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Sunday, November 11, 2007
Page 1
Last summer I was fortunate enough to meet a mirror named E. I met her at a dance club near the water on a Saturday night. My friend thought that this was an excellent place for singles to meet, and he was correct.
The majority of the women were white, although there were black, brown, and yellow women as well. They did not wear much clothing. I knew I would like the place.
The majority of men were white too, but there were some black, brown, and yellow men also. Many of the guys seemed sleazy. Some actually wore gold chains, and had their shirts unbuttoned revealing their majestic chest hair.
In all fairness, there were women there that were Bimbos. The obvious match went unanswered. The sleazy men should have been paired with the Bimbos. It would have made the most sense. But, all the sleazy guys I saw were trying to get the nice women. My guess is that they really wanted to fail. I think they feed on rejection. Either that or they're just plain stupid. And for the Bimbos, well, they never go home alone.
Once we got inside, my friend and I moved among the mass of flesh, and discovered there were three areas: the dance floor, the eating area, and the live band room. My friend stayed in the room that had the live band playing oldies and pop songs. It was bright, and the people were boring. I left him and went to the dance floor. It was darker, and the people seemed more interesting.
I took a seat on one of the speakers and watched the crowd. I could actually feel the volume of the bass, and it seemed to me the flares of my trousers were flapping with every beat.
A slim attractive brown woman, in a skin-tight black dress, motioned for me to join her on the floor, so I did. She smiled and swayed. She couldn't move well because her dress was so tight. She was there with friends, and she nodded toward a small group of white women standing on the outer edge of the dance floor.
She pointed to the prettiest of them, and told me to go ask her to dance. I walked over to the prettiest one, took her by the hand, and pulled her onto the floor. At first she seemed stunned with my approach, but I said her friend told me to bring her to dance. She smiled and began dancing.
She moved her shoulders and her feet a little, and bobbed her head. After a few songs I thanked her and went and sat on the speaker. I continued to watch her dance and noted the herky-jerky way she moved. She had an angelic face and the most intense eyes.
The majority of the women were white, although there were black, brown, and yellow women as well. They did not wear much clothing. I knew I would like the place.
The majority of men were white too, but there were some black, brown, and yellow men also. Many of the guys seemed sleazy. Some actually wore gold chains, and had their shirts unbuttoned revealing their majestic chest hair.
In all fairness, there were women there that were Bimbos. The obvious match went unanswered. The sleazy men should have been paired with the Bimbos. It would have made the most sense. But, all the sleazy guys I saw were trying to get the nice women. My guess is that they really wanted to fail. I think they feed on rejection. Either that or they're just plain stupid. And for the Bimbos, well, they never go home alone.
Once we got inside, my friend and I moved among the mass of flesh, and discovered there were three areas: the dance floor, the eating area, and the live band room. My friend stayed in the room that had the live band playing oldies and pop songs. It was bright, and the people were boring. I left him and went to the dance floor. It was darker, and the people seemed more interesting.
I took a seat on one of the speakers and watched the crowd. I could actually feel the volume of the bass, and it seemed to me the flares of my trousers were flapping with every beat.
A slim attractive brown woman, in a skin-tight black dress, motioned for me to join her on the floor, so I did. She smiled and swayed. She couldn't move well because her dress was so tight. She was there with friends, and she nodded toward a small group of white women standing on the outer edge of the dance floor.
She pointed to the prettiest of them, and told me to go ask her to dance. I walked over to the prettiest one, took her by the hand, and pulled her onto the floor. At first she seemed stunned with my approach, but I said her friend told me to bring her to dance. She smiled and began dancing.
She moved her shoulders and her feet a little, and bobbed her head. After a few songs I thanked her and went and sat on the speaker. I continued to watch her dance and noted the herky-jerky way she moved. She had an angelic face and the most intense eyes.
Page 2
I started watching the other people, and lost track of the prettiest one, until the dream state I was in was broken by her grabbing my hand and dragging me onto the dance floor. She held me very, very, close and it felt fantastic. After a few songs she pulled away and faded into the crowd. I sat again on the speaker. I was pleasure dizzy and could hardly think.
My head cleared enough for me to decide I should give her my telephone number. It was a weird sensation. It was like the idea literally popped into my brain. I distinctly remember physically feeling the thought arrive.
I got a pen from the bar and wrote my number on a napkin. I looked for her. I didn't see her, but I did see the brown woman who first motioned me to dance.
I asked her if she would give my number to her friend. She seemed perturbed at my request and reluctantly agreed, folding the napkin and putting it in her purse. I thanked her and found my friend in the live band room.
He was having a good time dancing with a white woman who had yellow hair. My friend is black. I smiled and he waved.
I became bored with the band and headed over to the dance floor, and saw the prettiest one in the eating section of the club sipping a drink.
"I thought you left," I said to her. She looked up slightly and continued sipping her drink.
"Oh, hi," she answered. I introduced myself and she told me her name.
"Let’s go outside and talk." she said.
She walked away, and I followed her through the eating section, through the dance area, out the entrance, and into the late night air. She took a clove cigarette from the little black purse she was wearing and offered me one. I have never liked clove cigarettes. They smell awful. They smell too sweet.
She asked me where I lived, and I told her I lived in the city. I asked her where she lived, and she was vague saying she lived south of the city. I said that was a big area to live in and she shrugged her pretty shoulders.
Then she asked me what I did for a living. I told her, and asked the same.
"I'm a jewel thief. I steal jewelry."
She smiled, and I knew she was playing with me. I smiled and took another drag from the awful clove cigarette I was smoking. Her friend that I gave my phone number to was leaving the club with a guy, and she stopped long enough to retrieve the napkin and give it to E. I explained that I gave that to her friend to give to her, and she put it in her purse.
She studied me, holding my chin in her hand, and moved my head for a left, and then a right profile.
"You have a strong face."
"Thanks."
My head cleared enough for me to decide I should give her my telephone number. It was a weird sensation. It was like the idea literally popped into my brain. I distinctly remember physically feeling the thought arrive.
I got a pen from the bar and wrote my number on a napkin. I looked for her. I didn't see her, but I did see the brown woman who first motioned me to dance.
I asked her if she would give my number to her friend. She seemed perturbed at my request and reluctantly agreed, folding the napkin and putting it in her purse. I thanked her and found my friend in the live band room.
He was having a good time dancing with a white woman who had yellow hair. My friend is black. I smiled and he waved.
I became bored with the band and headed over to the dance floor, and saw the prettiest one in the eating section of the club sipping a drink.
"I thought you left," I said to her. She looked up slightly and continued sipping her drink.
"Oh, hi," she answered. I introduced myself and she told me her name.
"Let’s go outside and talk." she said.
She walked away, and I followed her through the eating section, through the dance area, out the entrance, and into the late night air. She took a clove cigarette from the little black purse she was wearing and offered me one. I have never liked clove cigarettes. They smell awful. They smell too sweet.
She asked me where I lived, and I told her I lived in the city. I asked her where she lived, and she was vague saying she lived south of the city. I said that was a big area to live in and she shrugged her pretty shoulders.
Then she asked me what I did for a living. I told her, and asked the same.
"I'm a jewel thief. I steal jewelry."
She smiled, and I knew she was playing with me. I smiled and took another drag from the awful clove cigarette I was smoking. Her friend that I gave my phone number to was leaving the club with a guy, and she stopped long enough to retrieve the napkin and give it to E. I explained that I gave that to her friend to give to her, and she put it in her purse.
She studied me, holding my chin in her hand, and moved my head for a left, and then a right profile.
"You have a strong face."
"Thanks."
Page 3
We finished our cigarettes, and I followed her inside. We joined her friends in a booth in the eating part of the club. The two girls had a sleazy man on each side of them whispering in their ears.
After a while the sleazy men went away, and it was just the girls and I. My friend and the yellow haired woman stopped by, and then left. Eventually it was closing time and the girls offered to take me home.
The girls and I waited outside while E got her coat. I listened to them chit-chat about who was with whom, and who was only a player. E came out and took my chin in her hand again, showing her friends my strong face, and then we left. As we were walking, the girls were saying how hungry they were, and started naming restaurants we could go to in the early morning.
We passed a pizza place, and there was a delivery guy standing in the doorway holding a pizza. E said that she would love a pizza. I bought the pizza, much to the delight of the girls. Each took a slice as I held the box open. E fed me since my hands were full. She held the slice and I would take a bite and keep walking.
We got to the car and E demanded to drive. I rode shotgun and handed the remaining pizza to the girls in back. We circled the block once to see who was leaving the club with whom, and then headed down the main street toward where I live.
I told E that what would really impress me was if she could drive the car with no hands steering only with her knees. She demonstrated she could do this, so I added that she needed to keep steering with her knees and act like she was knitting a sweater. She did that as well. I told her I was impressed.
The girls in the back began questioning me about what it was I did, and one asked me point blank if I made a lot of money. My response was rather crass and defensive, but it ended their questioning. E didn't seem bothered by my reply, and pointed out a good looking man in a car. I said he was gay and she argued with me.
"Well, he must be bisexual then because I've slept with him."
Of course I hadn't, I just wanted to bother her and it worked. She seemed confused, and the girls in the back started laughing, and would point out other men in cars asking if I'd slept with them. I kept saying yes because it upset E. She had an angry expression on her face and wouldn't look at me.
I eventually took pity on her, and assured her that I had not slept with those men. It seemed to put her at ease. She was thinking very, very, hard and had a quiet confusion about her that went unnoticed by the girls in the back who were laughing about something else by now.
We got to my neighborhood, and I had her pull to my corner to let me out.
"Call me." I told her.
She said she would, and sped away. I could see the girls in the back laughing. They might have been laughing at me. I didn't mind.
After a while the sleazy men went away, and it was just the girls and I. My friend and the yellow haired woman stopped by, and then left. Eventually it was closing time and the girls offered to take me home.
The girls and I waited outside while E got her coat. I listened to them chit-chat about who was with whom, and who was only a player. E came out and took my chin in her hand again, showing her friends my strong face, and then we left. As we were walking, the girls were saying how hungry they were, and started naming restaurants we could go to in the early morning.
We passed a pizza place, and there was a delivery guy standing in the doorway holding a pizza. E said that she would love a pizza. I bought the pizza, much to the delight of the girls. Each took a slice as I held the box open. E fed me since my hands were full. She held the slice and I would take a bite and keep walking.
We got to the car and E demanded to drive. I rode shotgun and handed the remaining pizza to the girls in back. We circled the block once to see who was leaving the club with whom, and then headed down the main street toward where I live.
I told E that what would really impress me was if she could drive the car with no hands steering only with her knees. She demonstrated she could do this, so I added that she needed to keep steering with her knees and act like she was knitting a sweater. She did that as well. I told her I was impressed.
The girls in the back began questioning me about what it was I did, and one asked me point blank if I made a lot of money. My response was rather crass and defensive, but it ended their questioning. E didn't seem bothered by my reply, and pointed out a good looking man in a car. I said he was gay and she argued with me.
"Well, he must be bisexual then because I've slept with him."
Of course I hadn't, I just wanted to bother her and it worked. She seemed confused, and the girls in the back started laughing, and would point out other men in cars asking if I'd slept with them. I kept saying yes because it upset E. She had an angry expression on her face and wouldn't look at me.
I eventually took pity on her, and assured her that I had not slept with those men. It seemed to put her at ease. She was thinking very, very, hard and had a quiet confusion about her that went unnoticed by the girls in the back who were laughing about something else by now.
We got to my neighborhood, and I had her pull to my corner to let me out.
"Call me." I told her.
She said she would, and sped away. I could see the girls in the back laughing. They might have been laughing at me. I didn't mind.
Page 4
So, I live in a poor part of town with the brown people.
When I lived with other white people things were different. My life was linear, organized, and sensible. I had a home and a wife. Now, I share an apartment and have an ex.
One of the things I can't become used to in this neighborhood, is the trash that's everywhere. I don't understand why the streets are littered with every object imaginable: used condoms, syringes, cereal boxes, newspapers, and dog crap. I have to watch where I'm walking so I don't step in dog crap.
I like my neighbors. It's a sin in their religion to get divorced. In fact, it's not allowed. The roles are traditional. Dad works hard for little money, and Mom raises the kids and keeps house. I don't get it when white people say they are taking jobs. What jobs? Picking fruits and vegetables? Bussing tables and washing dishes? Laying tar roofs?
I know there are many brown people who own businesses, and who are in politics, and who are rich. But, not where I live.
When I lived with other white people things were different. My life was linear, organized, and sensible. I had a home and a wife. Now, I share an apartment and have an ex.
One of the things I can't become used to in this neighborhood, is the trash that's everywhere. I don't understand why the streets are littered with every object imaginable: used condoms, syringes, cereal boxes, newspapers, and dog crap. I have to watch where I'm walking so I don't step in dog crap.
I like my neighbors. It's a sin in their religion to get divorced. In fact, it's not allowed. The roles are traditional. Dad works hard for little money, and Mom raises the kids and keeps house. I don't get it when white people say they are taking jobs. What jobs? Picking fruits and vegetables? Bussing tables and washing dishes? Laying tar roofs?
I know there are many brown people who own businesses, and who are in politics, and who are rich. But, not where I live.
Page 5
I've been doing a lot of walking the last year. Sometimes late at night I walk by the area near my home where the prostitutes are. Not the ones you see downtown. Not the young ones that wear a lot of make up and sexy clothes. The prostitutes near me are in bad shape. They are older. They look like they have been beat up many times. They look like the homeless women you see sometimes sitting on the sidewalk with a dirty child in their laps.
The prostitutes near me stand on the corner and sway and mumble to themselves. The tricks they turn are usually in doorways, or behind parked cars. Their pimps are young brown men. You can see them on the other side of the street with their hands deep in the pockets of their hooded jackets.
There is a place near this area that I think is a home for the prostitutes. It's basically a garage that's been converted. I've seen people go up and knock on the door. A woman's voice answers, and the conversation is done through the mail slot. When I walk by late at night, it sounds like there are a lot of people inside. There is always music playing, so you can't really tell what's happening. The police have to know about this place. My guess is that this place is no big deal to them. Or perhaps someone is paying somebody off.
Not like that ever happens.
The prostitutes near me stand on the corner and sway and mumble to themselves. The tricks they turn are usually in doorways, or behind parked cars. Their pimps are young brown men. You can see them on the other side of the street with their hands deep in the pockets of their hooded jackets.
There is a place near this area that I think is a home for the prostitutes. It's basically a garage that's been converted. I've seen people go up and knock on the door. A woman's voice answers, and the conversation is done through the mail slot. When I walk by late at night, it sounds like there are a lot of people inside. There is always music playing, so you can't really tell what's happening. The police have to know about this place. My guess is that this place is no big deal to them. Or perhaps someone is paying somebody off.
Not like that ever happens.
Page 6
I would like to see someone build another park around here, because there is only one that I know of, and that park is shameful.
The park near where I live is divided into sections. The outside perimeter, where the cement picnic tables and metal trashcans are, is where the homeless people sit or camp. There is an asphalt trail that weaves its way through them that the dog walkers from the nearby animal shelter follow.
I was in training to be a dog walker, but it didn't last. Their way of introducing volunteers into their program was just like an animal behavior modification program. You had to keep coming back every week for a short amount of time to learn more about the system. It was way too controlling for me. I was able to interact with the dogs after my first session, and could handle even the wild ones on a leash.
The facility itself is quite impressive. It is well known for the high quality of care the animals receive. The dogs are kept in a neighboring kennel, and are assigned a number that equals the level of goodness, or ease they have interacting with people. The lower the number, the better behaved they are. If I were a dog there I would be a six, not unruly, but not submissive either.
The room's where the animals are kept are nicer than some apartments I've seen. They have furniture and TVs. The cats' TVs show birds and squirrels. The dogs' TVs show families and other dogs.
On my last day there I was visiting with the dogs, going into their rooms, and petting and talking to them. There was a two-year-old gold dog and we bonded instantly. It was true love and it broke my heart. I wanted to carry him to the front desk, fill out the papers, and take him home. But I can't have a dog where I live. So I just spent as much time with him as I could. When I had to go on my walk I let him lick my face.
Fifteen minutes later, a nice yellow woman adopted the gold dog. I smiled at the people I was working with, and made small talk with them as we walked the dogs around the homeless people in the park. When my shift was over, I signed out, put my volunteer apron in the laundry basket, and knew I would not return.
The park near where I live is divided into sections. The outside perimeter, where the cement picnic tables and metal trashcans are, is where the homeless people sit or camp. There is an asphalt trail that weaves its way through them that the dog walkers from the nearby animal shelter follow.
I was in training to be a dog walker, but it didn't last. Their way of introducing volunteers into their program was just like an animal behavior modification program. You had to keep coming back every week for a short amount of time to learn more about the system. It was way too controlling for me. I was able to interact with the dogs after my first session, and could handle even the wild ones on a leash.
The facility itself is quite impressive. It is well known for the high quality of care the animals receive. The dogs are kept in a neighboring kennel, and are assigned a number that equals the level of goodness, or ease they have interacting with people. The lower the number, the better behaved they are. If I were a dog there I would be a six, not unruly, but not submissive either.
The room's where the animals are kept are nicer than some apartments I've seen. They have furniture and TVs. The cats' TVs show birds and squirrels. The dogs' TVs show families and other dogs.
On my last day there I was visiting with the dogs, going into their rooms, and petting and talking to them. There was a two-year-old gold dog and we bonded instantly. It was true love and it broke my heart. I wanted to carry him to the front desk, fill out the papers, and take him home. But I can't have a dog where I live. So I just spent as much time with him as I could. When I had to go on my walk I let him lick my face.
Fifteen minutes later, a nice yellow woman adopted the gold dog. I smiled at the people I was working with, and made small talk with them as we walked the dogs around the homeless people in the park. When my shift was over, I signed out, put my volunteer apron in the laundry basket, and knew I would not return.
Page 7
The main section of the park is a football field surrounded by a high chain link fence. The field is torn and muddy. The brown people play football there. It is empty during the week, except for the occasional pick up game with neighborhood folks wearing street clothes. On Saturday, the little league teams play. And on Sunday after church, the men play. Some spectators stand outside the fence drinking beer and listening to loud music from their car stereos. Sometimes, they set up a small grill in the parking lot and barbecue.
You know what I'd like to see on that field? A soccer match with the homeless people. I'm sure I'd have to be the one to put the wheels in motion. I would buy a ball, and go some weekday afternoon. I'd have to take the day off work, but I think it would be worth it. I'd wear sporty clothes, maybe even buy a whistle and wear it around my neck, and approach each homeless person and convince them to play.
We would push their shopping carts on to the field, and put them along the sidelines, so they could keep an eye on their stuff, and divide into two teams. It might be too much for them to run the entire field. We could always play using half of the field. It would be fun for them. Exercise is always good. I know they get a lot of exercise with all the walking they do, but still, they might like the feeling of competition. It might be hard to console the losers. Hopefully, there would be graceful winners.
Afterwards, I would go to the grocery store across the street, and buy a gallon of orange juice and paper cups. I would even buy the chocolate chip cookies they make in the bakery in the grocery store. I could give them a cookie and orange juice. I could even have certificates printed for them, like the ones you get at work for doing a good job. The thing is they wouldn't have any use for a certificate of achievement. It's not like they have anywhere they could display them.
You know what I'd like to see on that field? A soccer match with the homeless people. I'm sure I'd have to be the one to put the wheels in motion. I would buy a ball, and go some weekday afternoon. I'd have to take the day off work, but I think it would be worth it. I'd wear sporty clothes, maybe even buy a whistle and wear it around my neck, and approach each homeless person and convince them to play.
We would push their shopping carts on to the field, and put them along the sidelines, so they could keep an eye on their stuff, and divide into two teams. It might be too much for them to run the entire field. We could always play using half of the field. It would be fun for them. Exercise is always good. I know they get a lot of exercise with all the walking they do, but still, they might like the feeling of competition. It might be hard to console the losers. Hopefully, there would be graceful winners.
Afterwards, I would go to the grocery store across the street, and buy a gallon of orange juice and paper cups. I would even buy the chocolate chip cookies they make in the bakery in the grocery store. I could give them a cookie and orange juice. I could even have certificates printed for them, like the ones you get at work for doing a good job. The thing is they wouldn't have any use for a certificate of achievement. It's not like they have anywhere they could display them.
Page 8
Sometimes I have to remind myself that I live in one of the most beautiful cities in the country. My favorite places all involve the ocean. I like to go onto the piers and look at the water. The piers are for the ferries that bring non-city people to work. When I go onto them, security guards usually make me leave. I ignore the guards, and wait until they are standing right next to me. Then I get up and go. Every once in a while I'll be able to sit on a pier without being bothered. I'll sit right on the edge and rise and fall with the waves, listening to the creaking of the planks and the squawking of gulls. I always imagine jumping into the bay.
One of my favorite spots is the beach. My ex and I stayed in a motel next to it when we first arrived. We saw two cranes at the beach on our first night. I thought it was a good omen. It wasn't.
If I can, I'll take the electric train to the ocean, and walk by that motel. Next door is a coffee shop that had an open mike night. Once, an old bearded drunk guy played a short blues set with his electric guitar. I remember he did one original song about wine, wine, wine, pass down that bottle of wine. He was the best act that night. There was also a young girl who played the guitar and sang. Her biggest supporter was her mom. All the other performers read poetry.
I'll walk past those places, across the highway, down the sand dunes, and out to the ocean.
One of the things I've come to notice about living in the city is that you are never alone. Not even at the beach. No matter what time of day or night I come here, there are always people around. And you can't walk out into the water, bend over and cup your hands to catch the surf, let it go, and then bring your hands to your mouth to taste the sea salt, without knowing someone can see you. But, I do it anyway.
One of my favorite spots is the beach. My ex and I stayed in a motel next to it when we first arrived. We saw two cranes at the beach on our first night. I thought it was a good omen. It wasn't.
If I can, I'll take the electric train to the ocean, and walk by that motel. Next door is a coffee shop that had an open mike night. Once, an old bearded drunk guy played a short blues set with his electric guitar. I remember he did one original song about wine, wine, wine, pass down that bottle of wine. He was the best act that night. There was also a young girl who played the guitar and sang. Her biggest supporter was her mom. All the other performers read poetry.
I'll walk past those places, across the highway, down the sand dunes, and out to the ocean.
One of the things I've come to notice about living in the city is that you are never alone. Not even at the beach. No matter what time of day or night I come here, there are always people around. And you can't walk out into the water, bend over and cup your hands to catch the surf, let it go, and then bring your hands to your mouth to taste the sea salt, without knowing someone can see you. But, I do it anyway.
Page 9
In addition to being a fish out of water, I also play guitar. This story includes the details of my most recent band.
The singer for the band was a young white woman. She was the one who started the band by running a classified ad in a local music paper.
I was the first one who responded to the ad. I arrived at her fancy apartment and sat in a big black leather sofa and strummed my acoustic guitar while she sang. I played campfire songs; simple tunes that I thought would be easy for us.
Several drummers replied to the singer’s ad. After visiting them on her own, she asked me to accompany her to see the remaining possibilities. The singer said one of the other drummers she saw played found items: Cans, buckets, scrap pieces of metal, bottles, etc. She said he was quite talented, but could not deal with the fact that he had a dead cat nailed to his bedroom wall.
