were short and even though she revealed to me one night the demon that she had been pursuing her and vice versa, we moved ever forward for a time pursuing each other as we rolled along.

I’ve tried to keep my head above water this day, but after that morning phone call, the rest of my day was shot.

The demon, an older married man had pursued her on and off so it seems or maybe it was the other way around or maybe it seems like something completely different and I dreamed all of this up or maybe it’s just some terrible bad nightmare and all I’ve been doing is sleeping my life away…

I made it halfway through the day, when my good pal Twitchy came up to my desk, handed me a tiny screwdriver and said, “Here, you’ll need it for the Furby.” So I grabbed it, worked for another few hours and off I went to lunch mid-afternoon.

Inside my car, I screamed and cussed and ate my lunch and worked on the Furby, but not in that order. Everything was mixed in between, like slow intervals of time that gets messed up when you fuck with something that was so valuable at one time over several moments becomes worthless.

Kind of like Little Margie.

Her voice sounded so distant this morning; almost foreign and cold. Not the Little Margie I knew. Then again last week when I spoke to her before the weekend and mid-week, she seemed to be at a distance and told me to be patient with her.

I always was.

I knew something was wrong. Not sure what, but I knew something was going bad, like spoiled food when there’s a power outage and you have to order pizza instead.

There are days in your life when you know what to expect and what not to expect. This was one of those days. We all have demons that pursue us, sometimes we can beat them and other times we join them, even if we know in our hearts and minds that they are not what is best for us.

Demons taste good. Demons smell good. Demons feel good. So good sometimes that the feelings are overwhelming and we can’t hold back because the power is so strong. Sometimes older demons are hard to shake especially when you pursue a stringent lifestyle, while still following your goals and wanting to open your heart to others.

That’s Little Margie for certain.

I hold nothing back; no anger any longer. Just sadness. Sadness that will find its way through the slippery slopes of time and disappear into the abyss like so many others.

I disdain demons. I disdain demons like I disdain Adolph Hitler, Louis Farrakhan and every other evil person in the world. And there is now a new demon that overtook Little Margie that I truly disdain, but for now, they belong to the ages.

A little later, during my drive home, an old song of mine pops into my head, one of my earliest from the mid-1990s, I believe. Somehow it seems appropriate, given the situation that has fallen into my lap.

Coincidentally, the song title is called Green Eyes. The story behind it is simple; it weaves a little tale about someone, presumably a woman who is being pursued by a demon, who in the end is captured and held hostage by her own fears.

Walked in a valley of monsters
Where captive spirits run free
Where sentiment is the enemy
And fear conquers thee

Into prisoners we become
When we take away a life
A life no chance we dare to wear

Like a banner upon our chests
Torn to shreds, pretend it’s nothing more
And we get on with out lives

I walked in a valley with monsters
Where captive spirits ran free
Where sentiment is still the enemy
And fear conquered thee
And fear conquered thee
And fear conquered thee


As much anger and hurt and frustration I feel right now, as I bleed myself dry, I know that I’ll miss you greatly and something terrible Little Margie.

For beyond tonight, there is no hope left.