The drummer of my most recent band was yellow. He rented a room from his parents, and had his drum set in the garage. I took my electric guitar and portable amp and we jammed. The drummer did not say much. He always seemed to be looking at his hands. But, he was a good drummer. He told us that he had played mostly in cover bands and was interested in creating original music. He said we could rehearse at his place. The singer gave him a warm welcoming hug. He blushed and then shook my hand.
The singer did not have a single bass player respond to her ad. The drummer said that he knew a young woman who played. She came to a rehearsal and met everyone. She and the singer did not have a problem with each other, and after we jammed the bass player said she wanted to come on board.
And there we were.
The bass player was the most uptight. She constantly nagged the drummer. He simply looked at his hands whenever she started ranting. I think he may have actually liked her.
The bass player was a little taller than the singer. She was white and rail thin. She always wore black jeans and a torn black T-shirt without a bra. After joining, she immediately demanded that we come up with a name. She said that it would help solidify things and unify us. We were each given the assignment to come to rehearsal with suggestions.
The drummer said he could not think of anything. I said I thought that naming ourselves after a city destroyed by an atomic bomb was good. The bass player had me explain. I said I thought the name was symbolic. The city that was destroyed by the bomb had risen. This could be our chance to rise and be something great.
The drummer said he liked the name. The singer said that there was already a jazz-band named after my city. I asked if she was sure. She said yes.
The bass player offered her name suggestions. When we pressed her to explain the meaning of them she shrugged and said she liked the way they sounded. We all stared blankly at her. She got angry and jerked the chord from her amplifier and sat down on the floor with her arms folded across her chest.
The singer suggested a name. I told her there was already a band with that name. She said no there was not. I said yes there was. When she pressed me to offer any concrete evidence I could not. We were all quiet for awhile and then the drummer said “I like that name.” The bass player nodded her approval. I glared at the singer and asked her to explain her name. She did. We took a vote and the name passed with three in favor and one against.
The singer for the band was a young white woman. She was the one who started the band by running a classified ad in a local music paper.
I was the first one who responded to the ad. I arrived at her fancy apartment and sat in a big black leather sofa and strummed my acoustic guitar while she sang. I played campfire songs; simple tunes that I thought would be easy for us.
Several drummers replied to the singer’s ad. After visiting them on her own, she asked me to accompany her to see the remaining possibilities. The singer said one of the other drummers she saw played found items: Cans, buckets, scrap pieces of metal, bottles, etc. She said he was quite talented, but could not deal with the fact that he had a dead cat nailed to his bedroom wall.
The drummer of my most recent band was yellow. He rented a room from his parents, and had his drum set in the garage. I took my electric guitar and portable amp and we jammed. The drummer did not say much. He always seemed to be looking at his hands. But, he was a good drummer. He told us that he had played mostly in cover bands and was interested in creating original music. He said we could rehearse at his place. The singer gave him a warm welcoming hug. He blushed and then shook my hand.
The singer did not have a single bass player respond to her ad. The drummer said that he knew a young woman who played. She came to a rehearsal and met everyone. She and the singer did not have a problem with each other, and after we jammed the bass player said she wanted to come on board.
And there we were.
The bass player was the most uptight. She constantly nagged the drummer. He simply looked at his hands whenever she started ranting. I think he may have actually liked her.
The bass player was a little taller than the singer. She was white and rail thin. She always wore black jeans and a torn black T-shirt without a bra. After joining, she immediately demanded that we come up with a name. She said that it would help solidify things and unify us. We were each given the assignment to come to rehearsal with suggestions.
The drummer said he could not think of anything. I said I thought that naming ourselves after a city destroyed by an atomic bomb was good. The bass player had me explain. I said I thought the name was symbolic. The city that was destroyed by the bomb had risen. This could be our chance to rise and be something great.
The drummer said he liked the name. The singer said that there was already a jazz-band named after my city. I asked if she was sure. She said yes.
The bass player offered her name suggestions. When we pressed her to explain the meaning of them she shrugged and said she liked the way they sounded. We all stared blankly at her. She got angry and jerked the chord from her amplifier and sat down on the floor with her arms folded across her chest.
The singer suggested a name. I told her there was already a band with that name. She said no there was not. I said yes there was. When she pressed me to offer any concrete evidence I could not. We were all quiet for awhile and then the drummer said “I like that name.” The bass player nodded her approval. I glared at the singer and asked her to explain her name. She did. We took a vote and the name passed with three in favor and one against.
Page 10
It is Sunday evening, and the brown children are playing in the courtyard. It's basically a cement area where all the stairways lead. It drives my roommate crazy when the kids are out there, but I like it. It's nice having children around. It makes the place feel homey.
Right now they are rollerblading and throwing water balloons. I had to step over their paper plates of food, because they set them on the steps. One of the kids is a girl about thirteen. She is one of those early bloomers, and I can tell she likes me. She acts up whenever I walk by, either by being extra bossy to the other little ones, or by talking loud and sassy to the ones about her age, tossing her hair and laughing. I guess she thinks this somehow makes her older. I'm not imagining it. I catch her looking at me. Anyway, I never speak to the brown children. I smile and step over their toys, or dodge their plastic balls as they play catch.
Right now they are rollerblading and throwing water balloons. I had to step over their paper plates of food, because they set them on the steps. One of the kids is a girl about thirteen. She is one of those early bloomers, and I can tell she likes me. She acts up whenever I walk by, either by being extra bossy to the other little ones, or by talking loud and sassy to the ones about her age, tossing her hair and laughing. I guess she thinks this somehow makes her older. I'm not imagining it. I catch her looking at me. Anyway, I never speak to the brown children. I smile and step over their toys, or dodge their plastic balls as they play catch.
Page 11
I have detailed fantasies.
One fantasy has me in the subway waiting for the train.
I'm standing at the edge of the platform on the yellow plastic raised area they have as a safety zone, so you know when you are too close to the edge. I stand at the rear of the platform near the entrance of the tunnel and listen for the train. I hear it and step to the edge. I look straight down the tunnel and watch the light on the train. You can see the light from quite a distance. It looks like it's not moving at all for what seems like a long time. I watch the light grow bigger and bigger, and the wind from the train rustles my clothes and blows my hair. And just as the train is about to enter the station, I jump off the platform right onto the tracks.
One fantasy has me in the subway waiting for the train.
I'm standing at the edge of the platform on the yellow plastic raised area they have as a safety zone, so you know when you are too close to the edge. I stand at the rear of the platform near the entrance of the tunnel and listen for the train. I hear it and step to the edge. I look straight down the tunnel and watch the light on the train. You can see the light from quite a distance. It looks like it's not moving at all for what seems like a long time. I watch the light grow bigger and bigger, and the wind from the train rustles my clothes and blows my hair. And just as the train is about to enter the station, I jump off the platform right onto the tracks.
Page 12
E called me. She tried to sound nonchalant, but I could hear a definite nervousness in her voice.
We talked about this and that. She was being coy and vague about the simplest questions, like what she did for work. We agreed to go out again, but she wanted me to write her first. She lives down the Peninsula about twenty miles south, just past the airport.
I wrote her. I don't remember exactly what I said. I think it was simple things, like my job, hobbies and everyday stuff. She wrote back that she was seeing another guy, and detailed her many recent travels. I didn't mind that she was seeing someone else because I barely knew her. She also wrote that she was a Gemini.
I have never put much credibility in astrology because it seems so frivolous, but I did some reading about her supposed characteristics. And the weird thing was it was like she was a classic example of her sign, almost like she had been studying for the role.
I rented a car for our first date because I don't have one.
For the first time in my life I am without an automobile.
I arrived at E's house, and was greeted by a note in the door jam that instructed me to have a seat on the front porch and wait. She was running a little late. The note was written on the back of a business card. The card noted a woman with the same last name as E, and I assumed that it belonged to her mom.
There was a lot of stuff stored on the front porch: old bedroom sets and mattresses, paintings, knick-knacks, and paper grocery bags containing newspapers. I sat on a loveseat and flipped through a picture book of movie stars.
Eventually E made her grand entrance, swooping onto the porch and saying something like she hoped I hadn't been waiting long. We looked each other over. It had been a while since we had last seen one another. We approved. She wore a pair of blue-jean overalls and a simple white T-shirt and it showed her figure nicely.
We talked about this and that. She was being coy and vague about the simplest questions, like what she did for work. We agreed to go out again, but she wanted me to write her first. She lives down the Peninsula about twenty miles south, just past the airport.
I wrote her. I don't remember exactly what I said. I think it was simple things, like my job, hobbies and everyday stuff. She wrote back that she was seeing another guy, and detailed her many recent travels. I didn't mind that she was seeing someone else because I barely knew her. She also wrote that she was a Gemini.
I have never put much credibility in astrology because it seems so frivolous, but I did some reading about her supposed characteristics. And the weird thing was it was like she was a classic example of her sign, almost like she had been studying for the role.
I rented a car for our first date because I don't have one.
For the first time in my life I am without an automobile.
I arrived at E's house, and was greeted by a note in the door jam that instructed me to have a seat on the front porch and wait. She was running a little late. The note was written on the back of a business card. The card noted a woman with the same last name as E, and I assumed that it belonged to her mom.
There was a lot of stuff stored on the front porch: old bedroom sets and mattresses, paintings, knick-knacks, and paper grocery bags containing newspapers. I sat on a loveseat and flipped through a picture book of movie stars.
Eventually E made her grand entrance, swooping onto the porch and saying something like she hoped I hadn't been waiting long. We looked each other over. It had been a while since we had last seen one another. We approved. She wore a pair of blue-jean overalls and a simple white T-shirt and it showed her figure nicely.
Page 13
We drove to the city, and ate dinner at an Italian restaurant. The waiter complimented me on my shirt, prompting E to inquire how she looked to the waiter, to which he replied, "Marvelous." We ate and talked quite easily, and then headed out of the city over the bridge. I brought some music, basically two choices: what I knew I liked, and what I thought she would like. I put in the music I thought she would like and I was right. She knew most of the songs and sang along.
We were going to see a black musical somewhere in the hills of the suburbs. The directions she had were somewhat vague, and it was truly miraculous that we found the place. But, after playing our hunches, backtracking, stopping, getting directions, and making many interesting maneuvers, we reached our destination.
It was an outdoor amphitheater. We parked among the trees in a lower lot and joined the others as they headed towards the box office. The majority of the people going to see the show were old white people, whom you could tell did not live in the city because of their clothes. They were not sharp looking. They were comfortable and faded. I think I was actually the only person wearing black.
E got our tickets from will call and we went in, passing a table with items to be raffled, that for the life of me I can't fully recall. I'm sure they were homey suburban things.
The refreshment stand looked like it was made by someone in the stage crew. It was wooden, and quite simple, like the items it offered for sale: lemonade, wine, jelly beans, and non-oiled and unsalted, hot air popped popcorn.
We watched the show and E told me a friend of hers was one of the dancers. He had my favorite part of the show. He did the serpent dance and sang about being high. He writhed quite convincingly.
We were going to see a black musical somewhere in the hills of the suburbs. The directions she had were somewhat vague, and it was truly miraculous that we found the place. But, after playing our hunches, backtracking, stopping, getting directions, and making many interesting maneuvers, we reached our destination.
It was an outdoor amphitheater. We parked among the trees in a lower lot and joined the others as they headed towards the box office. The majority of the people going to see the show were old white people, whom you could tell did not live in the city because of their clothes. They were not sharp looking. They were comfortable and faded. I think I was actually the only person wearing black.
E got our tickets from will call and we went in, passing a table with items to be raffled, that for the life of me I can't fully recall. I'm sure they were homey suburban things.
The refreshment stand looked like it was made by someone in the stage crew. It was wooden, and quite simple, like the items it offered for sale: lemonade, wine, jelly beans, and non-oiled and unsalted, hot air popped popcorn.
We watched the show and E told me a friend of hers was one of the dancers. He had my favorite part of the show. He did the serpent dance and sang about being high. He writhed quite convincingly.
Page 14
After the show, E wanted to go backstage and see her friend. We stepped over the sign on a chain that read "Backstage Do Not Enter," and followed the cement steps down. We found the black actors mingling and laughing, looking joyous and exhausted from their performance. We sat on a sofa next to one of the actresses who played a bar person, and I struck a conversation with her regarding her elaborate costume jewelry. She had yet to change into her street clothes, and still had on her costume and stage make up. I don't know how many of you have ever talked to someone after they have performed on stage, but the make up that they have to wear is applied quite heavily. I guess it's because they have to look perfect to people from far away.
The black actress gave me several items of her costume jewelry to try on, which I did. E didn't approve, and made it known to me by that certain look. I turned away from her and continued with my fashion show, thanking the black actress.
E and I got off the sofa and searched the rest of the backstage area for her friend. We found him in front of the main office of the theater. E's friend was talking with the black man who was the lead in the play, and they both gave us a hug when we said hello. The lead actor and E's friend were both gay.
We all chatted for a while about how good the show was, and they told us the problems with the stage and the problems with the other performers, and eventually we said good-bye and made our way back to the rental car among the trees. I was dragging by this time and sat on the hood of the car and smoked a cigarette, while E touched up her face.
The black actress gave me several items of her costume jewelry to try on, which I did. E didn't approve, and made it known to me by that certain look. I turned away from her and continued with my fashion show, thanking the black actress.
E and I got off the sofa and searched the rest of the backstage area for her friend. We found him in front of the main office of the theater. E's friend was talking with the black man who was the lead in the play, and they both gave us a hug when we said hello. The lead actor and E's friend were both gay.
We all chatted for a while about how good the show was, and they told us the problems with the stage and the problems with the other performers, and eventually we said good-bye and made our way back to the rental car among the trees. I was dragging by this time and sat on the hood of the car and smoked a cigarette, while E touched up her face.
Page 15
On the way down the winding back roads of the suburbs, E said that perhaps I should slow down, so I took both my hands off the wheel and asked her if she would like to drive. She grabbed onto the steering wheel and guided the car around several turns while I kept my foot on the accelerator.
We were a team.
After about five minutes of driving like this, E asked me to take the wheel again. I did, and she didn't complain about my driving the rest of the way.
As we returned to her neck of the woods, she said we should have a drink at a bar in her town. It was eleven o' clock on a Sunday night, and the bar was the only place we could go, because everything else was closed.
We went in and took a table next to the dart board and tried throwing darts. I couldn't remember how to score them. After a few tosses, we sat, and she asked if I wanted to thumb wrestle. She said she had many brothers, and that she was quite good. I still beat her two out of three tries. After my second victory, she gave a girlish shriek and slapped my hand, flashing her intense eyes at me in a playfully submissive way. My heart dropped. I wanted to kiss her.
I got us each a beer, and we ended up talking about this and that, when all of a sudden she got defensive and demanded I justify my position on why I thought it was a good idea to let the red people build gambling casinos on their land. I didn't even know what it was we were talking about, because all I was doing was stealing looks at her chest, and losing myself in her intense green eyes. But she was adamant that I justify the statement I had apparently made about the red people. I said, that from what I knew about the subject, it seemed like they had little if no means of income, and that casinos would at least give them an opportunity to earn a living, to which she replied, what about the Mafia, and that it wasn't right that the taxpayers should pay for it.
I didn't know what she was talking about.
As we were leaving, she told me that in high school her boyfriends would drive these sleepy streets blasting their music, and she would lounge in the passenger seat with her legs out the window.
On the short drive to her house, I put in the music I had brought with songs I liked, turned up the volume, and E dangled her legs out the window swinging her bare feet to the beat.
I killed the music and stopped in front of her house, asking her for a kiss. She said not on a first date, and put on her shoes, instructing me to call her in a couple of days.
Just like that, she was gone and I was miserable.
Once I got home and in my room, I realized I really, really, felt bad. I felt weak. I felt almost dope sick, like I was going through some kind of withdrawal. I sat on my bed and anticipated my call to her in a couple of days. I could hardly wait. I needed my fix.
We were a team.
After about five minutes of driving like this, E asked me to take the wheel again. I did, and she didn't complain about my driving the rest of the way.
As we returned to her neck of the woods, she said we should have a drink at a bar in her town. It was eleven o' clock on a Sunday night, and the bar was the only place we could go, because everything else was closed.
We went in and took a table next to the dart board and tried throwing darts. I couldn't remember how to score them. After a few tosses, we sat, and she asked if I wanted to thumb wrestle. She said she had many brothers, and that she was quite good. I still beat her two out of three tries. After my second victory, she gave a girlish shriek and slapped my hand, flashing her intense eyes at me in a playfully submissive way. My heart dropped. I wanted to kiss her.
I got us each a beer, and we ended up talking about this and that, when all of a sudden she got defensive and demanded I justify my position on why I thought it was a good idea to let the red people build gambling casinos on their land. I didn't even know what it was we were talking about, because all I was doing was stealing looks at her chest, and losing myself in her intense green eyes. But she was adamant that I justify the statement I had apparently made about the red people. I said, that from what I knew about the subject, it seemed like they had little if no means of income, and that casinos would at least give them an opportunity to earn a living, to which she replied, what about the Mafia, and that it wasn't right that the taxpayers should pay for it.
I didn't know what she was talking about.
As we were leaving, she told me that in high school her boyfriends would drive these sleepy streets blasting their music, and she would lounge in the passenger seat with her legs out the window.
On the short drive to her house, I put in the music I had brought with songs I liked, turned up the volume, and E dangled her legs out the window swinging her bare feet to the beat.
I killed the music and stopped in front of her house, asking her for a kiss. She said not on a first date, and put on her shoes, instructing me to call her in a couple of days.
Just like that, she was gone and I was miserable.
Once I got home and in my room, I realized I really, really, felt bad. I felt weak. I felt almost dope sick, like I was going through some kind of withdrawal. I sat on my bed and anticipated my call to her in a couple of days. I could hardly wait. I needed my fix.
Page 16
After a few rehearsals, my most recent band had two songs. They were both covers.
We had been rehearsing in the drummer’s garage. The bass player said that we needed to start writing our own songs. The singer brought one she had been developing. She sang the tune and the bass player and I stumbled along until we had an accompaniment that worked. The drummer fell in and held it all together. We played it a few times, and when the bass player and drummer cut out to have a smoke, I told the singer that the words to the song needed work. She surprised me by saying that she agreed. I got a pen from my guitar case. I crossed out the unnecessary words and rephrased the chorus. I handed the paper back to her. She sang the song with the changes a few times then nodded her head in approval.
When the smokers returned we played the song again with the new words. The bass player said that the tempo was too fast. She said the words were fine, but we should slow it down. Make it sexier is what she said.
We played slower and it worked.
On the drive to my place the singer kept talking about what a high it was for all of us to be on the same page.
The drummer’s mom said we could not practice at his house anymore because the neighbors were complaining.
We practiced at the singer’s place.
I played my acoustic guitar. The bass player used a small portable amp. The drummer kept the beat on telephone books. The singer sang without a microphone.
We were working with a new song the bass player presented at this time. It was quite complicated. It had many changes and was almost ten minutes long. It dealt with a little girl walking in the woods, encountering all sorts of strange things. I was really surprised that the singer liked the words because I found them to be obvious. Most of the imagery was children’s bookish in a kind of an eerie way, but it did work with the music.
The bass player had the song recorded and we played along. It was mostly me that struggled. The tempo and chord changes were outrageous. I had to borrow the music. I worked on it at home as well.
We had been rehearsing in the drummer’s garage. The bass player said that we needed to start writing our own songs. The singer brought one she had been developing. She sang the tune and the bass player and I stumbled along until we had an accompaniment that worked. The drummer fell in and held it all together. We played it a few times, and when the bass player and drummer cut out to have a smoke, I told the singer that the words to the song needed work. She surprised me by saying that she agreed. I got a pen from my guitar case. I crossed out the unnecessary words and rephrased the chorus. I handed the paper back to her. She sang the song with the changes a few times then nodded her head in approval.
When the smokers returned we played the song again with the new words. The bass player said that the tempo was too fast. She said the words were fine, but we should slow it down. Make it sexier is what she said.
We played slower and it worked.
On the drive to my place the singer kept talking about what a high it was for all of us to be on the same page.
The drummer’s mom said we could not practice at his house anymore because the neighbors were complaining.
We practiced at the singer’s place.
I played my acoustic guitar. The bass player used a small portable amp. The drummer kept the beat on telephone books. The singer sang without a microphone.
We were working with a new song the bass player presented at this time. It was quite complicated. It had many changes and was almost ten minutes long. It dealt with a little girl walking in the woods, encountering all sorts of strange things. I was really surprised that the singer liked the words because I found them to be obvious. Most of the imagery was children’s bookish in a kind of an eerie way, but it did work with the music.
The bass player had the song recorded and we played along. It was mostly me that struggled. The tempo and chord changes were outrageous. I had to borrow the music. I worked on it at home as well.
Page 17
I was sitting at the bus stop this morning between two rough looking guys. The guy on my right was an old yellow man. He wore leather loafers that were almost completely worn, and brown fast food looking dirty polyester slacks. Both his eyes were badly swollen. Hopefully, he was on his way to the doctor.
The guy on my left was bearded, and his mouth was sunk in like he was missing a lot of teeth. His hair was long and greasy. He was wearing sneakers that originally were white, but were now soiled. He wore no socks, and dirty blue jeans. He carried a wooden cane that was splintered at the handle so he had a rubber band to keep it together. The bus came, and I saw him stand and move fine. He really didn't need the cane to walk. I guess he had it for protection.
The thing that these guys and I had in common were the jackets we wore. We all had brown nothing type jackets. The kind you wear casually, with big pockets that button on the front. The main difference in the jackets was the degrees of dirtiness, but for the most part the style was the same. I wish I had a picture of the three of us sitting side by side at the bus stop. I bet we looked like triplets.
The guy on my left was bearded, and his mouth was sunk in like he was missing a lot of teeth. His hair was long and greasy. He was wearing sneakers that originally were white, but were now soiled. He wore no socks, and dirty blue jeans. He carried a wooden cane that was splintered at the handle so he had a rubber band to keep it together. The bus came, and I saw him stand and move fine. He really didn't need the cane to walk. I guess he had it for protection.
The thing that these guys and I had in common were the jackets we wore. We all had brown nothing type jackets. The kind you wear casually, with big pockets that button on the front. The main difference in the jackets was the degrees of dirtiness, but for the most part the style was the same. I wish I had a picture of the three of us sitting side by side at the bus stop. I bet we looked like triplets.
Page 18
I'm in the lunchroom at my job. It's after work, and I don't want to go home because my roommate is there. She took the day off, and I really don't want talk to anyone. She is nice enough, but it's just that I like to be by myself after work. I don't think having a roommate is natural. Sharing a place with a family member is one thing, but there is something odd about living with someone you aren't related to, because there will always be some kind of dynamic that will develop. With my roommate and me it's a brother and sister thing.
I decide to go to a theater by my work that used to show month old movies, then started showing adult films, and now shows month old movies again. I have an hour to kill, and I want to wait for the getting off the job people traffic to thin before heading home. I give the pretty yellow girl working the box office six times what the movie I'm going to see is worth and step inside.
The interior is drab, and the carpeting is ugly. The black man who takes my ticket tells me the bathrooms are downstairs, and my movie is upstairs. I pass the games and unattended snack bar, noting that there are candies on display. I don't think the snack bar is supposed to be self serve. I leave it alone, and go inside the theater. There is another movie ending, and I'm thinking perhaps I misunderstood the black man who took my ticket. I go back downstairs, but the ticket stub tearing man is gone. I ask the older yellow man working as a security guard where my movie is, and he assures me that it is upstairs. I thank him, and walk up the escalator that isn't working, past the non-self-serving, unattended snack bar, and into the theater that will be showing my movie.
Inside there are other people, but I think they have more time to kill. They look like they have paid the before five o'clock price for a ticket. I would guess that a few of them have been here since the first show, and will be staying until the last.
I sit in the middle chair of the last row. There is a metal railing in front of me, and I am barely able to see over it. I move to the left rear section, and sit in the middle seat of the last row.
These seats are easily the most uncomfortable movie theater seats I have ever experienced. They have some kind of orange padding, and are so smashed down from accommodating people's back ends, that they might as well be cinder blocks. They have wooden armrests. The one on my right side is loose. The backs are also wooden, and the back to my left has gang words written in permanent magic marker.
If any of you have tried to read gang writing, you have probably come to realize that you can't, unless I guess you are actually in a gang. Gang writing looks like an ancient alphabet to me, or some kind of hieroglyphics. I wonder if each gang has their own written language. Maybe I'll grab a gangster the next time I see one autographing a bus roof and ask him.
There are three black people in my section. There is a man and women who appear to be on a date, and a young man wearing a puffy jacket. He is wearing a sports cap with the brim extending over his left ear. He is smoking, which is nice to see. You are not allowed to smoke in public here, except outdoors. They passed a law last year that even makes it illegal to smoke in bars, nightclubs, and restaurants, which I guess, is good for non-smokers, but it makes it tough on smokers.
I started smoking just after my divorce. I smoke at the most, two cigarettes a day, one usually around two in the afternoon to help me finish the work I need to finish, and one after I eat dinner. I smoke menthols. I like the green boxes and the minty way the smoke tastes.
The movie is about vampires and it is stupid. Of course, the vampires are cooler than the heroes that are trying to kill them. It wouldn't be bad being a vampire. At least you would get to live for ever.
I decide to go to a theater by my work that used to show month old movies, then started showing adult films, and now shows month old movies again. I have an hour to kill, and I want to wait for the getting off the job people traffic to thin before heading home. I give the pretty yellow girl working the box office six times what the movie I'm going to see is worth and step inside.
The interior is drab, and the carpeting is ugly. The black man who takes my ticket tells me the bathrooms are downstairs, and my movie is upstairs. I pass the games and unattended snack bar, noting that there are candies on display. I don't think the snack bar is supposed to be self serve. I leave it alone, and go inside the theater. There is another movie ending, and I'm thinking perhaps I misunderstood the black man who took my ticket. I go back downstairs, but the ticket stub tearing man is gone. I ask the older yellow man working as a security guard where my movie is, and he assures me that it is upstairs. I thank him, and walk up the escalator that isn't working, past the non-self-serving, unattended snack bar, and into the theater that will be showing my movie.
Inside there are other people, but I think they have more time to kill. They look like they have paid the before five o'clock price for a ticket. I would guess that a few of them have been here since the first show, and will be staying until the last.
I sit in the middle chair of the last row. There is a metal railing in front of me, and I am barely able to see over it. I move to the left rear section, and sit in the middle seat of the last row.
These seats are easily the most uncomfortable movie theater seats I have ever experienced. They have some kind of orange padding, and are so smashed down from accommodating people's back ends, that they might as well be cinder blocks. They have wooden armrests. The one on my right side is loose. The backs are also wooden, and the back to my left has gang words written in permanent magic marker.
If any of you have tried to read gang writing, you have probably come to realize that you can't, unless I guess you are actually in a gang. Gang writing looks like an ancient alphabet to me, or some kind of hieroglyphics. I wonder if each gang has their own written language. Maybe I'll grab a gangster the next time I see one autographing a bus roof and ask him.
There are three black people in my section. There is a man and women who appear to be on a date, and a young man wearing a puffy jacket. He is wearing a sports cap with the brim extending over his left ear. He is smoking, which is nice to see. You are not allowed to smoke in public here, except outdoors. They passed a law last year that even makes it illegal to smoke in bars, nightclubs, and restaurants, which I guess, is good for non-smokers, but it makes it tough on smokers.
I started smoking just after my divorce. I smoke at the most, two cigarettes a day, one usually around two in the afternoon to help me finish the work I need to finish, and one after I eat dinner. I smoke menthols. I like the green boxes and the minty way the smoke tastes.
The movie is about vampires and it is stupid. Of course, the vampires are cooler than the heroes that are trying to kill them. It wouldn't be bad being a vampire. At least you would get to live for ever.
Page 19
Eternity
Dawn less Hell
Earths Core
666
This is written in magic marker on the piece of plywood that is serving as one of the windows to the lobby level entrance of the building where I work. If I didn't know better I would consider it a bad sign, but I actually like my job.
I've worked at many different places since I got here. My first job was an inside sales job. I can't remember if I actually thought that job was some kind of new start. I probably did. Every new thing I find myself falling into I think is the beginning of something great. But it usually only turns out to be a weird rest area while things keep shifting, and I end up someplace that really does have potential.
The main thing I noticed on the way to my first job here was the lack of trees. There are some trees, but it is obvious that the city was here first and they added them later by jack hammering holes in the sidewalk.
My job was to enter product orders into the computer system, and listen to the salesmen on the phone so I could learn how to sell. All the salesmen were white. Everybody at this job was white. The salesmen were musicians. This was their day job. One guy played keyboards in a swing-type band. His band would sometimes give performances in convalescent homes. He said the audience didn't applaud they just shook their IV stands.
Another guy was a drummer who recorded and arranged songs at home using the computer music product we sold. He was nice enough. He was a tall skinny guy, with glasses and curly hair. The last sales guy was a Loner. He had long blonde hair and a beard. He seemed older than he was. He also seemed very, very afraid. I see him around all the time. I remember his name, but I never say hello, because I know he wouldn't remember me.
The office manager was a psychotic witch with stringy black hair. She would verbally abuse me. At first it seemed unreal. No one had ever spoken to me the way she did. She was apparently unhappy with my job progress, even though my two bosses seemed to think I was doing fine. I quit suddenly without giving notice.
Dawn less Hell
Earths Core
666
This is written in magic marker on the piece of plywood that is serving as one of the windows to the lobby level entrance of the building where I work. If I didn't know better I would consider it a bad sign, but I actually like my job.
I've worked at many different places since I got here. My first job was an inside sales job. I can't remember if I actually thought that job was some kind of new start. I probably did. Every new thing I find myself falling into I think is the beginning of something great. But it usually only turns out to be a weird rest area while things keep shifting, and I end up someplace that really does have potential.
The main thing I noticed on the way to my first job here was the lack of trees. There are some trees, but it is obvious that the city was here first and they added them later by jack hammering holes in the sidewalk.
My job was to enter product orders into the computer system, and listen to the salesmen on the phone so I could learn how to sell. All the salesmen were white. Everybody at this job was white. The salesmen were musicians. This was their day job. One guy played keyboards in a swing-type band. His band would sometimes give performances in convalescent homes. He said the audience didn't applaud they just shook their IV stands.
Another guy was a drummer who recorded and arranged songs at home using the computer music product we sold. He was nice enough. He was a tall skinny guy, with glasses and curly hair. The last sales guy was a Loner. He had long blonde hair and a beard. He seemed older than he was. He also seemed very, very afraid. I see him around all the time. I remember his name, but I never say hello, because I know he wouldn't remember me.
The office manager was a psychotic witch with stringy black hair. She would verbally abuse me. At first it seemed unreal. No one had ever spoken to me the way she did. She was apparently unhappy with my job progress, even though my two bosses seemed to think I was doing fine. I quit suddenly without giving notice.
Page 20
I have too many numbers assigned to me, and sometimes it's confusing. It takes thirteen numbers to access my phone at work, twenty-four numbers to access my phone at home, six for my date of birth, and four for my personal identification number that allows me to get cash from my savings account. Even though my PIN has the fewest digits, it's the one I have the hardest time remembering, because I just kept the one I was assigned.
I was at the grocery store using my debit card to try to pay, and I could not remember my PIN. I didn't have enough cash on hand, or my credit card. The woman working the register was nice. I think she could see that I was genuinely confused and allowed me to try again three times before I finally got it right. The other people in line were also nice. They didn't seem frustrated or impatient. It was so strange. Not at all like you would expect.
Sometimes I feel like I'm actually glowing. Seriously. I have this uncomfortable awareness of myself that is almost maddening. Also, other people appear intense to me. I sure hope this ends soon.
I was at the grocery store using my debit card to try to pay, and I could not remember my PIN. I didn't have enough cash on hand, or my credit card. The woman working the register was nice. I think she could see that I was genuinely confused and allowed me to try again three times before I finally got it right. The other people in line were also nice. They didn't seem frustrated or impatient. It was so strange. Not at all like you would expect.
Sometimes I feel like I'm actually glowing. Seriously. I have this uncomfortable awareness of myself that is almost maddening. Also, other people appear intense to me. I sure hope this ends soon.
Page 21
It is an hour past my bedtime on a Thursday night, and I am sitting on the outer ledge that surrounds the dance floor of the club. The first of three bands is playing. They are a surfing band from the middle part of the country. I don't know how much surfing one actually gets to do in the middle part of the country, my guess is not much, but they are a decent band.
The key to any group is a solid rhythm core: bass and drums. This outfit not only has an outstanding drummer, but also an excellent bassist. The front person is the guitar player, a stout, mini-skirted girl, with short dyed-blonde hair. She is a good guitar player, but I’m watching her legs. I specifically notice the inside of her thighs. They look creamy smooth.
The dance floor is circled by day-glow portraits of a Christ-like woman with exposed breasts. At the rear of the dance floor is the booth where the person running the sound boards sits. A young black woman is running the boards tonight. She came bolting out of her area, through the crowd, to reposition the bassist's mike stand, to stop the microphone from feeding back. I thought it sounded good. It reminded me of someone doing bird calls.
Before the surfing band began their set, there were two lovely large ladies dancing on the bar. I chose the place I’m sitting so I could watch the lovelier of the two ladies. She was also a young black woman. She wore a long black wig and leather short-shorts. Most of the time she seemed bored, merely swaying to the music. I even caught her looking at her watch. But a few times she seemed to be enjoying the attention, and her dancing showed that, as she stretched her arms over her head, and grinded with a grin.
The first band just finished their last song, and the master of ceremonies announced that there will be a peep show at the rear of the club. I get in line with the others, and make small talk with the dwarf who was photographing the surfing band. He said his flash wasn't working. He doubted that the photos would come out, which was a shame because I would give him my name so he could send me photos of the guitar player's thighs.
A large white lady with heavy make up and a leopard skin jacket takes my money, and I follow everyone into the back room. It is small. Once everyone is inside it is a tight squeeze. The interior is red velvet. A white man made up as a yellow man introduces two Geishas. They are chubby white girls. They are in costume, and circled the audience collecting paper money in their bosoms. Both girls are quite cute.
After they circled, they go onto the stage, and one steps into a bucket and acts like she is smashing whatever it is one smashes to make sake, while one kneels before the bucket. The white man orders people to pay a dollar for a cup of the freshly-made sake. A few men go to the front, pay the money and the girl kneeling scoops out sake from the bucket and gives it to the men.
One of the men tells me it is actually grape juice, as I try to ignore the horribly cute music playing in the background. The white man is angry that more people aren’t buying the sake, and the lady who took our money tells us to pay more or the show is over. People begin leaving, and the lady announces that we can get an instant photo with the Geishas. People keep leaving and I feel bad for the girls. If people had bought more sake, who knows what would have happened. Another guy and I stick around and get our picture taken with the girls.
I have the photo if any of you want to see it sometime.
The key to any group is a solid rhythm core: bass and drums. This outfit not only has an outstanding drummer, but also an excellent bassist. The front person is the guitar player, a stout, mini-skirted girl, with short dyed-blonde hair. She is a good guitar player, but I’m watching her legs. I specifically notice the inside of her thighs. They look creamy smooth.
The dance floor is circled by day-glow portraits of a Christ-like woman with exposed breasts. At the rear of the dance floor is the booth where the person running the sound boards sits. A young black woman is running the boards tonight. She came bolting out of her area, through the crowd, to reposition the bassist's mike stand, to stop the microphone from feeding back. I thought it sounded good. It reminded me of someone doing bird calls.
Before the surfing band began their set, there were two lovely large ladies dancing on the bar. I chose the place I’m sitting so I could watch the lovelier of the two ladies. She was also a young black woman. She wore a long black wig and leather short-shorts. Most of the time she seemed bored, merely swaying to the music. I even caught her looking at her watch. But a few times she seemed to be enjoying the attention, and her dancing showed that, as she stretched her arms over her head, and grinded with a grin.
The first band just finished their last song, and the master of ceremonies announced that there will be a peep show at the rear of the club. I get in line with the others, and make small talk with the dwarf who was photographing the surfing band. He said his flash wasn't working. He doubted that the photos would come out, which was a shame because I would give him my name so he could send me photos of the guitar player's thighs.
A large white lady with heavy make up and a leopard skin jacket takes my money, and I follow everyone into the back room. It is small. Once everyone is inside it is a tight squeeze. The interior is red velvet. A white man made up as a yellow man introduces two Geishas. They are chubby white girls. They are in costume, and circled the audience collecting paper money in their bosoms. Both girls are quite cute.
After they circled, they go onto the stage, and one steps into a bucket and acts like she is smashing whatever it is one smashes to make sake, while one kneels before the bucket. The white man orders people to pay a dollar for a cup of the freshly-made sake. A few men go to the front, pay the money and the girl kneeling scoops out sake from the bucket and gives it to the men.
One of the men tells me it is actually grape juice, as I try to ignore the horribly cute music playing in the background. The white man is angry that more people aren’t buying the sake, and the lady who took our money tells us to pay more or the show is over. People begin leaving, and the lady announces that we can get an instant photo with the Geishas. People keep leaving and I feel bad for the girls. If people had bought more sake, who knows what would have happened. Another guy and I stick around and get our picture taken with the girls.
I have the photo if any of you want to see it sometime.
Page 22
One of the hardest things about my divorce was condensing a whole home full of stuff into the place I now live.
After my ex came and got her things, I was left with getting rid of the furniture and other household items. I tried to have a garage sale. It was a dismal failure. The white people I was living among were immigrants, and they picked through my things and wanted to haggle. After two hours, I pushed everything into the driveway, and put up a sign that said ‘Free Stuff.’ It still took two days for all of it to disappear: the vacuum, dishes, glasses, pots, pans, table, and chairs. The only thing left was the gold loveseat that I loved in the antique store, brought home, and watched be whittled down by the dog.
I got rid of the gold loveseat by taking a hammer and smashing it into small pieces. Then I loaded the pieces into the car that I still had at the time, drove into the park after dark, and threw them into a dumpster.
You don't realize how much stuff you actually have until you have to move. Even after I got the barest necessities into my new place, I found I had piles of clothes remaining. I put them in plastic garbage bags and set them out with the trash.
I used to have a lot of photos of my ex. Not anymore. I threw most of them away, except for the ones of when we first met.
We were young and skinny.
We were children.
After my ex came and got her things, I was left with getting rid of the furniture and other household items. I tried to have a garage sale. It was a dismal failure. The white people I was living among were immigrants, and they picked through my things and wanted to haggle. After two hours, I pushed everything into the driveway, and put up a sign that said ‘Free Stuff.’ It still took two days for all of it to disappear: the vacuum, dishes, glasses, pots, pans, table, and chairs. The only thing left was the gold loveseat that I loved in the antique store, brought home, and watched be whittled down by the dog.
I got rid of the gold loveseat by taking a hammer and smashing it into small pieces. Then I loaded the pieces into the car that I still had at the time, drove into the park after dark, and threw them into a dumpster.
You don't realize how much stuff you actually have until you have to move. Even after I got the barest necessities into my new place, I found I had piles of clothes remaining. I put them in plastic garbage bags and set them out with the trash.
I used to have a lot of photos of my ex. Not anymore. I threw most of them away, except for the ones of when we first met.
We were young and skinny.
We were children.
Page 23
When I was four years old my Dad had me driving quarter-midget race cars. Quarter midget race cars are half the size of half-midget race cars, which are half the size of full-midget race cars.
What I remember most about racing was the noise of the cars and the absolute terror I felt driving. I can remember feeling almost frozen with fear, pressing the gas pedal to the floor, and gripping the steering wheel as tightly as I could. I think I wanted to get the race over with as soon as I could, and that is why I almost always won. I was competing against boys that were six to seven years older than me. My parents have my trophies and newspaper articles to prove it.
My Dad would work on the car, and we would go to the county fairgrounds in the foothills every Friday to run practice laps with the other racers. The racing was done through an organization of some kind. It was like little league. The parents all knew each other. The Dads would be the pit crew and hang out with the cars, and the Moms would be in the grandstands chatting and watching, and I would guess, praying that their sons wouldn't get hurt. I remember most of the races being at dusk. I remember seeing the pink sky and lovely clouds over the foothills buzzing by from the corner of my eye while I calculated how to pass the car ahead of me.
Now, knowing my Dad, he probably regrets having me race, thinking it caused me harm and contributed to me being the horrible person I am today. I don't think it did. My Dad has asked so little of me I'm actually glad I got to race for him. The only other request came much later when I was in high school. He wanted me to wrestle. I gave it a try. I found I did not enjoy being in close contact with a semi-clothed sweaty boy. I was a terrible wrestler. Once the other guy got me in a weird hold that I couldn't get out of, I would surrender.
My racing career ended after a car drove up my back and stopped on top of me, causing me to crash. My brief wrestling experiment ended after I was pile driven twice into the mats during practice.
If any of you ever run into my Dad please be nice to him, because all he wanted was a race car driving wrestling son and I let him down. Actually, I know that is not true. My Dad is a good man, and all he really wants for me and my brothers is, "What's best for you."
Thanks Dad.
What I remember most about racing was the noise of the cars and the absolute terror I felt driving. I can remember feeling almost frozen with fear, pressing the gas pedal to the floor, and gripping the steering wheel as tightly as I could. I think I wanted to get the race over with as soon as I could, and that is why I almost always won. I was competing against boys that were six to seven years older than me. My parents have my trophies and newspaper articles to prove it.
My Dad would work on the car, and we would go to the county fairgrounds in the foothills every Friday to run practice laps with the other racers. The racing was done through an organization of some kind. It was like little league. The parents all knew each other. The Dads would be the pit crew and hang out with the cars, and the Moms would be in the grandstands chatting and watching, and I would guess, praying that their sons wouldn't get hurt. I remember most of the races being at dusk. I remember seeing the pink sky and lovely clouds over the foothills buzzing by from the corner of my eye while I calculated how to pass the car ahead of me.
Now, knowing my Dad, he probably regrets having me race, thinking it caused me harm and contributed to me being the horrible person I am today. I don't think it did. My Dad has asked so little of me I'm actually glad I got to race for him. The only other request came much later when I was in high school. He wanted me to wrestle. I gave it a try. I found I did not enjoy being in close contact with a semi-clothed sweaty boy. I was a terrible wrestler. Once the other guy got me in a weird hold that I couldn't get out of, I would surrender.
My racing career ended after a car drove up my back and stopped on top of me, causing me to crash. My brief wrestling experiment ended after I was pile driven twice into the mats during practice.
If any of you ever run into my Dad please be nice to him, because all he wanted was a race car driving wrestling son and I let him down. Actually, I know that is not true. My Dad is a good man, and all he really wants for me and my brothers is, "What's best for you."
Thanks Dad.
Page 24
I was shopping today with a friend, and saw that a place where I worked is gone. It was a shop that carried imported items that were nice, but not too pricey. It was fun working there. A lot of women came into the store. Too bad I was still happily married at the time.
The friend that accompanied me shopping is yellow. Sometimes, I can't understand what he says, and he has to repeat himself, but I like him anyway. Last Halloween he asked me if I was going to wear a costume. I told him I didn't know. And I made him repeat what he said, about maybe I should dress as a woman. He seemed to think that I could pull it off, and offered his vision of me as a woman. It entailed wearing a wig. He said a red one would look best. It also entailed lots of make up and lipstick, earrings, a necklace, and fingernail polish. He said I would look great with a pointed bra, a tight black sweater, and a leather mini-skirt. He said I could shave my legs and wear high heels.
I assured him that the only way I could convince anyone that I was a woman, would be to wear a shapeless full length dress, a big hat, gloves, and a veil.
The friend that accompanied me shopping is yellow. Sometimes, I can't understand what he says, and he has to repeat himself, but I like him anyway. Last Halloween he asked me if I was going to wear a costume. I told him I didn't know. And I made him repeat what he said, about maybe I should dress as a woman. He seemed to think that I could pull it off, and offered his vision of me as a woman. It entailed wearing a wig. He said a red one would look best. It also entailed lots of make up and lipstick, earrings, a necklace, and fingernail polish. He said I would look great with a pointed bra, a tight black sweater, and a leather mini-skirt. He said I could shave my legs and wear high heels.
I assured him that the only way I could convince anyone that I was a woman, would be to wear a shapeless full length dress, a big hat, gloves, and a veil.
Page 25
I called E after waiting a few days like I was told, and found her time was being spent with the other guy. We made a date to get together and see a play, but it was over a month away. She said in the mean time we could talk on the phone and write.
I thought this was strange, but I was occupied at the time with trying to finalize my divorce. The paperwork was truly incredible. It seemed no sooner had I sent a form off, it would be returned on a technicality, and I would have to take a late lunch to go to the courthouse and stand in line to have the clerk at the window dealing with divorces explain how to fill out the form.
I made at least six late lunch journeys to the courthouse to stand in line to have the clerk who works at the window dealing with divorces help me fill out a form. The clerk was patient and nice. If there are such things as angels on earth she is one.
A friend told me I should do the divorce myself, and not use an attorney. He said it would be quicker and easier. He may have been right, but I bet it was more mentally taxing and frustrating. After that experience I may be qualified to offer my services as a professional divorce paperwork processor. I've never seen so many emotionally raw people in my life as the people who were in line with me. And I'm sure if I could have had the power to see my own face, I looked every bit as ragged as they did.
I thought this was strange, but I was occupied at the time with trying to finalize my divorce. The paperwork was truly incredible. It seemed no sooner had I sent a form off, it would be returned on a technicality, and I would have to take a late lunch to go to the courthouse and stand in line to have the clerk at the window dealing with divorces explain how to fill out the form.
I made at least six late lunch journeys to the courthouse to stand in line to have the clerk who works at the window dealing with divorces help me fill out a form. The clerk was patient and nice. If there are such things as angels on earth she is one.
A friend told me I should do the divorce myself, and not use an attorney. He said it would be quicker and easier. He may have been right, but I bet it was more mentally taxing and frustrating. After that experience I may be qualified to offer my services as a professional divorce paperwork processor. I've never seen so many emotionally raw people in my life as the people who were in line with me. And I'm sure if I could have had the power to see my own face, I looked every bit as ragged as they did.
Page 26
It is Saturday night, and I have just finished watching a beach blanket movie. I hate to say this, but I liked it. The color was vivid and the actors and actresses looked fantastic. I turn off the TV, and look at the clock and see that it is time to do something. Anything. I'm restless and bored.
I decide to get on the bus that stops across the street, and ride it to see where it ends. I put on my boots, and as I step out the door, the brown mother and her three children that live in the apartment across the hall are standing in the entrance, making strange sounds. Judging by the tone and their interaction, it is some kind of game that only they know. It sure sounds weird. It sounds so weird I can't even describe it.
There is not a bench at the bus stop across the street from where I live, and a brown man is sitting on the sidewalk with his back to the wall. I wait as well, wishing that a car of strangers would pull over and ask me if I wanted to go for a ride. If that happened right now, I would definitely say yes.
My car of strangers doesn't arrive, and I see the bus pull over at the stop just up the street. I tell the brown man sitting on the sidewalk with his back to the wall, that the bus is coming. He stands, and as the bus pulls up and stops, I let him get on first.
The bus driver seems like a friendly guy. He is wearing a brown flannel shirt instead of his bus driver’s uniform. I guess today must be his casual dress day.
My hope for a quiet bus ride is quashed. Two white boys sit next to me, and talk the entire time they are aboard. I give up trying not to listen to them. They chatter mostly about girls, and to tell you the truth, they are so boring and uninteresting it doesn't even warrant detailing.
The bus twists and turns, and everybody leaves except for an old yellow woman and me. We must be getting to the end of the line. There is a bottle rolling around on the floor at the back of the bus, and the driver pulls over and stops. I exit, and realize he pulled over to get the bottle. He tosses it at a garbage container as I walk by, and it smashes against the side, sending glass everywhere.
I decide to get on the bus that stops across the street, and ride it to see where it ends. I put on my boots, and as I step out the door, the brown mother and her three children that live in the apartment across the hall are standing in the entrance, making strange sounds. Judging by the tone and their interaction, it is some kind of game that only they know. It sure sounds weird. It sounds so weird I can't even describe it.
There is not a bench at the bus stop across the street from where I live, and a brown man is sitting on the sidewalk with his back to the wall. I wait as well, wishing that a car of strangers would pull over and ask me if I wanted to go for a ride. If that happened right now, I would definitely say yes.
My car of strangers doesn't arrive, and I see the bus pull over at the stop just up the street. I tell the brown man sitting on the sidewalk with his back to the wall, that the bus is coming. He stands, and as the bus pulls up and stops, I let him get on first.
The bus driver seems like a friendly guy. He is wearing a brown flannel shirt instead of his bus driver’s uniform. I guess today must be his casual dress day.
My hope for a quiet bus ride is quashed. Two white boys sit next to me, and talk the entire time they are aboard. I give up trying not to listen to them. They chatter mostly about girls, and to tell you the truth, they are so boring and uninteresting it doesn't even warrant detailing.
The bus twists and turns, and everybody leaves except for an old yellow woman and me. We must be getting to the end of the line. There is a bottle rolling around on the floor at the back of the bus, and the driver pulls over and stops. I exit, and realize he pulled over to get the bottle. He tosses it at a garbage container as I walk by, and it smashes against the side, sending glass everywhere.
Page 27
I decide to walk to the water, and pass the toy train store. I'm hungry, and decide to eat at a sandwich shop I know.
I'm the only one in the sandwich shop, and I watch the tourists walking. You can always tell the people visiting from out of town because they look clean and crisp. Most people here are a little weathered.
I finish eating, and head toward the water, trying to keep a comfortable distance from the woman walking in front of me. She keeps stopping and looking back. She turns and begins walking towards me. I swing wide of her. She asks me to stop. She wants to know directions to a certain bar. I tell her. She thanks me and walks away.
I get to the water, and instead of going towards the wharf, I decide to turn left. I jump over the cement wall that separates the upper area from the lower area, and scare two kissing brown teenagers. I apologize, and hop down onto the rocks at the edge of the water, promptly falling on my butt. The rocks are wet and very, very, slick from the moss on them. I stand and walk along the rocks, and under the plank that leads to a building on posts.
It is scary under here. It is murky, and I realize that there might be water rats. I come up on the other side of the plank, and step back up to the cement at the base of the wall. I follow it, stepping over big drainage pipes until I get to where the walkway ends.
I look around and realize I am totally alone. For the first time since I've been in the city, I am all by myself: no homeless people, no roommate, no tourists, no Fringe Folks, nobody. I sit and listen to the waves as they crash against the rocks. It is quite loud. My heart is beating fast and my head is racing. I'm finally alone.
This feeling is hard to explain. It is frightening and totally satisfying at the same time. I'm thinking about everything, and finally decide that it is all going to be all right. A strange peace settles over me, and I get on my knees and say a prayer.
I'm the only one in the sandwich shop, and I watch the tourists walking. You can always tell the people visiting from out of town because they look clean and crisp. Most people here are a little weathered.
I finish eating, and head toward the water, trying to keep a comfortable distance from the woman walking in front of me. She keeps stopping and looking back. She turns and begins walking towards me. I swing wide of her. She asks me to stop. She wants to know directions to a certain bar. I tell her. She thanks me and walks away.
I get to the water, and instead of going towards the wharf, I decide to turn left. I jump over the cement wall that separates the upper area from the lower area, and scare two kissing brown teenagers. I apologize, and hop down onto the rocks at the edge of the water, promptly falling on my butt. The rocks are wet and very, very, slick from the moss on them. I stand and walk along the rocks, and under the plank that leads to a building on posts.
It is scary under here. It is murky, and I realize that there might be water rats. I come up on the other side of the plank, and step back up to the cement at the base of the wall. I follow it, stepping over big drainage pipes until I get to where the walkway ends.
I look around and realize I am totally alone. For the first time since I've been in the city, I am all by myself: no homeless people, no roommate, no tourists, no Fringe Folks, nobody. I sit and listen to the waves as they crash against the rocks. It is quite loud. My heart is beating fast and my head is racing. I'm finally alone.
This feeling is hard to explain. It is frightening and totally satisfying at the same time. I'm thinking about everything, and finally decide that it is all going to be all right. A strange peace settles over me, and I get on my knees and say a prayer.
Page 28
I was waiting for my second date with E, when she called and said she wanted to come to the city and get together, and did I know anything fun we could do? I told her a friend of mine was having an open house at the artist co-op where she lived.
E hesitated at the suggestion, but I convinced her it would be fun. So she said okay, and instructed me to meet her the next day at the rock and roll memorabilia restaurant. I was elated.
I carried a set of clothes in my backpack to work. I shaved, brushed my teeth, and changed in the bathroom. I wore a long cashmere coat that I was given as a gift. As I waited for my first bus, I tried to stay away from people and things that would soil it. Once I got on my first bus it dawned on me what a drag it was to have to take a bus when you are dressed sharply. Buses are filthy.
I got on my second bus, and began my slow crawl past City Hall. The homeless people used to congregate in this area, until the mayor trimmed the trees to mere shrubs, so as to not offer any real shelter for them, and the police began moving them along.
We passed Symphony Hall. It is a nice place. I've seen a few performances there. Last year I saw this rather elaborate piece that had a chorus in addition to a full orchestra. They had a woman pop out of doors above the crowd like a cuckoo clock. There are doors in the rafters I never noticed before, that they must reserve for that rare musical moment that requires such vocal placement. In the same show, there were also singers in the upper balcony, and they stood from the crowd and sang their part, then sat down and disappeared among the audience.
This show was the first time I paid attention to the conductor. The maestro. I was sitting second row, and I witnessed his antics. He was quite animated: gesturing and swaying and pausing and pointing. I've always wondered if he is really necessary. I mean, these are accomplished musicians, and they do have the sheet music in front of them. Since I really don't know much about it, I'll assume the conductor is necessary. Sometimes, I would think that his motions would be distracting.
E hesitated at the suggestion, but I convinced her it would be fun. So she said okay, and instructed me to meet her the next day at the rock and roll memorabilia restaurant. I was elated.
I carried a set of clothes in my backpack to work. I shaved, brushed my teeth, and changed in the bathroom. I wore a long cashmere coat that I was given as a gift. As I waited for my first bus, I tried to stay away from people and things that would soil it. Once I got on my first bus it dawned on me what a drag it was to have to take a bus when you are dressed sharply. Buses are filthy.
I got on my second bus, and began my slow crawl past City Hall. The homeless people used to congregate in this area, until the mayor trimmed the trees to mere shrubs, so as to not offer any real shelter for them, and the police began moving them along.
We passed Symphony Hall. It is a nice place. I've seen a few performances there. Last year I saw this rather elaborate piece that had a chorus in addition to a full orchestra. They had a woman pop out of doors above the crowd like a cuckoo clock. There are doors in the rafters I never noticed before, that they must reserve for that rare musical moment that requires such vocal placement. In the same show, there were also singers in the upper balcony, and they stood from the crowd and sang their part, then sat down and disappeared among the audience.
This show was the first time I paid attention to the conductor. The maestro. I was sitting second row, and I witnessed his antics. He was quite animated: gesturing and swaying and pausing and pointing. I've always wondered if he is really necessary. I mean, these are accomplished musicians, and they do have the sheet music in front of them. Since I really don't know much about it, I'll assume the conductor is necessary. Sometimes, I would think that his motions would be distracting.
Page 29
I stepped off the bus and crossed the street entering the restaurant. It was filled with tourists, and out of the city folks like E, who thought it was a hip place to be. I found the mementos in it to be unimpressive.
They were playing horrible pop songs, and I waited and sang along. I waited. And I waited. Just as I was getting angry and was about to leave, E came busting through the door, wearing a dress and tall leather boots. All was forgiven.
She sat next to me at the bar. We ordered some awful food, and while we waited, she batted her pretty eyes, and smiled at me. I told her I really liked her boots. She hoisted a leg onto the bar; stretching it out in full, stroking it with one of her pretty, plump hands. I wanted to run my hand along her thigh, but I was too dizzy to move.
We ate and talked without pause, and then we left to go see my artist friend's open house.
E complimented me on my cashmere coat as I got into her car. She drove and played the radio very, very loud. I asked her many times if I could drive her car. She always said no.
We got to my neighborhood, and parked in front of my artist friend's building. The night helped hide the unattractiveness of the street, but there was no denying that we were not in the suburbs. I told E to make sure and lock her car. She said it would be fine and left her window rolled down.
The atmosphere was festive inside. We climbed the cement stairs to my friend's floor, and made our way among the artwork, many of which were grand in scale and design. Several of the artists' apartments were open and converted into mini stores, with each selling their work. I remember one that dealt with woodcarvings, and another place had large mechanical people. I met my friend near the wine and cheese table, and introduced her to E, who surprised me by carrying on a normal conversation.
Before we left, I took her to the far corner of the floor and showed her my favorite pieces. They were large grotesque figures that reminded me of Mardi Gras. They depicted urbanites with extreme attitudes. There was a spiky-hair punk with a dog collar. He was baring his teeth, and had fists clenched, ready for a fight. There was a bust of a woman in progress, and it was lying on its back on the floor. E saw it, and informed me that she could do that as well. She laid down and arched her back, keeping both her feet and hands flat. It was a truly impressive pose, and as I thought of many things, she stood, took my hand, and led me outside to her car.
They were playing horrible pop songs, and I waited and sang along. I waited. And I waited. Just as I was getting angry and was about to leave, E came busting through the door, wearing a dress and tall leather boots. All was forgiven.
She sat next to me at the bar. We ordered some awful food, and while we waited, she batted her pretty eyes, and smiled at me. I told her I really liked her boots. She hoisted a leg onto the bar; stretching it out in full, stroking it with one of her pretty, plump hands. I wanted to run my hand along her thigh, but I was too dizzy to move.
We ate and talked without pause, and then we left to go see my artist friend's open house.
E complimented me on my cashmere coat as I got into her car. She drove and played the radio very, very loud. I asked her many times if I could drive her car. She always said no.
We got to my neighborhood, and parked in front of my artist friend's building. The night helped hide the unattractiveness of the street, but there was no denying that we were not in the suburbs. I told E to make sure and lock her car. She said it would be fine and left her window rolled down.
The atmosphere was festive inside. We climbed the cement stairs to my friend's floor, and made our way among the artwork, many of which were grand in scale and design. Several of the artists' apartments were open and converted into mini stores, with each selling their work. I remember one that dealt with woodcarvings, and another place had large mechanical people. I met my friend near the wine and cheese table, and introduced her to E, who surprised me by carrying on a normal conversation.
Before we left, I took her to the far corner of the floor and showed her my favorite pieces. They were large grotesque figures that reminded me of Mardi Gras. They depicted urbanites with extreme attitudes. There was a spiky-hair punk with a dog collar. He was baring his teeth, and had fists clenched, ready for a fight. There was a bust of a woman in progress, and it was lying on its back on the floor. E saw it, and informed me that she could do that as well. She laid down and arched her back, keeping both her feet and hands flat. It was a truly impressive pose, and as I thought of many things, she stood, took my hand, and led me outside to her car.
Page 30
She wanted to know what was next and I asked her if she wanted to see my place. We drove a few blocks and parked again among the trash and graffiti. We walked to my apartment, and E took my arm. She leaned her head against my shoulder. I guess she was trying to create a romantic mood. But in all honesty, it is hard to feel romantic while you are trying to keep an eye out for dog crap on the sidewalk and step over piles of trash.
When we got inside my apartment, I could tell my roommate was home. All my fantasies popped liked soap bubbles. I led E into the front room. She sat on the sofa, and I got her a beer. My roommate and E talked about this and that, mostly about the difference between old money and new money people. They are both from old money people.
My roommate invited us to join her and two of her friends, who also come from old money people, at the bar across the street, and we did. The place is cool. It has chairs that have bases made from large pieces of metal that are formed like big springs. While you are drinking you sit and bounce. I didn't sit on one of those chairs. I sat in a booth. E sat next to me with her arm around my waist.
My roommate's friends were quite nice. They were two white men from the East coast who have the same first name, and they differentiate from one another by the nicknames of ‘Big’ and ‘Little.’
As I walked E back to her car, she had her arm in mine and her head on my shoulder again. Like I said, this is not the most romantic neighborhood. In fact, I barely missed being doused with a cup of water some brat poured out of a window as we walked by his house.
When we got inside my apartment, I could tell my roommate was home. All my fantasies popped liked soap bubbles. I led E into the front room. She sat on the sofa, and I got her a beer. My roommate and E talked about this and that, mostly about the difference between old money and new money people. They are both from old money people.
My roommate invited us to join her and two of her friends, who also come from old money people, at the bar across the street, and we did. The place is cool. It has chairs that have bases made from large pieces of metal that are formed like big springs. While you are drinking you sit and bounce. I didn't sit on one of those chairs. I sat in a booth. E sat next to me with her arm around my waist.
My roommate's friends were quite nice. They were two white men from the East coast who have the same first name, and they differentiate from one another by the nicknames of ‘Big’ and ‘Little.’
As I walked E back to her car, she had her arm in mine and her head on my shoulder again. Like I said, this is not the most romantic neighborhood. In fact, I barely missed being doused with a cup of water some brat poured out of a window as we walked by his house.
Page 31
The day after a band practice the singer called and asked me what I was doing.
I told her I was not doing anything. She said that she and a cousin were going to a dance club. If I wanted to join them she would come and get me. I said I would go.
The singer was in a happy mood when she got me. We talked non stop on the way to the club. I had been to the place before. It is right around the corner from where I work. This means it is not in the greatest neighborhood.
We eventually met the singer’s cousin at the club. She was a young white woman with black- hair and was very, very, serious.
I said hello and left her to get a beer.
The bartender was a tall white woman who had to lean down to hear me. I ordered the beer I always drink, but she said they did not carry it. She suggested some brand that was unfamiliar to me. I did not complain and left a tip for her and took a few hearty swallows. I went downstairs hoping I would find young people, but instead, there were moms and dads. It seemed like a tourist group was in attendance. I took a couple more hearty swallows and headed back upstairs.
The beer was doing its job. I began to feel mellower. The singer and her cousin were sitting on a small lighted stage. I finished my beer and joined them. I smiled and sat next to the singer’s cousin. She gave me a look that said ‘What is your problem?’
The singer noticed this and asked me what I was drinking. I told her I really did not know. When I said this the singer’s cousin said something under her breath.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Oh, nothing.” She replied.
“No. I definitely heard you say something. What was it?”
“Nothing, Really.”
“Coward.”
After I said this she looked at me with such hatred that I felt immediate joy and could not help smiling.
The singer sensed the tension and sat in silence while her cousin and I glared at each other. Neither of us said anything and I finally excused myself to get another drink.
Around midnight I grew tired of dancing with the group of obnoxious white women celebrating a bachelorette party. The bride to be wore a large rubber penis around her neck, and after a while I found her too annoying. I left and sat next to the singer’s cousin. She stared at me blankly.
“Do you want to come home with me?” She asked.
I was surprised at her question.
I said yes.
“Let’s go then.”
I told her that I needed to tell the singer I was leaving.
I found the singer dancing with several attractive male admirers. I told her to be careful and that I was leaving. She kept on dancing and yelled “Where are you going?” I told her, and said I would call her tomorrow.
I told her I was not doing anything. She said that she and a cousin were going to a dance club. If I wanted to join them she would come and get me. I said I would go.
The singer was in a happy mood when she got me. We talked non stop on the way to the club. I had been to the place before. It is right around the corner from where I work. This means it is not in the greatest neighborhood.
We eventually met the singer’s cousin at the club. She was a young white woman with black- hair and was very, very, serious.
I said hello and left her to get a beer.
The bartender was a tall white woman who had to lean down to hear me. I ordered the beer I always drink, but she said they did not carry it. She suggested some brand that was unfamiliar to me. I did not complain and left a tip for her and took a few hearty swallows. I went downstairs hoping I would find young people, but instead, there were moms and dads. It seemed like a tourist group was in attendance. I took a couple more hearty swallows and headed back upstairs.
The beer was doing its job. I began to feel mellower. The singer and her cousin were sitting on a small lighted stage. I finished my beer and joined them. I smiled and sat next to the singer’s cousin. She gave me a look that said ‘What is your problem?’
The singer noticed this and asked me what I was drinking. I told her I really did not know. When I said this the singer’s cousin said something under her breath.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Oh, nothing.” She replied.
“No. I definitely heard you say something. What was it?”
“Nothing, Really.”
“Coward.”
After I said this she looked at me with such hatred that I felt immediate joy and could not help smiling.
The singer sensed the tension and sat in silence while her cousin and I glared at each other. Neither of us said anything and I finally excused myself to get another drink.
Around midnight I grew tired of dancing with the group of obnoxious white women celebrating a bachelorette party. The bride to be wore a large rubber penis around her neck, and after a while I found her too annoying. I left and sat next to the singer’s cousin. She stared at me blankly.
“Do you want to come home with me?” She asked.
I was surprised at her question.
I said yes.
“Let’s go then.”
I told her that I needed to tell the singer I was leaving.
I found the singer dancing with several attractive male admirers. I told her to be careful and that I was leaving. She kept on dancing and yelled “Where are you going?” I told her, and said I would call her tomorrow.
Page 32
The singer’s cousin had a nice car. I asked her what she did for a living. She said she was a customer service representative, and spoke on the phone all day. I asked her to speak like she was at work. She had a wonderful phone voice.
Inside her apartment we were greeted by three fat cats who mewed and rubbed themselves against our legs. She went to the kitchen and opened a trio of moist food tins and put one in front of each of the noisy beasts, and then left the room.
I had a bad feeling about everything. After the cats were done eating they followed me to the front room, where I saw the walls were covered with all kinds of crucifixes.
I was sober enough to know that this place was not somewhere I wanted to be, but before I could go, the singer’s cousin called my name from the bedroom.
I went in and found her sitting nude on the bed. She told me to close the door to keep out the cats and I did. She then told me to undress.
She lubricated herself with a gel. I was now naked and tried to kiss her, but she pulled her face away and began stroking me.
“You came home from work and found me with another man. You cut his throat and stabbed him repeatedly with the big knife you keep under your side of the mattress as I watched frozen with terror. He died on the bed and you rolled his body onto the floor. We are both covered with blood. You are holding me down and making me have sex out of anger and revenge.”
I entered her and we both pushed hard against one another. Inside my head I heard breaking glass and saw flashes of white light.
Inside her apartment we were greeted by three fat cats who mewed and rubbed themselves against our legs. She went to the kitchen and opened a trio of moist food tins and put one in front of each of the noisy beasts, and then left the room.
I had a bad feeling about everything. After the cats were done eating they followed me to the front room, where I saw the walls were covered with all kinds of crucifixes.
I was sober enough to know that this place was not somewhere I wanted to be, but before I could go, the singer’s cousin called my name from the bedroom.
I went in and found her sitting nude on the bed. She told me to close the door to keep out the cats and I did. She then told me to undress.
She lubricated herself with a gel. I was now naked and tried to kiss her, but she pulled her face away and began stroking me.
“You came home from work and found me with another man. You cut his throat and stabbed him repeatedly with the big knife you keep under your side of the mattress as I watched frozen with terror. He died on the bed and you rolled his body onto the floor. We are both covered with blood. You are holding me down and making me have sex out of anger and revenge.”
I entered her and we both pushed hard against one another. Inside my head I heard breaking glass and saw flashes of white light.
Page 33
All I did the next day was stay home watching television, dealing with the hangover of the strange scene with the singer’s cousin.
I wanted to talk to the singer, but when I called her I got her recording. I thought at first that talking to her might lift my spirits and help me not feel so horrible. I mean, I had not forced myself on her cousin. She invited me home. So why did I feel so guilty? Twisted mental agony was hitting me in waves.
I was just about to go to sleep when the singer called. I was very, very tired, so when she asked what went on with her cousin I told her it was none of her business. She said she had spoken to her and they talked for quite awhile. She said that the cousin thought I was actually an okay guy, but that I was too nice for her.
I wanted to talk to the singer, but when I called her I got her recording. I thought at first that talking to her might lift my spirits and help me not feel so horrible. I mean, I had not forced myself on her cousin. She invited me home. So why did I feel so guilty? Twisted mental agony was hitting me in waves.
I was just about to go to sleep when the singer called. I was very, very tired, so when she asked what went on with her cousin I told her it was none of her business. She said she had spoken to her and they talked for quite awhile. She said that the cousin thought I was actually an okay guy, but that I was too nice for her.
Page 34
It is another Monday after five. I'm sitting in the employee lounge where I work, contemplating the day that passed, and the journey home. A few noisy talkers from another department are sitting across from me, and I'm trying to ignore them. What I'm about to say makes me sick. Quite literally, my stomach is churning, and I'm not sure I can keep down the candy and coffee I had as a snack.
Today I had a flicker of forgiveness for my ex, and I e-mailed her a joke that I thought she would like. I'll probably regret it. As painful as this whole experience has been, I have to admit breaking up took a lot of nerve, or whatever you want to call it, on her behalf. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to vomit.
Today I had a flicker of forgiveness for my ex, and I e-mailed her a joke that I thought she would like. I'll probably regret it. As painful as this whole experience has been, I have to admit breaking up took a lot of nerve, or whatever you want to call it, on her behalf. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to vomit.
Page 35
I'm walking on the sunny side of the main street. It is ten o' clock in the morning and it is my first break of the day. I plan to go to the British music store, and stop by the deli a few doors down from my work, and buy a bagel and apple for lunch, all within my allotted time.
The tourists are lined to ride the cable car and the local freaks are working them for change. There is the Bad Silver Man. The Good Silver Man was cool. He was completely silver: silver hair, skin, glasses, clothes, gloves. He stood like a statue and people gave him money. Unlike the Good Silver Man, who attracted his fans into giving money on their own accord, the Bad Silver Man roams among the crowd asking for spare change.
The Sock Puppet Lady sits at the base of one of the transplanted trees and has her sock puppet sing gospel songs. The Sock Puppet Lady is white. She is missing teeth and has black sunken eyes. She is probably a better singer than her sock puppet.
The Repentance Twins stand with their hands in their pockets, discussing the sad state of affairs. They wear old time sandwich board-type signs on their front and back, proclaiming, fallen is Babylon. My guess is these guys have not been laid in years.
I pass a few clothes stores, and notice the guy that usually offers Tarot card readings is selling some kind of funky ceramic globs. He usually has a blanket laid on the sidewalk with a plastic milk crate, showing his Tarot cards fanned on top. The ceramic globs he has for sale today look like multi-colored cinnamon rolls or cow pies.
The reason I ventured out at this time, is that the foot traffic is light. When I come out at lunch, walking is like an Olympic event: synchronized body weaving.
I enter the British music store, and there is a dirty homeless man wearing the headphones attached to one of the listening posts. He is moving and grooving to the music. The music featured at the listening station is a compilation put together by the record store under the heading of songs for Gay Pride. The artwork features figures that you typically see on top of wedding cakes. The figures are paired same sex. The homeless guy doesn't look gay.
I leave the store, walking over to the shady side of the main street. The department store that sponsors the turkey day parade has two huge pots in the window. They are about the size of baby hippos. I can't make out the price, but I bet they are expensive. The kiln that glazed them must have been the size of a bus.
I see pretty girls say hello to the Homeless Pet People. One Homeless Pet Person has two orange tabbies rolled in a blanket, and one has two dogs on leashes strapped to a shopping cart. Next to them, in a rusty news rack, there is a newspaper whose headline reads, "I Was Captured By A U.F.O."
It appears the green people are coming.
I'm on my block, and I pass the working moms standing in front of the trade school next to the Social Security office. The ones in the medical classes wear blue hospital scrubs. I see some cuties once in a while.
I get a bagel and an apple from the deli next door to the theater where I saw the vampire movie. The apple selection is poor. Most are badly bruised, but I manage to find one that is edible.
On my way back to the floor where I work, I notice a lip print on the elevator door of a dirty red kiss. Boy, somebody must really love this place.
The tourists are lined to ride the cable car and the local freaks are working them for change. There is the Bad Silver Man. The Good Silver Man was cool. He was completely silver: silver hair, skin, glasses, clothes, gloves. He stood like a statue and people gave him money. Unlike the Good Silver Man, who attracted his fans into giving money on their own accord, the Bad Silver Man roams among the crowd asking for spare change.
The Sock Puppet Lady sits at the base of one of the transplanted trees and has her sock puppet sing gospel songs. The Sock Puppet Lady is white. She is missing teeth and has black sunken eyes. She is probably a better singer than her sock puppet.
The Repentance Twins stand with their hands in their pockets, discussing the sad state of affairs. They wear old time sandwich board-type signs on their front and back, proclaiming, fallen is Babylon. My guess is these guys have not been laid in years.
I pass a few clothes stores, and notice the guy that usually offers Tarot card readings is selling some kind of funky ceramic globs. He usually has a blanket laid on the sidewalk with a plastic milk crate, showing his Tarot cards fanned on top. The ceramic globs he has for sale today look like multi-colored cinnamon rolls or cow pies.
The reason I ventured out at this time, is that the foot traffic is light. When I come out at lunch, walking is like an Olympic event: synchronized body weaving.
I enter the British music store, and there is a dirty homeless man wearing the headphones attached to one of the listening posts. He is moving and grooving to the music. The music featured at the listening station is a compilation put together by the record store under the heading of songs for Gay Pride. The artwork features figures that you typically see on top of wedding cakes. The figures are paired same sex. The homeless guy doesn't look gay.
I leave the store, walking over to the shady side of the main street. The department store that sponsors the turkey day parade has two huge pots in the window. They are about the size of baby hippos. I can't make out the price, but I bet they are expensive. The kiln that glazed them must have been the size of a bus.
I see pretty girls say hello to the Homeless Pet People. One Homeless Pet Person has two orange tabbies rolled in a blanket, and one has two dogs on leashes strapped to a shopping cart. Next to them, in a rusty news rack, there is a newspaper whose headline reads, "I Was Captured By A U.F.O."
It appears the green people are coming.
I'm on my block, and I pass the working moms standing in front of the trade school next to the Social Security office. The ones in the medical classes wear blue hospital scrubs. I see some cuties once in a while.
I get a bagel and an apple from the deli next door to the theater where I saw the vampire movie. The apple selection is poor. Most are badly bruised, but I manage to find one that is edible.
On my way back to the floor where I work, I notice a lip print on the elevator door of a dirty red kiss. Boy, somebody must really love this place.
Page 36
There is one thing about being poor, or at least living with the poor people like I do, and that is, it is hard to get good food. When I say good food, I mean food that is good for you, healthy food, like fresh fruits, vegetables, and breads.
There are two stores on my block, appropriately enough, one on each of the corners at the opposite ends of the street. There is the one where they try to short change you and cheat you, and there is the one where they don't try to short change you and cheat you.
The store that tries to cheat you is better stocked than the one that doesn't try to cheat you. They carry man magazines, household items, cold pills, and lighters for smoking crack, along with the standard overpriced dry goods. Sometimes they have apples, bananas, tomatoes, and onions, but they go quickly. I don't like this corner store. It costs ten dollars to use the money machine they have by the register.
Every once and a while, I'll buy a pack of gum or an apple from this place. The guys that work there are Phonies. They call me "Buddy" when I make one of my measly purchases. I buy small there, so I know they aren't double charging me. My roommate is always being taken by them. She will come home and look over her receipt and find that the Phonies have charged her at least twice for something, sometimes more. I've told her not to shop there, but she said she really doesn't have a choice, because the real grocery store is far away, and the corner store that doesn't try to cheat you doesn't have anything.
It is true. The corner store that doesn't try to cheat you doesn't have anything. It is run by a young brown husband and wife, who keep their baby inside a playpen in the store. I like the wife. She is pretty and friendly. Sometimes, I'll buy something there in an effort to put together a dinner.
I've discovered rice and apples. Today I bought a can of ravioli and a few limes. I ate the limes like you'd eat an orange in order to have Vitamin C. They also carry good breakfast-type buns there for only a few coins, and I buy them too. I don't like the husband. He's another Phony.
I was raised that you took your car to the supermarket once a week, bought what you needed, stashed it away in your fridge and cupboards, and you were set. I always had plenty to eat. But now that I don't have a car, it is a lot harder to eat. I try to go to the supermarket once a week on my way home from work and buy good food to last all week. I now buy powdered milk, because milk in a carton or jug is too heavy to carry home.
There are two stores on my block, appropriately enough, one on each of the corners at the opposite ends of the street. There is the one where they try to short change you and cheat you, and there is the one where they don't try to short change you and cheat you.
The store that tries to cheat you is better stocked than the one that doesn't try to cheat you. They carry man magazines, household items, cold pills, and lighters for smoking crack, along with the standard overpriced dry goods. Sometimes they have apples, bananas, tomatoes, and onions, but they go quickly. I don't like this corner store. It costs ten dollars to use the money machine they have by the register.
Every once and a while, I'll buy a pack of gum or an apple from this place. The guys that work there are Phonies. They call me "Buddy" when I make one of my measly purchases. I buy small there, so I know they aren't double charging me. My roommate is always being taken by them. She will come home and look over her receipt and find that the Phonies have charged her at least twice for something, sometimes more. I've told her not to shop there, but she said she really doesn't have a choice, because the real grocery store is far away, and the corner store that doesn't try to cheat you doesn't have anything.
It is true. The corner store that doesn't try to cheat you doesn't have anything. It is run by a young brown husband and wife, who keep their baby inside a playpen in the store. I like the wife. She is pretty and friendly. Sometimes, I'll buy something there in an effort to put together a dinner.
I've discovered rice and apples. Today I bought a can of ravioli and a few limes. I ate the limes like you'd eat an orange in order to have Vitamin C. They also carry good breakfast-type buns there for only a few coins, and I buy them too. I don't like the husband. He's another Phony.
I was raised that you took your car to the supermarket once a week, bought what you needed, stashed it away in your fridge and cupboards, and you were set. I always had plenty to eat. But now that I don't have a car, it is a lot harder to eat. I try to go to the supermarket once a week on my way home from work and buy good food to last all week. I now buy powdered milk, because milk in a carton or jug is too heavy to carry home.
Page 37
I spent Independence Day walking. First, to and from the soccer stadium where my friend and I went to see the semi-final match of the women's world cup. It was packed with nubile young white women in halter-tops. Our team won the soccer match, and they made me feel proud. The other team was more talented, and handled the ball with more style, but our team won with sheer hard work and guts.
My friend let me drive his car, and after the match, I stopped at the grocery store in order to get money from the money machine. I paid him for the ticket. Then, I went to the golden arches. I wanted a big hamburger, fries, and a soda. I refrained from using the ketchup dispenser, because a dirty homeless man was guarding it for someone as he danced to the music playing overhead.
I was completely exhausted when I got home, and resigned myself to staying in and watching the fireworks on television. But, when the sun went down and it got dark, I was itchy to go out, so I got dressed and left.
They definitely do Independence Day right in my neighborhood. As I walked to the subway station, I passed countless groups of brown people igniting impressive amounts of explosives.
By the time I got to where the big show was, it was over, and the crowd was leaving. There were youngsters here and there shooting off their fireworks, and a group of kids holding up traffic, singing a patriotic song. It felt good to be with everyone. I sat and watched as some boy would light a fire, then jump it with his skateboard. As a rule, I've noticed the skate boarders here tend to be lame. The really good ones appear to be down South, but this boy was okay. Not once did he wipe out.
My friend let me drive his car, and after the match, I stopped at the grocery store in order to get money from the money machine. I paid him for the ticket. Then, I went to the golden arches. I wanted a big hamburger, fries, and a soda. I refrained from using the ketchup dispenser, because a dirty homeless man was guarding it for someone as he danced to the music playing overhead.
I was completely exhausted when I got home, and resigned myself to staying in and watching the fireworks on television. But, when the sun went down and it got dark, I was itchy to go out, so I got dressed and left.
They definitely do Independence Day right in my neighborhood. As I walked to the subway station, I passed countless groups of brown people igniting impressive amounts of explosives.
By the time I got to where the big show was, it was over, and the crowd was leaving. There were youngsters here and there shooting off their fireworks, and a group of kids holding up traffic, singing a patriotic song. It felt good to be with everyone. I sat and watched as some boy would light a fire, then jump it with his skateboard. As a rule, I've noticed the skate boarders here tend to be lame. The really good ones appear to be down South, but this boy was okay. Not once did he wipe out.
Page 38
There were still a couple weeks to go until the officially scheduled second date, when E called and complained about the guy she was seeing. Apparently he had been visiting on the weekends and driving E crazy with his predictability. She said all he wanted to do was smoke pot and watch videos.
E asked if I would consider joining them at her place for the weekend, pretending to be her brother, in order to relieve her boredom. I could stay in her mom's room, since she was out of town, and I could help myself to all the food I wanted.
I didn't even have to think about it.
I asked her what time she wanted me there.
She was surprised, and thanked me repeatedly. She said she didn't know anyone else she could ask to help. The real selling point was the food. It had been a very, very, long time since I had experienced the joy that comes from unlimited access to a suburban refrigerator. Visions of cold cut sandwiches, big glasses of milk poured from gallon jugs, and packages of cookies zapped across the wires of my brain while E outlined her plan.
I would take the train, and call from the bar where we thumb wrestled, saying that I was her brother in town for the weekend on a surprise visit. My name would be Ed. She would get me at the bar, telling the other guy that she was going to the airport. Then I would spend the rest of the weekend with my best sister, and the current apple of her eye.
E made me promise several times before I hung up the telephone that I would show. I assured her that I was a man of my word. The last thing she said before good-bye was that we would have fun. I did not doubt that in the least. I hung up the phone, and stared at the rug on the floor of my room for a long time, marveling at how things could change so fast.
I took my bag packed for the weekend to work with me, and walked to the train station after quitting time. It was under construction, and there was plywood and chain link fencing everywhere. It separated the depot from the boarding area. I walked past the two porta-johns at the front, and up a narrow wooden plank that led to a solitary ticket window.
There were several brown people in line in front of me. I waited my turn. I bought my ticket, and the young black woman working the booth poked a corner of it with an ordinary hole punch.
There was a small stand that sold flowers, candy, and soda. I thought about buying my sister that I really don't have flowers, but I didn't feel like carrying them. I made my way through the plywood and chain link fencing maze, and joined the many people waiting for the train. There weren't any benches or seats. I sat on the plywood flooring, and leaned against the chain link fence. The fence gave quite a bit. There was absolutely no way to look cool in this position. I smiled and leaned forward, and watched while a couple motherly-types scowled at me.
Finally the porter pushed aside the gate that led to the train platform, and we all made our way through the chute into the cars of the train. I stepped into the nearest door and made my way up to the second level. I had never been on a train before that I could remember. I guess my Mom and Dad took me on a train before my other brothers were on the scene, but that would have made me a baby, and I don't remember anything about being a baby. My first memory is when I was two. I remember falling into a deep drainage ditch by my house on my tricycle.
We pulled out of the station, and made our way south, stopping to let more people board. The scenery was a picture of urban decay: yards of industry with big brown rusted barrels and piles of garbage. I also saw the backs of the projects, with their great graffiti covering every possible inch of the cement wall that separated the living areas from the hillside leading down to the tracks.
We passed the horse track and the mall, and then I exited the train. I walked past the new car dealerships into the quaint old town area, and looked in the little shop windows as I made my way to the bar to call Sis. It was six o'clock in the evening, and every one of those cutesy places was closed. So much for the working people. I guess the only people that shopped there were housewives and retirees.
E asked if I would consider joining them at her place for the weekend, pretending to be her brother, in order to relieve her boredom. I could stay in her mom's room, since she was out of town, and I could help myself to all the food I wanted.
I didn't even have to think about it.
I asked her what time she wanted me there.
She was surprised, and thanked me repeatedly. She said she didn't know anyone else she could ask to help. The real selling point was the food. It had been a very, very, long time since I had experienced the joy that comes from unlimited access to a suburban refrigerator. Visions of cold cut sandwiches, big glasses of milk poured from gallon jugs, and packages of cookies zapped across the wires of my brain while E outlined her plan.
I would take the train, and call from the bar where we thumb wrestled, saying that I was her brother in town for the weekend on a surprise visit. My name would be Ed. She would get me at the bar, telling the other guy that she was going to the airport. Then I would spend the rest of the weekend with my best sister, and the current apple of her eye.
E made me promise several times before I hung up the telephone that I would show. I assured her that I was a man of my word. The last thing she said before good-bye was that we would have fun. I did not doubt that in the least. I hung up the phone, and stared at the rug on the floor of my room for a long time, marveling at how things could change so fast.
I took my bag packed for the weekend to work with me, and walked to the train station after quitting time. It was under construction, and there was plywood and chain link fencing everywhere. It separated the depot from the boarding area. I walked past the two porta-johns at the front, and up a narrow wooden plank that led to a solitary ticket window.
There were several brown people in line in front of me. I waited my turn. I bought my ticket, and the young black woman working the booth poked a corner of it with an ordinary hole punch.
There was a small stand that sold flowers, candy, and soda. I thought about buying my sister that I really don't have flowers, but I didn't feel like carrying them. I made my way through the plywood and chain link fencing maze, and joined the many people waiting for the train. There weren't any benches or seats. I sat on the plywood flooring, and leaned against the chain link fence. The fence gave quite a bit. There was absolutely no way to look cool in this position. I smiled and leaned forward, and watched while a couple motherly-types scowled at me.
Finally the porter pushed aside the gate that led to the train platform, and we all made our way through the chute into the cars of the train. I stepped into the nearest door and made my way up to the second level. I had never been on a train before that I could remember. I guess my Mom and Dad took me on a train before my other brothers were on the scene, but that would have made me a baby, and I don't remember anything about being a baby. My first memory is when I was two. I remember falling into a deep drainage ditch by my house on my tricycle.
We pulled out of the station, and made our way south, stopping to let more people board. The scenery was a picture of urban decay: yards of industry with big brown rusted barrels and piles of garbage. I also saw the backs of the projects, with their great graffiti covering every possible inch of the cement wall that separated the living areas from the hillside leading down to the tracks.
We passed the horse track and the mall, and then I exited the train. I walked past the new car dealerships into the quaint old town area, and looked in the little shop windows as I made my way to the bar to call Sis. It was six o'clock in the evening, and every one of those cutesy places was closed. So much for the working people. I guess the only people that shopped there were housewives and retirees.
Page 39
I got to the bar and set my bag on a chair. The place was dead. I got a beer, left a tip, and called E. I got her recording. I hung up without leaving a message, thinking horrible things. I sat and sipped my beer. Mercifully, there was a decent song playing. I took this as a good omen and tried calling again. This time Sis answered. She put on a good front, asking me what I was doing in town, and how long did I plan to stay. I told her I didn't know and to hurry and come get me.
After a few songs, E came into the bar in a flurry of excitement. She sat down next to me very, very, close and looked at me for what seemed like a long time before she re-informed me that I was her next to youngest brother Ed, and that I was a car salesman. I had not been home for about six months, and my visit was quite a pleasant surprise. She pressed her knees firmly against mine, and I leaned forward and stole a long slow kiss. She sighed, and told me that was all I was going to get this weekend. I reminded her about the baths we used to take together when we were kids. She smiled, took my hand, and led me away from the table. I grabbed my overnight bag, and followed her to the car.
Home sweet home was a strange place. It was filled with an assortment of odds and ends occupying every nook, cranny, table space, shelf, and countertop. At first I was overwhelmed with the vastness of the clutter, but once I adjusted and began examining individual pieces I found several antiques that were quite nice.
E had me put my bag in Mom's room, and follow her upstairs to meet the other guy.
The other guy turned out to be a nice and I actually liked him. We shook hands and he said, hello Ed, and asked about my short visit home. E answered for me. She said that was the kind of guy I was. I loved surprises.
The other guy asked if I wanted to get high and I said no thanks. He packed a bowl and took a hit. He told me that he stops by to see E on his way from his friend’s. A friend of his is a grower, and he helps with the harvest and is paid with a nice personal supply.
E refrained from smoking, which was wise, because I was sure that she had the personality type that would not mix well with weed. I think she may have had some kind of psychotic episode if she had indulged.
I could see why E liked the other guy. He was good-looking, even if it appeared that he didn't realize it. He was short and swarthy. He showed me a picture of himself when he and she met, and he had quite a lion's mane of hair that ran all the way down his back. But in person, his hair was cut nice and neat. He said it was a pain to take care of and he wanted a change.
E's room was the attic of the house, converted to suit her. It was small, but she had her own bathroom and a room with a loveseat, television, exercise machine, and small refrigerator. The refrigerator had a picture of the other guy, as well as a few other magnets with cutesy slogans. I saw one recently in a card store in the downtown mall near the cable cars that read, "Jesus Is Coming-Hide The Bong."
E's sleeping area was a converted walk-in closet, with two mattresses thrown on the floor. She saw me checking it out and took me to where she kept her clothes.
The room across the hall was turned into her personal wardrobe and the clothes selection was immense. I put on a full-length leopard skin coat, and told her this was what I would be wearing for the evening. I was only half kidding, because it looked good on me. She said I would look better in a brown leather jacket that she had, but when I put it on, the sleeves were short.
We all sat in E's room and talked and watched a movie that had car chases and gunfire for about an hour, and then decided to go have dinner. I went downstairs to Mom's room to change.
We took Mom's car and E drove. It was a big tan four door that could really go. She stomped on the accelerator a few times on side streets that had the traffic flow to allow her to go about eighty miles an hour.
After a few songs, E came into the bar in a flurry of excitement. She sat down next to me very, very, close and looked at me for what seemed like a long time before she re-informed me that I was her next to youngest brother Ed, and that I was a car salesman. I had not been home for about six months, and my visit was quite a pleasant surprise. She pressed her knees firmly against mine, and I leaned forward and stole a long slow kiss. She sighed, and told me that was all I was going to get this weekend. I reminded her about the baths we used to take together when we were kids. She smiled, took my hand, and led me away from the table. I grabbed my overnight bag, and followed her to the car.
Home sweet home was a strange place. It was filled with an assortment of odds and ends occupying every nook, cranny, table space, shelf, and countertop. At first I was overwhelmed with the vastness of the clutter, but once I adjusted and began examining individual pieces I found several antiques that were quite nice.
E had me put my bag in Mom's room, and follow her upstairs to meet the other guy.
The other guy turned out to be a nice and I actually liked him. We shook hands and he said, hello Ed, and asked about my short visit home. E answered for me. She said that was the kind of guy I was. I loved surprises.
The other guy asked if I wanted to get high and I said no thanks. He packed a bowl and took a hit. He told me that he stops by to see E on his way from his friend’s. A friend of his is a grower, and he helps with the harvest and is paid with a nice personal supply.
E refrained from smoking, which was wise, because I was sure that she had the personality type that would not mix well with weed. I think she may have had some kind of psychotic episode if she had indulged.
I could see why E liked the other guy. He was good-looking, even if it appeared that he didn't realize it. He was short and swarthy. He showed me a picture of himself when he and she met, and he had quite a lion's mane of hair that ran all the way down his back. But in person, his hair was cut nice and neat. He said it was a pain to take care of and he wanted a change.
E's room was the attic of the house, converted to suit her. It was small, but she had her own bathroom and a room with a loveseat, television, exercise machine, and small refrigerator. The refrigerator had a picture of the other guy, as well as a few other magnets with cutesy slogans. I saw one recently in a card store in the downtown mall near the cable cars that read, "Jesus Is Coming-Hide The Bong."
E's sleeping area was a converted walk-in closet, with two mattresses thrown on the floor. She saw me checking it out and took me to where she kept her clothes.
The room across the hall was turned into her personal wardrobe and the clothes selection was immense. I put on a full-length leopard skin coat, and told her this was what I would be wearing for the evening. I was only half kidding, because it looked good on me. She said I would look better in a brown leather jacket that she had, but when I put it on, the sleeves were short.
We all sat in E's room and talked and watched a movie that had car chases and gunfire for about an hour, and then decided to go have dinner. I went downstairs to Mom's room to change.
We took Mom's car and E drove. It was a big tan four door that could really go. She stomped on the accelerator a few times on side streets that had the traffic flow to allow her to go about eighty miles an hour.
Page 40
Dinner was at a restaurant that had a family run feeling. And surprisingly enough, the food was quite good. You become spoiled eating in the city where almost everything is excellent. I've been amazed at what the locals in the outlying areas consider fine dining when I'm with them. For the most part, it amounts to okay prepared grub in some sort of chain-type place that you see in commercials on television.
E would feed the other guy portions of his dinner. And at the same time, run her foot up my leg. It felt so good I thought I would faint. When I needed to use the restroom, I got up and went through the kitchen. On my way back I saw the cook watching a TV show in what I guess was his native language that had topless women. I stopped and watched with him for a couple of minutes, then made my way back to the table and told the other guy about my finding.
I could tell he wanted to get up and check out the program, but E wouldn't let him, saying that he should behave. She smacked me on the hand hard enough for it to turn red, but I hardly felt it because she was smiling and looking so intensely at me that I felt dizzy. The other guy made some sort of joking comment about the joys of sisterly love, which E and I both let pass.
After dinner we went to a bar. E and the other guy sat with some brown people that she knew, and I sat at the bar and played the computer blackjack game. I did okay, winning many hands in a row, but there wasn't a payoff of any kind. I guess the pay off was you got to keep playing. That really was only mildly satisfying. It was more like a moral victory. And that is a hollow kind of victory when it comes to playing cards.
I struck up a conversation with a big white guy wearing glasses who was sitting next to me, and he told me of a local gambling house in town. Apparently, he had been there the previous week and won a lot of money playing poker. He said it was the modest looking cream colored house next to the grocery store. I thanked him for the information and we talked some more about this and that, mostly sports, and after our conversation had exhausted itself we both focused our attention on the band.
They were a pretty good nondescript outfit, and played a lot of songs by the world’s greatest rock and roll band, which pleased me immensely. When they played the song about the Devil, I got up and danced, and was joined by E. The other guy took my seat and watched. E and I kept our distance, but we still enjoyed ourselves.
The song ended and I sat next to the other guy. E still wanted to dance, so she partnered with a man who seemed to be mentally handicapped. He was dressed poorly, and jerked spastically to the music, and it was obvious that he made the other people uncomfortable.
I don't know what is wrong with me, but mentally handicapped people don't bother me. In fact, they comfort me in a strange way. I'll be standing on the bus wedged between this person and that person, and if one of them happens to be mentally off, I feel at ease with them. Sometimes I'll see a person with Downs Syndrome with their big faces and slow moving ways step up onto the bus and take a seat, and I feel almost parental towards them. I thought it was quite cool of E to dance with that man, and I told her so when she joined us at the bar.
The other guy was into the computer black jack, and I was into the bartender. She was a young blonde white woman with nice hips. I told E that if she was a good sister she would introduce me to her. She frowned and reluctantly did so, and I spent the rest of the evening sitting at the bar and chatting with the bartender when I could. I knew she probably got this all the time, and I was conscious of the fact that she was working, but her hips looked so curvy and wonderful, I couldn't totally let her be.
Eventually, E tired of the place and we left for the movie store before it closed. We parked in the grocery store parking lot, and as we walked to the store, I looked around for the cream colored gambling house. I think I found the place. It had several cars parked in front, and the lights inside were on, in contrast to the neighbors, who were obviously asleep.
E and the other guy picked out a movie apiece, and E chose one for me to watch. As we headed to the car, the other guy had to use the bathroom very, very, badly. We walked to the park in the town's square, and he scurried into the bushes. E and I sat on a park bench. I scooted close to her, and she scooted away, stopping at the end of the bench. She couldn't scoot any further without actually falling off the bench.
I moved right next to her. She asked me if I remembered mom bringing us to play at this park. I told her of course I did, and she put her hand on my knee and ran it lightly up my thigh. We heard the other guy stepping from the bushes and stood. She held his hand and swung it back and forth, like a child on a swing trying to go higher and higher.
Back home, E and the other guy went upstairs, and I went into Mom's room to watch the movie that was chosen for me. I could not find the light switch for anything in the world, so I groped to find the television. I turned it on, and it gave enough light to allow me to make my way around the room. I noticed a picture of who I assumed was Mom, just off to the right of the closet. It was a black and white photo and in it she was wearing only a negligee. She was lounging on the bed I was on, and even though she was older, she looked fantastic.
E would feed the other guy portions of his dinner. And at the same time, run her foot up my leg. It felt so good I thought I would faint. When I needed to use the restroom, I got up and went through the kitchen. On my way back I saw the cook watching a TV show in what I guess was his native language that had topless women. I stopped and watched with him for a couple of minutes, then made my way back to the table and told the other guy about my finding.
I could tell he wanted to get up and check out the program, but E wouldn't let him, saying that he should behave. She smacked me on the hand hard enough for it to turn red, but I hardly felt it because she was smiling and looking so intensely at me that I felt dizzy. The other guy made some sort of joking comment about the joys of sisterly love, which E and I both let pass.
After dinner we went to a bar. E and the other guy sat with some brown people that she knew, and I sat at the bar and played the computer blackjack game. I did okay, winning many hands in a row, but there wasn't a payoff of any kind. I guess the pay off was you got to keep playing. That really was only mildly satisfying. It was more like a moral victory. And that is a hollow kind of victory when it comes to playing cards.
I struck up a conversation with a big white guy wearing glasses who was sitting next to me, and he told me of a local gambling house in town. Apparently, he had been there the previous week and won a lot of money playing poker. He said it was the modest looking cream colored house next to the grocery store. I thanked him for the information and we talked some more about this and that, mostly sports, and after our conversation had exhausted itself we both focused our attention on the band.
They were a pretty good nondescript outfit, and played a lot of songs by the world’s greatest rock and roll band, which pleased me immensely. When they played the song about the Devil, I got up and danced, and was joined by E. The other guy took my seat and watched. E and I kept our distance, but we still enjoyed ourselves.
The song ended and I sat next to the other guy. E still wanted to dance, so she partnered with a man who seemed to be mentally handicapped. He was dressed poorly, and jerked spastically to the music, and it was obvious that he made the other people uncomfortable.
I don't know what is wrong with me, but mentally handicapped people don't bother me. In fact, they comfort me in a strange way. I'll be standing on the bus wedged between this person and that person, and if one of them happens to be mentally off, I feel at ease with them. Sometimes I'll see a person with Downs Syndrome with their big faces and slow moving ways step up onto the bus and take a seat, and I feel almost parental towards them. I thought it was quite cool of E to dance with that man, and I told her so when she joined us at the bar.
The other guy was into the computer black jack, and I was into the bartender. She was a young blonde white woman with nice hips. I told E that if she was a good sister she would introduce me to her. She frowned and reluctantly did so, and I spent the rest of the evening sitting at the bar and chatting with the bartender when I could. I knew she probably got this all the time, and I was conscious of the fact that she was working, but her hips looked so curvy and wonderful, I couldn't totally let her be.
Eventually, E tired of the place and we left for the movie store before it closed. We parked in the grocery store parking lot, and as we walked to the store, I looked around for the cream colored gambling house. I think I found the place. It had several cars parked in front, and the lights inside were on, in contrast to the neighbors, who were obviously asleep.
E and the other guy picked out a movie apiece, and E chose one for me to watch. As we headed to the car, the other guy had to use the bathroom very, very, badly. We walked to the park in the town's square, and he scurried into the bushes. E and I sat on a park bench. I scooted close to her, and she scooted away, stopping at the end of the bench. She couldn't scoot any further without actually falling off the bench.
I moved right next to her. She asked me if I remembered mom bringing us to play at this park. I told her of course I did, and she put her hand on my knee and ran it lightly up my thigh. We heard the other guy stepping from the bushes and stood. She held his hand and swung it back and forth, like a child on a swing trying to go higher and higher.
Back home, E and the other guy went upstairs, and I went into Mom's room to watch the movie that was chosen for me. I could not find the light switch for anything in the world, so I groped to find the television. I turned it on, and it gave enough light to allow me to make my way around the room. I noticed a picture of who I assumed was Mom, just off to the right of the closet. It was a black and white photo and in it she was wearing only a negligee. She was lounging on the bed I was on, and even though she was older, she looked fantastic.
Page 41
When I woke up the next morning my head felt fuzzy. I pulled on my pants and staggered to the kitchen, in need of food and coffee, and was met with a truly horrible reality. Not only were the cupboards bare, but the refrigerator was practically empty as well. So much for my suburban food fantasy.
I scrounged among the mountain of kitchen collectibles piled everywhere and found a tin of tea, and some bread and jam. I boiled the water for the tea and looked out the kitchen window into the backyard and saw it to be neglected and overgrown with weeds. There was a laundry room next to the kitchen and it was filled with stacks of sheets and pillowcases.
I made my tea and sat at the small table, pushing aside knickknacks too numerous to mention, and spooned jam onto the piece of bread.
Eventually my brain settled inside my skull. I finished my continental breakfast, rinsed off my saucer and cup, and began snooping around. In the hallway was a picture of the family.
I had three sisters, including E, and two brothers. I picked out Ed, and saw very, very little resemblance between us. I have no idea how the other guy didn't notice this. My guess is that things moved pretty slowly for him mentally, because of the dope he smoked. I didn't really feel too badly about joining in with E's charade, because I couldn't see what it hurt. I liked the other guy. My motivation wasn't to make a fool of him or anything. I just wanted to be with the pretty torture some one with the intense eyes.
There were two canaries in a wooden cage by the front door, and I wondered how I had failed to notice them before. Maybe E brought them out from somewhere during the night and put them there. You never know.
After I fully surveyed the downstairs, I went back to Mom's room, stretched out on the bed and watched a football game. Out the window, it was a sunny crisp autumn Saturday.
It was just before the half when E knocked on the door, asking if it was okay to enter. I said yes and she poked her pretty face just past the door frame. She was smiling. I asked her where the light switch was. It was hidden behind an abstract watercolor painting, and before I could ask her why, she was crawling onto the bed.
She made her way up, stopping just in front of my face. She informed me that she and the other guy were going to the mall and did I want to come? I told her I was going to hang out at home, and she asked if there was anything I wanted at the store. I told her what I wanted was some food, and it would be great if she stopped at the store on the way home and bought some groceries. She said she would. A few minutes later, she and the other guy left.
I finished watching the first football game and fell asleep sometime during the second one. I woke to find E staring at me. She told me to help myself to what was in the kitchen.
E had provided more or less what I had expected in the first place, and I poured myself a big glass of milk, made myself a thick ham and cheese sandwich, helped myself to some potato chips, and finished with a banana and a crisp red apple.
I went upstairs and said Hi to the other guy. He was loading a bowl and asked me if I wanted some. I told him I was cool, and sat on the floor and joined in watching another movie where guns were fired a great deal and a lot of things exploded.
It was hard to become used to being called Ed, and every time I paused before answering one of the questions the other guy asked, E would chime in and answer for me. Like I said, I have no idea how it was that he didn't catch on to our lie.
The movie ended and evening rolled around. I suggested we head to the city, but they both said they didn't feel like it. The other guy said he really liked that restaurant we ate at the night before, so we ate there again. Afterwards, E really wanted to go to the bar we were at the night before, so we went there again. They both said they had to return the movies they rented and get new ones before the store closed, so we did.
We got home, and E and the other guy went upstairs. I watched a movie about the living dead.
I scrounged among the mountain of kitchen collectibles piled everywhere and found a tin of tea, and some bread and jam. I boiled the water for the tea and looked out the kitchen window into the backyard and saw it to be neglected and overgrown with weeds. There was a laundry room next to the kitchen and it was filled with stacks of sheets and pillowcases.
I made my tea and sat at the small table, pushing aside knickknacks too numerous to mention, and spooned jam onto the piece of bread.
Eventually my brain settled inside my skull. I finished my continental breakfast, rinsed off my saucer and cup, and began snooping around. In the hallway was a picture of the family.
I had three sisters, including E, and two brothers. I picked out Ed, and saw very, very little resemblance between us. I have no idea how the other guy didn't notice this. My guess is that things moved pretty slowly for him mentally, because of the dope he smoked. I didn't really feel too badly about joining in with E's charade, because I couldn't see what it hurt. I liked the other guy. My motivation wasn't to make a fool of him or anything. I just wanted to be with the pretty torture some one with the intense eyes.
There were two canaries in a wooden cage by the front door, and I wondered how I had failed to notice them before. Maybe E brought them out from somewhere during the night and put them there. You never know.
After I fully surveyed the downstairs, I went back to Mom's room, stretched out on the bed and watched a football game. Out the window, it was a sunny crisp autumn Saturday.
It was just before the half when E knocked on the door, asking if it was okay to enter. I said yes and she poked her pretty face just past the door frame. She was smiling. I asked her where the light switch was. It was hidden behind an abstract watercolor painting, and before I could ask her why, she was crawling onto the bed.
She made her way up, stopping just in front of my face. She informed me that she and the other guy were going to the mall and did I want to come? I told her I was going to hang out at home, and she asked if there was anything I wanted at the store. I told her what I wanted was some food, and it would be great if she stopped at the store on the way home and bought some groceries. She said she would. A few minutes later, she and the other guy left.
I finished watching the first football game and fell asleep sometime during the second one. I woke to find E staring at me. She told me to help myself to what was in the kitchen.
E had provided more or less what I had expected in the first place, and I poured myself a big glass of milk, made myself a thick ham and cheese sandwich, helped myself to some potato chips, and finished with a banana and a crisp red apple.
I went upstairs and said Hi to the other guy. He was loading a bowl and asked me if I wanted some. I told him I was cool, and sat on the floor and joined in watching another movie where guns were fired a great deal and a lot of things exploded.
It was hard to become used to being called Ed, and every time I paused before answering one of the questions the other guy asked, E would chime in and answer for me. Like I said, I have no idea how it was that he didn't catch on to our lie.
The movie ended and evening rolled around. I suggested we head to the city, but they both said they didn't feel like it. The other guy said he really liked that restaurant we ate at the night before, so we ate there again. Afterwards, E really wanted to go to the bar we were at the night before, so we went there again. They both said they had to return the movies they rented and get new ones before the store closed, so we did.
We got home, and E and the other guy went upstairs. I watched a movie about the living dead.
Page 42
I woke up Sunday with the personal determination to do something different from the day before, and was quite relieved when E said we were all going out for breakfast and then to the pumpkin festival. I told her that I was bringing my bag, and after the pumpkin festival she could take me home. I would tell the other guy that I was staying with a friend in the city on my final night of my visit. E asked if I could stay one more night, but I told her I had to go to work the next day.
We all piled into E's car. She and I were both wearing red, and the other guy said he felt out of place. I told E to stop somewhere so he could buy something red to wear. He said never mind.
E said she was taking us to a local spot that served the best breakfast, and as we parked across the street from the place, we were greeted by two fast cars racing past us, with one following the other. E knew the drivers and waved, and when they turned around and met us, I told both of them that I wanted a race, and I wanted it now. They laughed and raced their engines. E leaned into the window of one of the cars and spoke to its driver, which really annoyed the other guy. I slapped his shoulder and told him not to worry.
E stepped over and joined us, and both cars honored my request by squealing their tires and zooming off side by side. I stepped into the middle of the street, so they could see me in their rear view mirrors, and gave them two thumbs up.
I let the other guy and E go into the restaurant before me, and I could tell that he was asking her about the driver she spoke to, and I could tell she said something that only mildly put his mind at ease.
We had to wait to eat, so we all sat in the sun on the wooden bench outside and talked. I saw that there was coffee outside on a ledge, complete with cups and sugar and crème. I told E that when I was homeless, at least I knew where I could come to get coffee.
After a while, we went inside and ordered. I love hot sauce and when my food arrived, I doused it as I normally do. The other guy said he could smell it from his side of the table and that it made his eyes burn. E said she guessed some just like it hot and proceeded to douse her food with the hot sauce as well. I made short work of my meal. I'm actually a fast eater. It's terrible. I really have to watch it and make an effort to pace myself if I'm eating with someone who actually takes the time to chew their food. The other guy finished second and E hardly ate anything.
We all piled into E's car. She and I were both wearing red, and the other guy said he felt out of place. I told E to stop somewhere so he could buy something red to wear. He said never mind.
E said she was taking us to a local spot that served the best breakfast, and as we parked across the street from the place, we were greeted by two fast cars racing past us, with one following the other. E knew the drivers and waved, and when they turned around and met us, I told both of them that I wanted a race, and I wanted it now. They laughed and raced their engines. E leaned into the window of one of the cars and spoke to its driver, which really annoyed the other guy. I slapped his shoulder and told him not to worry.
E stepped over and joined us, and both cars honored my request by squealing their tires and zooming off side by side. I stepped into the middle of the street, so they could see me in their rear view mirrors, and gave them two thumbs up.
I let the other guy and E go into the restaurant before me, and I could tell that he was asking her about the driver she spoke to, and I could tell she said something that only mildly put his mind at ease.
We had to wait to eat, so we all sat in the sun on the wooden bench outside and talked. I saw that there was coffee outside on a ledge, complete with cups and sugar and crème. I told E that when I was homeless, at least I knew where I could come to get coffee.
After a while, we went inside and ordered. I love hot sauce and when my food arrived, I doused it as I normally do. The other guy said he could smell it from his side of the table and that it made his eyes burn. E said she guessed some just like it hot and proceeded to douse her food with the hot sauce as well. I made short work of my meal. I'm actually a fast eater. It's terrible. I really have to watch it and make an effort to pace myself if I'm eating with someone who actually takes the time to chew their food. The other guy finished second and E hardly ate anything.
Page 43
We left the restaurant in a blaze of glory, with E following the example of her fast car buddies, much to my delight, and the distress of the other guy. Both of the lovebirds were sitting in the seats up front. I didn't know why the other guy was worried. I was the one making do in the back. This was a Roadster. We had the top down, and I was more or less sitting just above the rear of the car, with my legs dangling down behind the seats. This made for an exciting ride once we got onto the freeway.
We exited the freeway, and drove the small twisty-turning country roads until we came to the pumpkin festival. There were pumpkins everywhere. They were piled in lots, along the entrances to businesses, and in the back of people's cars. I told E the only way we were bringing one on board was if she or her boyfriend held it on their laps.
There was a little gift place she wanted to visit, so we stopped. There was a petting zoo across the pumpkin patch behind the shop. I let them go inside while I stepped through the patch, taking care to dodge the pumpkins. The petting zoo had pigs, goats, and two horses you could pay to ride. I watched the kids petting the pigs and smiled. I thought about paying to ride one of the horses, and slowly trotting down the road, until I was out of the sight of the zoo's curator, and then galloping away. But I decided against it. I didn't have my bag, and really didn't know if horse stealing was still punishable by death.
I sat at a picnic table across the patch and smoked a cigarette. The lovebirds were still shopping. I went in and found them talking over which bottle of wine to buy. I could have cared less. I left and sat on the car hood. Eventually they came out. I slid off the hood and stood next to the driver's side fender. E showed me her choice of vino, while pressing her knee against my shin. She handed me the bottle to examine and brushed her hand across my belly as she reached to take it back. I wondered if the other guy had seen any of this. As we drove off, he tried to hold her hand. She pulled it away.
We exited the freeway, and drove the small twisty-turning country roads until we came to the pumpkin festival. There were pumpkins everywhere. They were piled in lots, along the entrances to businesses, and in the back of people's cars. I told E the only way we were bringing one on board was if she or her boyfriend held it on their laps.
There was a little gift place she wanted to visit, so we stopped. There was a petting zoo across the pumpkin patch behind the shop. I let them go inside while I stepped through the patch, taking care to dodge the pumpkins. The petting zoo had pigs, goats, and two horses you could pay to ride. I watched the kids petting the pigs and smiled. I thought about paying to ride one of the horses, and slowly trotting down the road, until I was out of the sight of the zoo's curator, and then galloping away. But I decided against it. I didn't have my bag, and really didn't know if horse stealing was still punishable by death.
I sat at a picnic table across the patch and smoked a cigarette. The lovebirds were still shopping. I went in and found them talking over which bottle of wine to buy. I could have cared less. I left and sat on the car hood. Eventually they came out. I slid off the hood and stood next to the driver's side fender. E showed me her choice of vino, while pressing her knee against my shin. She handed me the bottle to examine and brushed her hand across my belly as she reached to take it back. I wondered if the other guy had seen any of this. As we drove off, he tried to hold her hand. She pulled it away.
Page 44
Our next stop was in the small town that was hosting the pumpkin festival. We parked in a lot, and E made a comment about if she should put up the top, because she was afraid a brown person might steal her car. I told her that a brown person would be the first person the cops in this town would suspect, and that I was sure the brown people knew this as well. She agreed and we three walked along the quaint main street.
I let the two lovebirds walk in front, and I followed a few steps back.
Her car is not inconspicuous. Only a true daredevil of an almost insanely reckless nature would even think of stealing her car. I actually thought about stealing it myself as we kept walking. I could have said I wanted to check out a shop and that I would meet them somewhere. Then I could have started the car and moved it across town, hooking up with them afterwards. We would return to where it was supposed to be and I'd exclaim, "Oh my! You were right! You should have put up the top! I bet it was that guy over there sweeping the sidewalk in front of the grocery store! His skin looks suspicious to me! Quick, call the police!" But since I don't know how to steal a car, I simply followed behind the lovebirds, trying to remember why I was pretending to be E's brother.
The other guy was a surfer, so we went into a surf shop where I found a rubber wet suit that I really liked. It was marked down in price, which made it even more appealing.
I don't surf, so I couldn't figure out where or when I could have actually worn the thing. Perhaps I could have worn it on casual dress Fridays at work.
The only other store worth mentioning was a new age place that had crystals, jewelry, and animal toys. I bought a rubber gecko, and struck up a conversation with the cute young white girl with nice hips working the register. She told me that my gecko was the item of the day. Apparently, they were quite popular and she did not understand why. I almost told her it was probably because it was the least expensive item in the place, at least that was why I bought it, but instead, I told her that this weekend was actually "Celebrate the Gecko Weekend” and that was why she was selling so many. Because she was so young, she couldn't tell if I was kidding or not, so when she asked, “Really?” I smiled and left.
I waited for the lovebirds on a small wooden bench with a few brown people. Eventually E and the other guy returned and showed me the crystals and jewelry they bought, and then we walked back to the car and left.
I let the two lovebirds walk in front, and I followed a few steps back.
Her car is not inconspicuous. Only a true daredevil of an almost insanely reckless nature would even think of stealing her car. I actually thought about stealing it myself as we kept walking. I could have said I wanted to check out a shop and that I would meet them somewhere. Then I could have started the car and moved it across town, hooking up with them afterwards. We would return to where it was supposed to be and I'd exclaim, "Oh my! You were right! You should have put up the top! I bet it was that guy over there sweeping the sidewalk in front of the grocery store! His skin looks suspicious to me! Quick, call the police!" But since I don't know how to steal a car, I simply followed behind the lovebirds, trying to remember why I was pretending to be E's brother.
The other guy was a surfer, so we went into a surf shop where I found a rubber wet suit that I really liked. It was marked down in price, which made it even more appealing.
I don't surf, so I couldn't figure out where or when I could have actually worn the thing. Perhaps I could have worn it on casual dress Fridays at work.
The only other store worth mentioning was a new age place that had crystals, jewelry, and animal toys. I bought a rubber gecko, and struck up a conversation with the cute young white girl with nice hips working the register. She told me that my gecko was the item of the day. Apparently, they were quite popular and she did not understand why. I almost told her it was probably because it was the least expensive item in the place, at least that was why I bought it, but instead, I told her that this weekend was actually "Celebrate the Gecko Weekend” and that was why she was selling so many. Because she was so young, she couldn't tell if I was kidding or not, so when she asked, “Really?” I smiled and left.
I waited for the lovebirds on a small wooden bench with a few brown people. Eventually E and the other guy returned and showed me the crystals and jewelry they bought, and then we walked back to the car and left.
Page 45
E wanted to show the other guy one of our favorite spots from when we were kids, and drove us along the coast, stopping on the shoulder of the highway in front of a high metal gate. There was a sign that said no parking. I wrote a note on an envelope saying that we were out of gas and put it on the windshield.
E asked me if I remembered all the fun times we had at this place, and I told her, of course I did. We stepped down the hill and made our way around the gate, and began climbing the deteriorated cement stairs that led up the hill to an old rusted metal lookout tower. Apparently, it was used during the last world war to keep watch on the coastline for enemy attack.
The other guy mentioned something about being scared of heights as I climbed the rungs that led to the top. You had to watch where you stood at the top because there were areas that were rusted through, making holes in the flooring.
E yelled that she was coming, and I stepped over to watch her as she climbed. The other guy said he would be staying on the ground and neither of us tried to convince him otherwise. There was a tall tree growing up along the tower, and it sheltered our view from the bottom. We hid in its branches and kissed. E laughed, and whispered about how she couldn't believe that we were actually getting away with everything, and I lost myself in her pretty face.
We moved to where the other guy could see us, and leaned on the railing looking out at the ocean. It was beautiful. E mentioned that maybe we could have a picnic here sometime, softly so the other guy couldn't hear, and I nodded, thinking about how it would be great if we both suddenly turned into birds and flew off out over the cliffs.
She stepped into the branches and I followed. We kissed one more time before we made our way down.
The other guy said he needed to go to the bathroom, and to wait before heading back to the car, which we did, using the opportunity to enjoy another kiss. When he returned, E called me Ed, and asked me if the place was as cool as I remembered and I told her that it was.
When we got to the car, E removed the envelope note that I put on the windshield, and we headed to the city. I was to be dropped off at my friend's house, where I would be spending my last night in town. I was once again sitting on the ridge where the top folded down, with my feet dangling behind the front seats. E had her stereo blasting a soundtrack to one of the many movies that had been released that summer.
E asked me if I remembered all the fun times we had at this place, and I told her, of course I did. We stepped down the hill and made our way around the gate, and began climbing the deteriorated cement stairs that led up the hill to an old rusted metal lookout tower. Apparently, it was used during the last world war to keep watch on the coastline for enemy attack.
The other guy mentioned something about being scared of heights as I climbed the rungs that led to the top. You had to watch where you stood at the top because there were areas that were rusted through, making holes in the flooring.
E yelled that she was coming, and I stepped over to watch her as she climbed. The other guy said he would be staying on the ground and neither of us tried to convince him otherwise. There was a tall tree growing up along the tower, and it sheltered our view from the bottom. We hid in its branches and kissed. E laughed, and whispered about how she couldn't believe that we were actually getting away with everything, and I lost myself in her pretty face.
We moved to where the other guy could see us, and leaned on the railing looking out at the ocean. It was beautiful. E mentioned that maybe we could have a picnic here sometime, softly so the other guy couldn't hear, and I nodded, thinking about how it would be great if we both suddenly turned into birds and flew off out over the cliffs.
She stepped into the branches and I followed. We kissed one more time before we made our way down.
The other guy said he needed to go to the bathroom, and to wait before heading back to the car, which we did, using the opportunity to enjoy another kiss. When he returned, E called me Ed, and asked me if the place was as cool as I remembered and I told her that it was.
When we got to the car, E removed the envelope note that I put on the windshield, and we headed to the city. I was to be dropped off at my friend's house, where I would be spending my last night in town. I was once again sitting on the ridge where the top folded down, with my feet dangling behind the front seats. E had her stereo blasting a soundtrack to one of the many movies that had been released that summer.
Page 46
She kept her car stereo loud as we made our way into the city, which was kind of embarrassing, especially as we made our way to my neighborhood. As we drove along, the brown people in front of the stores and churches looked at us like we were intruders and I felt humiliated.
E asked if we had time to go somewhere before she dropped me off at my friend's, and I told her I couldn't hear her because the music was too loud. She turned it down and asked again, and I said, sure, we could go somewhere, and I directed her to a bar.
We parked across the street from the police station in the bright sunshine, and I almost had to physically grab hold of my tongue to keep from asking if maybe she should bring the top up and lock the car to keep the brown people from stealing it. After all, this is their part of town, my part of town. There is no telling what kind of crimes we are all capable of committing. But I refrained, and led the lovebirds to the bar, saying my friend brought me here the last time I was in the city.
Inside, I found the Fringe Folks, and I felt relieved. I sat the lovebirds down at a table near the back, across from the pool table, and got them each a beer. They looked extra white put against the general unkemptness of my kind, and as I brought them their beers, I wished I had sunglasses to cut their glare.
The other guy and E both called me Ed and told me thanks. E looked around at the multi-colored hammerhead shark and fliers of the local shows on the wall, and told me she liked it here and scooted next to me. The other guy had been more or less silent since we left the observation tower, but after a couple of beers he was inclined to tell E and her brother about his friends back home.
Apparently he and his friends showed their affection for one another through violence, because he detailed several brutal fights they had with each other over the most trivial matters. After each story, he laughed about the good-natured fun they had shared bloodying each others faces.
I was stunned, and told the other guy that his buddies sounded like fine gentlemen. E asked why she hadn't been introduced to these young men yet, and he said she would. I could tell E was equally taken back by this revelation and she didn't say anything for quite awhile. She looked at him while he accounted more of his merry adventures to me, oblivious of the actual horror of the situations he was describing. He stopped talking long enough to go to the bathroom and I noticed E was sitting very, very, close to me. She muttered something and asked me to hold her hand, which I did.
When the other guy returned, I challenged him to a game of pool. He was quite chipper. It seemed like relating his many friendly adventures had lifted his spirits.
We played several games and the lovebirds had more beer. I couldn't tell if the other guy was a good loser or not. I intentionally played poorly in order for him to win and stay happy, which he did. After our last game, I noticed the lovebirds were both quite drunk, and when the other guy left to use the bathroom, E pulled off her tight sweater, revealing an equally tight red tank top. I ran a finger along her ribcage and told her she should take the tank top off as well, and she punched me very, very, hard in the stomach, saying incest wasn't best.
I let her be while I got my breath back, and after several minutes, rejoined the lovebirds at the table. I guess she wasn't as drunk as I thought. Her anger attack sobered her. She was now totally alert and able to drive. I told her it would be great if she took me to my friend's.
The other guy was so happy it scared me. He held E's hand and rocked it back and forth like a child on a wooden horse. E told me that it was a shame I hadn't had a chance to visit Grandma, since she wasn't doing well, and I told her that I would call.
The sun was bright and my stomach now ached almost as much as my head. I was quite relieved when E pulled up next to the deli with the mural near my home.
I grabbed my bag, kissed Sis good-bye on the cheek, and shook the other guy's hand, telling him to stay out of trouble. He called me Ed one last time. I watched them speed up the hill, and heard E turn up the music as she stopped at the intersection, letting a young brown woman pushing a baby stroller cross the street.
E asked if we had time to go somewhere before she dropped me off at my friend's, and I told her I couldn't hear her because the music was too loud. She turned it down and asked again, and I said, sure, we could go somewhere, and I directed her to a bar.
We parked across the street from the police station in the bright sunshine, and I almost had to physically grab hold of my tongue to keep from asking if maybe she should bring the top up and lock the car to keep the brown people from stealing it. After all, this is their part of town, my part of town. There is no telling what kind of crimes we are all capable of committing. But I refrained, and led the lovebirds to the bar, saying my friend brought me here the last time I was in the city.
Inside, I found the Fringe Folks, and I felt relieved. I sat the lovebirds down at a table near the back, across from the pool table, and got them each a beer. They looked extra white put against the general unkemptness of my kind, and as I brought them their beers, I wished I had sunglasses to cut their glare.
The other guy and E both called me Ed and told me thanks. E looked around at the multi-colored hammerhead shark and fliers of the local shows on the wall, and told me she liked it here and scooted next to me. The other guy had been more or less silent since we left the observation tower, but after a couple of beers he was inclined to tell E and her brother about his friends back home.
Apparently he and his friends showed their affection for one another through violence, because he detailed several brutal fights they had with each other over the most trivial matters. After each story, he laughed about the good-natured fun they had shared bloodying each others faces.
I was stunned, and told the other guy that his buddies sounded like fine gentlemen. E asked why she hadn't been introduced to these young men yet, and he said she would. I could tell E was equally taken back by this revelation and she didn't say anything for quite awhile. She looked at him while he accounted more of his merry adventures to me, oblivious of the actual horror of the situations he was describing. He stopped talking long enough to go to the bathroom and I noticed E was sitting very, very, close to me. She muttered something and asked me to hold her hand, which I did.
When the other guy returned, I challenged him to a game of pool. He was quite chipper. It seemed like relating his many friendly adventures had lifted his spirits.
We played several games and the lovebirds had more beer. I couldn't tell if the other guy was a good loser or not. I intentionally played poorly in order for him to win and stay happy, which he did. After our last game, I noticed the lovebirds were both quite drunk, and when the other guy left to use the bathroom, E pulled off her tight sweater, revealing an equally tight red tank top. I ran a finger along her ribcage and told her she should take the tank top off as well, and she punched me very, very, hard in the stomach, saying incest wasn't best.
I let her be while I got my breath back, and after several minutes, rejoined the lovebirds at the table. I guess she wasn't as drunk as I thought. Her anger attack sobered her. She was now totally alert and able to drive. I told her it would be great if she took me to my friend's.
The other guy was so happy it scared me. He held E's hand and rocked it back and forth like a child on a wooden horse. E told me that it was a shame I hadn't had a chance to visit Grandma, since she wasn't doing well, and I told her that I would call.
The sun was bright and my stomach now ached almost as much as my head. I was quite relieved when E pulled up next to the deli with the mural near my home.
I grabbed my bag, kissed Sis good-bye on the cheek, and shook the other guy's hand, telling him to stay out of trouble. He called me Ed one last time. I watched them speed up the hill, and heard E turn up the music as she stopped at the intersection, letting a young brown woman pushing a baby stroller cross the street.
Page 47
The singer brought a new song to rehearsal one night and the rest of us picked it up quickly. The singer called the song our pop hit.
We were still rehearsing in the singer’s apartment at a volume that was considerably quieter than the one we wanted. The bass player felt it necessary to state the obvious and demand we find somewhere to rehearse in full electric glory. Everyone agreed, but when it came to working together to secure a location, we discovered our schedules were too busy. The singer was getting together with friends. The drummer was going to be visiting family out of town. I was going to a game.
The bass player folded her arms across her torn T shirted chest and glared at the drummer.
“You said we were going to the movies this weekend.”
The drummer slapped his forehead.
“I’m sorry. I forgot.”
The singer tried to be positive and say that the rehearsals were going fine at her place.
This did not help.
“Am I the only one that cares about this band?” The bass player asked.
We each took our turn and assured her that we were as committed as she. When this did not appease her, I said that she and I could check out a couple places the next week. The singer and drummer said that they could make it the next week as well.
We had close to thirty minutes of music with the two covers, the ten minute song, and the singer’s two songs. Still, the bass player said I should contribute some songs.
“I’m a guitarist, not a song writer.” I told her.
“And besides, there is only one song I have ever wanted to perform.”
“Which one is that?” The singer asked.
When I said which one, the singer froze, and stared at me.
“I love that song.” She said quietly.
The other two band members could tell there was something unusual happening and they did not say anything. The singer went on.
“That’s the song that made me want to be in a band.”
I nodded.
“Me too.”
The bass player shifted back and forth.
The drummer said “We should do that song.”
The singer and I did not say a word.
“We are already doing two covers.” The bass player said.
“Let’s just lose one of them.” The drummer answered.
“That’s fine with me.” The bass player replied.
“I mean, the only reason we are doing those two other songs is because they are simple and they were songs we could pick up easily.”
“Which one should we lose?” She asked.
“How about the party song?” The drummer offered.
“No.” the singer said.
“I really like doing that one because I can change the words and make it different each time.”
“So let’s get rid of the other one then.” The drummer said.
No one objected.
The singer and I looked at each other and smiled.
We were still rehearsing in the singer’s apartment at a volume that was considerably quieter than the one we wanted. The bass player felt it necessary to state the obvious and demand we find somewhere to rehearse in full electric glory. Everyone agreed, but when it came to working together to secure a location, we discovered our schedules were too busy. The singer was getting together with friends. The drummer was going to be visiting family out of town. I was going to a game.
The bass player folded her arms across her torn T shirted chest and glared at the drummer.
“You said we were going to the movies this weekend.”
The drummer slapped his forehead.
“I’m sorry. I forgot.”
The singer tried to be positive and say that the rehearsals were going fine at her place.
This did not help.
“Am I the only one that cares about this band?” The bass player asked.
We each took our turn and assured her that we were as committed as she. When this did not appease her, I said that she and I could check out a couple places the next week. The singer and drummer said that they could make it the next week as well.
We had close to thirty minutes of music with the two covers, the ten minute song, and the singer’s two songs. Still, the bass player said I should contribute some songs.
“I’m a guitarist, not a song writer.” I told her.
“And besides, there is only one song I have ever wanted to perform.”
“Which one is that?” The singer asked.
When I said which one, the singer froze, and stared at me.
“I love that song.” She said quietly.
The other two band members could tell there was something unusual happening and they did not say anything. The singer went on.
“That’s the song that made me want to be in a band.”
I nodded.
“Me too.”
The bass player shifted back and forth.
The drummer said “We should do that song.”
The singer and I did not say a word.
“We are already doing two covers.” The bass player said.
“Let’s just lose one of them.” The drummer answered.
“That’s fine with me.” The bass player replied.
“I mean, the only reason we are doing those two other songs is because they are simple and they were songs we could pick up easily.”
“Which one should we lose?” She asked.
“How about the party song?” The drummer offered.
“No.” the singer said.
“I really like doing that one because I can change the words and make it different each time.”
“So let’s get rid of the other one then.” The drummer said.
No one objected.
The singer and I looked at each other and smiled.
Page 48
I'm waiting in line at the fast food burger place near my job with a co-worker. I swore to myself that I would never eat here again because of the rough atmosphere, yet I'm here. It's lunch time and the place is packed. The seating area is filled with all the down and outers and crazy folks nursing their cups of water. It's noisy with street talk. I try to not let it get to me and listen to my co-worker talk about hockey. He orders some sort of combo meal and I do the same.
While we're waiting for our food to be prepared, I strain to ignore the gangster in line behind me. He changes his order at least three times, and then harasses the yellow girl working the register over small change. I am tired of him and place a coin on the counter. The yellow girl working the register takes my coin.
The gangster keeps making a scene, and removes a big roll of paper money from his pocket, peels off one, and slaps it on the counter. He gets his change and moves on, still talking to the cashier, not respecting the fact that I put down a coin in order to shut him up, so I comment on the fact that here he is with a big roll of money, arguing over small change.
It is the wrong thing to say.
The gangster blows his top and puts his face right up to mine, screaming like a maniac. I don't budge and try to glare him down. He tells me to mind my own mother-bleeping business, and then he steps back and goes over to the counter that has the extras, grabs a handful of straws and throws them in my face. The manager leans over the counter and begins yelling for the gangster to go, and after getting his food he does, but not before threatening my life.
I watch him leave, and the manager apologizes to my co-worker and me. I tell him it was my fault, I said something I shouldn't have and not to worry about it. My co-worker is basically in shock, and I have so much adrenaline coursing through my veins right now I feel like a tiger. I force myself to try to act cool as we leave and walk the few doors to our building's entrance. We get to the lunchroom and my co-worker tells everybody what happened.
I need to learn to keep my big mouth shut.
Seriously.
While we're waiting for our food to be prepared, I strain to ignore the gangster in line behind me. He changes his order at least three times, and then harasses the yellow girl working the register over small change. I am tired of him and place a coin on the counter. The yellow girl working the register takes my coin.
The gangster keeps making a scene, and removes a big roll of paper money from his pocket, peels off one, and slaps it on the counter. He gets his change and moves on, still talking to the cashier, not respecting the fact that I put down a coin in order to shut him up, so I comment on the fact that here he is with a big roll of money, arguing over small change.
It is the wrong thing to say.
The gangster blows his top and puts his face right up to mine, screaming like a maniac. I don't budge and try to glare him down. He tells me to mind my own mother-bleeping business, and then he steps back and goes over to the counter that has the extras, grabs a handful of straws and throws them in my face. The manager leans over the counter and begins yelling for the gangster to go, and after getting his food he does, but not before threatening my life.
I watch him leave, and the manager apologizes to my co-worker and me. I tell him it was my fault, I said something I shouldn't have and not to worry about it. My co-worker is basically in shock, and I have so much adrenaline coursing through my veins right now I feel like a tiger. I force myself to try to act cool as we leave and walk the few doors to our building's entrance. We get to the lunchroom and my co-worker tells everybody what happened.
I need to learn to keep my big mouth shut.
Seriously.
Page 49
After my weekend of pretending to be E's brother, I noticed my withdrawal symptoms of not being with her had lessened. I still had an aching and wanting to be with her, but it wasn't as painful as it had been before. It was almost a pleasant sensation.
I knew what I had done was strange, but it was also a great deal of fun, and when E called me a couple days later, we both laughed and recounted some of the events. She was kind of hard on the other guy, and told me she had no intention of seeing him anymore. I said that I thought he was nice, even though it seemed that he had undesirable friends. She said he was a loser. I was shocked at her condemnation of the guy, but I just set it aside and listened to her outline the plan for our next date. We were going to see a play in the city.
Her grandma was recovering from a fall, and E would be at her place looking after her. I was to take a taxi there, and we could go to dinner and then the play. I asked how her grandma was, and E said she was sharp as a knife.
She kept saying that she couldn't believe that the other guy didn't catch on to our fine bit of acting. After we said good-bye, I hung up the phone and sat thinking that if she had lied to the other guy, what was to keep her from lying to me? A slight panic swept over me and then subsided. After all, she did trust me enough to include me in her little scheme. And besides, she was pretty.
I knew what I had done was strange, but it was also a great deal of fun, and when E called me a couple days later, we both laughed and recounted some of the events. She was kind of hard on the other guy, and told me she had no intention of seeing him anymore. I said that I thought he was nice, even though it seemed that he had undesirable friends. She said he was a loser. I was shocked at her condemnation of the guy, but I just set it aside and listened to her outline the plan for our next date. We were going to see a play in the city.
Her grandma was recovering from a fall, and E would be at her place looking after her. I was to take a taxi there, and we could go to dinner and then the play. I asked how her grandma was, and E said she was sharp as a knife.
She kept saying that she couldn't believe that the other guy didn't catch on to our fine bit of acting. After we said good-bye, I hung up the phone and sat thinking that if she had lied to the other guy, what was to keep her from lying to me? A slight panic swept over me and then subsided. After all, she did trust me enough to include me in her little scheme. And besides, she was pretty.
Page 50
When the day for our second date came, I had a heck of a time getting a cab. I called well in advance, but one never showed. I went and stood in front of the gate of my complex and watched the traffic, trying to figure out what to do. Luckily, a cab passed on the other side and saw me wave. A few moments later, it returned. Apparently, it dropped off a fare and came back to get me. I thanked the driver and asked why it was so hard to get a cab. He said that there was a problem with the dispatcher and nobody wanted to come to my part of town.
He took me on a winding route. We made it to the main street, where we followed it all the way to the hills, until we got to the part of the city that really isn't a part of the city. People live in houses where the outside walls don't touch and where they have lawns.
That's not living in the city.
The cabby found the house and I gave him a nice tip and got out. I rang the doorbell. A young yellow man answered and let me inside. He said that I must be here for E and told me to make myself at home. I stepped in, and sat on the sofa, saying hello to the young yellow woman curled up in a ball, reading in the recliner near the window.
The young couple looked very, very, scared and I made an effort to be extra friendly, to try and put them at ease. After sitting for several minutes in silence, I got up and had a look around.
The place was decorated thirty years in the past and was quite clean. The kitchen had a yellow phone. I yelled upstairs to E and she said she would be right down. When she came bouncing down the stairs, I could see that it was her that the young yellow couple were scared of, because they both noticeably tensed and withdrew even more when she entered the living room.
E was extra cheerful, wearing velvet slacks, a tight sweater, and was in a hurry to go.
I told her I wanted to say hello to her grandmother and I think I caught her off guard, because she couldn't formulate a clear reason why I wasn't allowed to. I stepped up the shag carpeted stairs, asking which room was hers. She darted past me and knocked on the door at the end of the hallway, telling her grandma that she had a friend she wanted to introduce.
I stepped inside the room, and instead of finding the mentally sharp, fit as a fiddle grandma E had described her to be, I found a withered and confused shell of a woman.
She was shaking and rocking slowly back and forth in her chair, staring blankly at the wall and muttering to herself. I walked over and patted one of her hands, telling her E had told me that she was taking good care of her. Grandma didn't respond. I would guess that she didn't even know I was there.
E spoke loudly, saying that we we're going to dinner and a play, and that there was food in the fridge and the young yellow couple was there if she needed anything. Grandma made no reply.
E told me to come on, and I followed her downstairs, where we ran into Mom coming in the front door. E was obviously unhappy that she hadn't escaped before her mother's entrance and tried to take one of my hands and lead me past her.
I pulled away and stopped to greet Mom with a big smile. I think it surprised Mom, because her first reaction was to return my smile, and then checking herself, she put on a dour face and told E she needed help bringing in a few things from the car. It was weird, but I could tell that flash of a smile she initially gave me was out of genuine likeness, and that made me feel good.
I carried in an armful of fresh flowers, and E shut Mom's trunk and followed us empty handed. I asked Mom where she wanted me to put the flowers, and she told me to set them on the kitchen counter near the sink. I did, and then stood facing her, ready to make small talk. E told me to excuse them for a moment.
I moved outside the doorway and listened. I heard E asking for her allowance and Mom digging through her purse. I thought it was kind of odd that E was still getting an allowance, but before I could really think about it, she took my hand and tried to lead me away. I leaned into the kitchen and said good-bye to Mom, who answered without looking up from the task of cleaning the flowers, and then I said good-bye to the young yellow couple in the front room, who flinched when I spoke.
When we were outside, E pinched my hand very, very, hard without telling me why and then opened the garage door and backed out her car. My hand hurt and felt good at the same time as I closed the garage door and got into the car.
E said that I looked great and that she didn't think I would wear a suit like she had told me to, or that if I did, she expected it to be neon orange. I told her my neon orange suit was in the cleaners and asked her to kiss my hand where she had pinched me, to make it feel better. I held it up to her face and she acted like she was going to bite me then gave it a kiss, and it did make it feel better.
We drove more or less the same route back down the main street that the taxi driver took on the way up, passing above the gay part of the city. E made some sort of comment about the giant rainbow flag, but I didn't pay attention to what it was she said. I was looking at one of her pretty little ears, hoping she would pinch me again.
He took me on a winding route. We made it to the main street, where we followed it all the way to the hills, until we got to the part of the city that really isn't a part of the city. People live in houses where the outside walls don't touch and where they have lawns.
That's not living in the city.
The cabby found the house and I gave him a nice tip and got out. I rang the doorbell. A young yellow man answered and let me inside. He said that I must be here for E and told me to make myself at home. I stepped in, and sat on the sofa, saying hello to the young yellow woman curled up in a ball, reading in the recliner near the window.
The young couple looked very, very, scared and I made an effort to be extra friendly, to try and put them at ease. After sitting for several minutes in silence, I got up and had a look around.
The place was decorated thirty years in the past and was quite clean. The kitchen had a yellow phone. I yelled upstairs to E and she said she would be right down. When she came bouncing down the stairs, I could see that it was her that the young yellow couple were scared of, because they both noticeably tensed and withdrew even more when she entered the living room.
E was extra cheerful, wearing velvet slacks, a tight sweater, and was in a hurry to go.
I told her I wanted to say hello to her grandmother and I think I caught her off guard, because she couldn't formulate a clear reason why I wasn't allowed to. I stepped up the shag carpeted stairs, asking which room was hers. She darted past me and knocked on the door at the end of the hallway, telling her grandma that she had a friend she wanted to introduce.
I stepped inside the room, and instead of finding the mentally sharp, fit as a fiddle grandma E had described her to be, I found a withered and confused shell of a woman.
She was shaking and rocking slowly back and forth in her chair, staring blankly at the wall and muttering to herself. I walked over and patted one of her hands, telling her E had told me that she was taking good care of her. Grandma didn't respond. I would guess that she didn't even know I was there.
E spoke loudly, saying that we we're going to dinner and a play, and that there was food in the fridge and the young yellow couple was there if she needed anything. Grandma made no reply.
E told me to come on, and I followed her downstairs, where we ran into Mom coming in the front door. E was obviously unhappy that she hadn't escaped before her mother's entrance and tried to take one of my hands and lead me past her.
I pulled away and stopped to greet Mom with a big smile. I think it surprised Mom, because her first reaction was to return my smile, and then checking herself, she put on a dour face and told E she needed help bringing in a few things from the car. It was weird, but I could tell that flash of a smile she initially gave me was out of genuine likeness, and that made me feel good.
I carried in an armful of fresh flowers, and E shut Mom's trunk and followed us empty handed. I asked Mom where she wanted me to put the flowers, and she told me to set them on the kitchen counter near the sink. I did, and then stood facing her, ready to make small talk. E told me to excuse them for a moment.
I moved outside the doorway and listened. I heard E asking for her allowance and Mom digging through her purse. I thought it was kind of odd that E was still getting an allowance, but before I could really think about it, she took my hand and tried to lead me away. I leaned into the kitchen and said good-bye to Mom, who answered without looking up from the task of cleaning the flowers, and then I said good-bye to the young yellow couple in the front room, who flinched when I spoke.
When we were outside, E pinched my hand very, very, hard without telling me why and then opened the garage door and backed out her car. My hand hurt and felt good at the same time as I closed the garage door and got into the car.
E said that I looked great and that she didn't think I would wear a suit like she had told me to, or that if I did, she expected it to be neon orange. I told her my neon orange suit was in the cleaners and asked her to kiss my hand where she had pinched me, to make it feel better. I held it up to her face and she acted like she was going to bite me then gave it a kiss, and it did make it feel better.
We drove more or less the same route back down the main street that the taxi driver took on the way up, passing above the gay part of the city. E made some sort of comment about the giant rainbow flag, but I didn't pay attention to what it was she said. I was looking at one of her pretty little ears, hoping she would pinch me again.
Page 51
The restaurant we went to has since been bought by a famous actor who films a weekly television show here that is always messing up traffic. I don't know what the place is like now because I have no desire to go. Before the actor took over it was cool. It’s behind the Maritime Museum. It's close to the place I mentioned where I was finally alone.
E and I parked on the street. We walked by an old black man playing his guitar and singing clever songs for the tourists. E said she loved this guy. We stopped and watched him do his thing. She put some money in his case before we moved on to the restaurant.
The reason I knew about this place was because a friend of mine played piano in the upstairs bar. I went to see him one evening after the restaurant part was closed, and decided I would come back sometime and eat.
E and I were seated at a cozy table in the middle. I let the waiter know we needed to be fed and out the door by six-fifteen at the latest, and there would be a nice tip in it for him if he made that happen. I was such a big shot.
The interior was nice. There were paper dressing screens between some areas, and big metal doors and staircases. We ordered our meal, and after the waiter left, a guy with two attractive white women, who was apparently listening while we ordered, leaned over and asked what we recommended.
E got quite girlie, flipping her hands back and forth, tossing her hair back, and brushing her bangs to one side, replying, that it was her first time here, but she was sure everything on the menu was delicious. I studied her and realized it was because of the two attractive white women at this guy's table that she was acting this way. The guy said thanks, and returned to his dinner guests.
E said she was cold. I pulled her chair close to mine and leaned my shoulders into hers. Apparently this didn't warm her enough, because she took one of my hands and guided it under the table placing it between her legs. I began to feel her warm. I couldn't tell if anyone else in the restaurant noticed, but I didn't care. E just sipped her drink and made conversation while I held my position. A few minutes later, the waiter returned with our appetizers and E released her grip.
Dinner was tasty. And we were out by six-fifteen as promised, but we ran into bad traffic on our way to the theater. E weaved in and out of cars and maneuvered down several different streets, allowing us to arrive at the parking garage at the Civic Center with ten minutes to spare before show time.
E and I parked on the street. We walked by an old black man playing his guitar and singing clever songs for the tourists. E said she loved this guy. We stopped and watched him do his thing. She put some money in his case before we moved on to the restaurant.
The reason I knew about this place was because a friend of mine played piano in the upstairs bar. I went to see him one evening after the restaurant part was closed, and decided I would come back sometime and eat.
E and I were seated at a cozy table in the middle. I let the waiter know we needed to be fed and out the door by six-fifteen at the latest, and there would be a nice tip in it for him if he made that happen. I was such a big shot.
The interior was nice. There were paper dressing screens between some areas, and big metal doors and staircases. We ordered our meal, and after the waiter left, a guy with two attractive white women, who was apparently listening while we ordered, leaned over and asked what we recommended.
E got quite girlie, flipping her hands back and forth, tossing her hair back, and brushing her bangs to one side, replying, that it was her first time here, but she was sure everything on the menu was delicious. I studied her and realized it was because of the two attractive white women at this guy's table that she was acting this way. The guy said thanks, and returned to his dinner guests.
E said she was cold. I pulled her chair close to mine and leaned my shoulders into hers. Apparently this didn't warm her enough, because she took one of my hands and guided it under the table placing it between her legs. I began to feel her warm. I couldn't tell if anyone else in the restaurant noticed, but I didn't care. E just sipped her drink and made conversation while I held my position. A few minutes later, the waiter returned with our appetizers and E released her grip.
Dinner was tasty. And we were out by six-fifteen as promised, but we ran into bad traffic on our way to the theater. E weaved in and out of cars and maneuvered down several different streets, allowing us to arrive at the parking garage at the Civic Center with ten minutes to spare before show time.
Page 52
We parked the car and made our way above ground. I held E's hand as we sprinted across the Civic Center to the theater. We rushed through the entrance, across the lobby, up the stairs, and excused ourselves between people's legs and the backs of chairs to our seats. We barely sat down before the lights dimmed and the curtains drew back.
"That was quite an entrance," E said. She sounded like she was glad it went the way it did, and that it would have been almost disappointing to her if we hadn't been able to cause a scene with our arrival. If I didn't know better, I would say that she was some kind of witch, and had placed a magic spell that had the traffic be the way it was.
The first half of the play was cool. My favorite part was when the helicopter came down from the ceiling. But the weird thing about musicals is that they sing about every little thing. I mean, just because someone runs out of toothpaste doesn't mean it needs to be manipulated into a song.
E and I went to the bar during intermission. I got a beer, and she got a rum and cola. She said she needed to use the bathroom, but the line for the women's was usually too long. I suggested that she could always use the men's room. She told me to go check for an open stall. I did, and told her that there were several available, and she stood and contemplated the situation.
She said that in her younger days she would do it no problem. I dared her. I double dared her, and double dog dared her, and she shifted back and forth on her heels thinking about it. I finally gave her a break, and said that actually, the women's bathroom didn't look crowded at all. I pointed across the lobby. She told me it wasn't polite to point, before dashing over and disappearing inside.
After the play, we sat in our seats and let almost everybody exit before us. We talked about the show and held hands as we walked back to the parking garage. There was a carnival in the Civic Center that weekend, and as we walked by the rides, E let go of my hand and stepped over the closed gate into the seat of a spinning ride. I followed her, and spun the seat she was in round and round. She laughed and told me to stop, which I did with a jolt. I grabbed the bar that held her in and she flew to the side. This made her angry, which made me happy. I tried to help her down and she swatted away my hand, storming off ahead on her own.
I followed behind trying not to laugh, and stepped over the railing into the bumper cars. I sat on the back of one, with my feet on the steering wheel, and called for her to come give me a push. I think she saw her chance for revenge and eagerly complied, pushing me very, very, fast around the metal floor. The bar above clicked as I steered with my feet, deliberating avoiding the other cars, weaving around them. E grew tired or bored and told me it was her turn.
She sat, and I pushed her in a refrained way. She sang some kind of nursery rhyme, and then steered straight for the wall. I stopped pushing and let the car glide. It stopped with a slight bump against the rubber railing, and bounced slowly backwards. E laughed and told me to come here, which I did. I sat on the hood of the car with my legs on both sides like I was in a saddle. E's pretty eyes were sparkling, and she took my face between her hands and pulled me to her. When we kissed it was like an explosion. I had the weird sensation of being underwater. It was like I was drowning, and it felt wonderful.
"That was quite an entrance," E said. She sounded like she was glad it went the way it did, and that it would have been almost disappointing to her if we hadn't been able to cause a scene with our arrival. If I didn't know better, I would say that she was some kind of witch, and had placed a magic spell that had the traffic be the way it was.
The first half of the play was cool. My favorite part was when the helicopter came down from the ceiling. But the weird thing about musicals is that they sing about every little thing. I mean, just because someone runs out of toothpaste doesn't mean it needs to be manipulated into a song.
E and I went to the bar during intermission. I got a beer, and she got a rum and cola. She said she needed to use the bathroom, but the line for the women's was usually too long. I suggested that she could always use the men's room. She told me to go check for an open stall. I did, and told her that there were several available, and she stood and contemplated the situation.
She said that in her younger days she would do it no problem. I dared her. I double dared her, and double dog dared her, and she shifted back and forth on her heels thinking about it. I finally gave her a break, and said that actually, the women's bathroom didn't look crowded at all. I pointed across the lobby. She told me it wasn't polite to point, before dashing over and disappearing inside.
After the play, we sat in our seats and let almost everybody exit before us. We talked about the show and held hands as we walked back to the parking garage. There was a carnival in the Civic Center that weekend, and as we walked by the rides, E let go of my hand and stepped over the closed gate into the seat of a spinning ride. I followed her, and spun the seat she was in round and round. She laughed and told me to stop, which I did with a jolt. I grabbed the bar that held her in and she flew to the side. This made her angry, which made me happy. I tried to help her down and she swatted away my hand, storming off ahead on her own.
I followed behind trying not to laugh, and stepped over the railing into the bumper cars. I sat on the back of one, with my feet on the steering wheel, and called for her to come give me a push. I think she saw her chance for revenge and eagerly complied, pushing me very, very, fast around the metal floor. The bar above clicked as I steered with my feet, deliberating avoiding the other cars, weaving around them. E grew tired or bored and told me it was her turn.
She sat, and I pushed her in a refrained way. She sang some kind of nursery rhyme, and then steered straight for the wall. I stopped pushing and let the car glide. It stopped with a slight bump against the rubber railing, and bounced slowly backwards. E laughed and told me to come here, which I did. I sat on the hood of the car with my legs on both sides like I was in a saddle. E's pretty eyes were sparkling, and she took my face between her hands and pulled me to her. When we kissed it was like an explosion. I had the weird sensation of being underwater. It was like I was drowning, and it felt wonderful.
Page 53
It was still early. We decided to see this club that does bondage once a week. We found a parking place about a block away.
E was cheerful, and we walked and chatted away like the birds in her house as we took our place in line. Most of the people were young white couples dressed in black like ourselves, well actually, I was wearing a light green suit, but E was in black. I paid our way, and we got our hands stamped and found the place to be only marginally filled, due to the early hour.
The clientele could be divided as follows: gay men, young affluent white couples, and folks wearing bondage gear. The dance area near the entrance was small. There was a young white boy wearing glasses, on his knees, licking the boots of an overweight white girl. She barely squeezed into her leather corset, and didn't seem to notice the boy. She looked bored and distant. Maybe that was her pose.
E was uncomfortable, but I wanted to see the place. I got her a drink and made my way to the back. Off to the side, just before the entrance to the rear dance floor, was a space for discipline. There was a large white woman who was naked and manacled to the wall. She was being whipped by an obviously gay man in a pair of leather chaps. She faced the wall and writhed in painful joy with each lash across her buttocks, which were quite red.
Next to her was a rack where one could be strapped by the hands and punished as well. It was unoccupied. I watched for a while before I realized E was standing right behind me. I turned and saw that she was very, very, much unamused and said something like she found it disgusting. Different strokes for different folks, I figured, and took her hand and led her to the rear dance floor.
This floor was livelier than the one in front and had two featured dancers off to the side. One was a buff white guy dressed like a centaur, grinding solo, his horns bobbing to the beat and his hooves shifting to the rhythm. The other was a dominatrix. She danced on the backs of men who would take their turns being her submissive dance partner. Most of them were geeky looking, like the kind you might have working in the computer industry.
E was definitely not amused. I tried to persuade her to ignore them and join the other folks and dance. She demanded to leave.
As we made our way out, I saw that the rack near the woman being whipped was now being used by a bald headed gay man wearing glasses. The whipping provider now had to divide his time between two happy campers. I watched long enough to realize that E was nowhere around, and since she had the car; I made it a point to find her as quickly as possible.
She was standing just outside the club, and her eyes were wide and angry. I told her I knew another club about a block away, and she said any place was better than here. I thought it was kind of funny, with all we had done, that she would find a little stagy pain enjoyment to be so offensive. The only reason I can think of, was because she wasn't in control like the other situations. Here, she could only be a participant, and I think it threatened her for some reason. I could be wrong. I really never knew when it came to her.
E was cheerful, and we walked and chatted away like the birds in her house as we took our place in line. Most of the people were young white couples dressed in black like ourselves, well actually, I was wearing a light green suit, but E was in black. I paid our way, and we got our hands stamped and found the place to be only marginally filled, due to the early hour.
The clientele could be divided as follows: gay men, young affluent white couples, and folks wearing bondage gear. The dance area near the entrance was small. There was a young white boy wearing glasses, on his knees, licking the boots of an overweight white girl. She barely squeezed into her leather corset, and didn't seem to notice the boy. She looked bored and distant. Maybe that was her pose.
E was uncomfortable, but I wanted to see the place. I got her a drink and made my way to the back. Off to the side, just before the entrance to the rear dance floor, was a space for discipline. There was a large white woman who was naked and manacled to the wall. She was being whipped by an obviously gay man in a pair of leather chaps. She faced the wall and writhed in painful joy with each lash across her buttocks, which were quite red.
Next to her was a rack where one could be strapped by the hands and punished as well. It was unoccupied. I watched for a while before I realized E was standing right behind me. I turned and saw that she was very, very, much unamused and said something like she found it disgusting. Different strokes for different folks, I figured, and took her hand and led her to the rear dance floor.
This floor was livelier than the one in front and had two featured dancers off to the side. One was a buff white guy dressed like a centaur, grinding solo, his horns bobbing to the beat and his hooves shifting to the rhythm. The other was a dominatrix. She danced on the backs of men who would take their turns being her submissive dance partner. Most of them were geeky looking, like the kind you might have working in the computer industry.
E was definitely not amused. I tried to persuade her to ignore them and join the other folks and dance. She demanded to leave.
As we made our way out, I saw that the rack near the woman being whipped was now being used by a bald headed gay man wearing glasses. The whipping provider now had to divide his time between two happy campers. I watched long enough to realize that E was nowhere around, and since she had the car; I made it a point to find her as quickly as possible.
She was standing just outside the club, and her eyes were wide and angry. I told her I knew another club about a block away, and she said any place was better than here. I thought it was kind of funny, with all we had done, that she would find a little stagy pain enjoyment to be so offensive. The only reason I can think of, was because she wasn't in control like the other situations. Here, she could only be a participant, and I think it threatened her for some reason. I could be wrong. I really never knew when it came to her.
Page 54
The other club we went to was a dance club that I had been to with some people from work. I thought the people from work were brown, but it turned out they were yellow. Their skin and eyes are brown, but they consider themselves yellow because they come from a group of islands in the Pacific.
These people from work have treated me very, very, well. They've invited me to their house parties where I met their parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, and sisters. The ones with good voices sing Karoke to laser discs. I am usually the only white person there. And let me tell you, the food is delicious.
The dance club was full, which surprised me since it was only a little after ten-thirty, and the last time I came, it didn't get happening until about midnight. I paid our cover and checked my jacket, shirt, and tie, stripping down to a black T-shirt. The girl at the coat check seemed to have a problem with me checking all my clothes. I arranged them on one hanger and after giving her some money, left them on the counter and walked away. I wasn't in the mood to be dealing with any girl with an attitude who wasn't going to possibly give me a kiss. And besides, what was the worst she could do? Slash my clothes to shreds with a knife? Soak them with spit? I was too preoccupied with trying to get E relaxed and happy and having a good time to care.
The club is divided into two sections. There is a small area to the right as you enter that plays retro pop songs. This side has a girl dancing on the bar. I stood as close to her as I dared, and ordered E a rum and cola and me one of those high caffeine energy drinks. The cool thing about those drinks in a nightclub is that when you pour them into a clear plastic cup, they glow under the black lights.
In my determination to check my clothes and get our drinks, I had misplaced my companion for the evening. I made my way to the other side of the club, the side with the huge dance floor with the impressive lights. I found her standing at the far end, with her arms folded across her nice chest and with her pretty face locked in a look of utter displeasure. I definitely had my work cut out for me. I smiled and gave her the drink, and said we should toss them back and get more.
She looked quizzically at my glowing glass and asked what I was drinking. I told her, and then said that on a count of three we would down our drinks. She didn't wait for me to count, and threw back her pretty head and finished her drink. I laughed and did the same and went to the bar on this side and got us two more.
The drink seemed to mellow her and she looked around at all the other pretty young people, tapping her foot to the music. I was buzzing from the rush of chemicals and noticed my forehead was beginning to perspire.
I asked her if she wanted to dance. She said not yet, and grabbed hold of the bottom of my T-shirt and pulled me to follow. We sat on a sofa near the pool table and watched a couple take turns clacking the billiard balls. There was a nice mix of all kind of people and it made me feel good. E took one of my arms and pulled it over her shoulders and scooted just close enough for her nice chest to gently touch mine. I felt relaxed for the first time all evening, even though my head was racing like a car in the Grand Prix from the glowing drinks. We sat and watched the pool players and listened to the music booming from the speakers and didn't say a word. This was the first time I think we didn't say anything and just enjoyed what was happening. It was quite pleasant.
After a while, I was bored and asked E if she wanted to dance. She said sure, and stretched herself, standing like a big lazy cat. We made our way onto the floor and cleared a space for ourselves near the front stage area. E danced just like the first night we met. She jerked back and forth and side to side.
E grew tired and sat on the stage. I got us more drinks and sat next to her. Before I handed her another rum and cola, she took hold of my head and gave me a long, luscious kiss. I'm sure it was for show more than anything, but I didn't mind. I smacked my lips, and handed her the drink and smiled uncontrollably.
We watched the swirling mass, and after a while, the music became noticeably more tribal. It was now extremely warm in the dance area, and E said she wanted to go on the roof and get some air. Just then a dancer made her way onto the dance floor. I tapped E and told her to hold on a second.
The dancer had a lit torch in each hand and the crowd instantly cleared a large area, forming a circle around her. It's hard to recount all the moves of her fire dance, but I remember her thrusting the torches aggressively at the crowd, causing them to pull quickly back.
I felt like pushing my way to the front and have her go at me. I would not have moved back if she pushed the flame at my belly. Maybe she would have set me on fire. If she did, I would have found E and pulled her close. We could have burned together.
I was lost in this fantasy, and watched the fire dancer take her exit from the floor, then followed E up onto the roof to get air. It was a beautiful evening. There were young folks milling everywhere. We found an empty spot on the railing overlooking the street. We leaned against it, and watched a gaggle of roller bladers fly by.
E cozied up beside me, and commented that roller blading wasn't a safe activity for this time of the night. I went to brush her bangs away from her eyes. She pulled back and looked at me like I should not be touching her hair. She still stayed close, but I noticed her look and kept my hands to myself.
We watched the street, talking about this and that, and somehow the conversation got around to the fact that her father had died six months prior. I told her that I was sorry. She said it was several days before they found his body. When they did, they found his apartment reeking and soiled from his dogs. They were not able to go outside. This picture was quite vivid in my brain, and when I told her I really didn't know what to say, I meant it.
She looked startled, and said that none of the other men she had been out with since his death really seemed to care about it. I told her I knew a little about losing someone. When she asked what I meant, I told her that my ex and I split up about the same time her dad died. She was shocked, and asked me why I hadn't told her before that I was divorced. I said that I was telling her now.
These people from work have treated me very, very, well. They've invited me to their house parties where I met their parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, and sisters. The ones with good voices sing Karoke to laser discs. I am usually the only white person there. And let me tell you, the food is delicious.
The dance club was full, which surprised me since it was only a little after ten-thirty, and the last time I came, it didn't get happening until about midnight. I paid our cover and checked my jacket, shirt, and tie, stripping down to a black T-shirt. The girl at the coat check seemed to have a problem with me checking all my clothes. I arranged them on one hanger and after giving her some money, left them on the counter and walked away. I wasn't in the mood to be dealing with any girl with an attitude who wasn't going to possibly give me a kiss. And besides, what was the worst she could do? Slash my clothes to shreds with a knife? Soak them with spit? I was too preoccupied with trying to get E relaxed and happy and having a good time to care.
The club is divided into two sections. There is a small area to the right as you enter that plays retro pop songs. This side has a girl dancing on the bar. I stood as close to her as I dared, and ordered E a rum and cola and me one of those high caffeine energy drinks. The cool thing about those drinks in a nightclub is that when you pour them into a clear plastic cup, they glow under the black lights.
In my determination to check my clothes and get our drinks, I had misplaced my companion for the evening. I made my way to the other side of the club, the side with the huge dance floor with the impressive lights. I found her standing at the far end, with her arms folded across her nice chest and with her pretty face locked in a look of utter displeasure. I definitely had my work cut out for me. I smiled and gave her the drink, and said we should toss them back and get more.
She looked quizzically at my glowing glass and asked what I was drinking. I told her, and then said that on a count of three we would down our drinks. She didn't wait for me to count, and threw back her pretty head and finished her drink. I laughed and did the same and went to the bar on this side and got us two more.
The drink seemed to mellow her and she looked around at all the other pretty young people, tapping her foot to the music. I was buzzing from the rush of chemicals and noticed my forehead was beginning to perspire.
I asked her if she wanted to dance. She said not yet, and grabbed hold of the bottom of my T-shirt and pulled me to follow. We sat on a sofa near the pool table and watched a couple take turns clacking the billiard balls. There was a nice mix of all kind of people and it made me feel good. E took one of my arms and pulled it over her shoulders and scooted just close enough for her nice chest to gently touch mine. I felt relaxed for the first time all evening, even though my head was racing like a car in the Grand Prix from the glowing drinks. We sat and watched the pool players and listened to the music booming from the speakers and didn't say a word. This was the first time I think we didn't say anything and just enjoyed what was happening. It was quite pleasant.
After a while, I was bored and asked E if she wanted to dance. She said sure, and stretched herself, standing like a big lazy cat. We made our way onto the floor and cleared a space for ourselves near the front stage area. E danced just like the first night we met. She jerked back and forth and side to side.
E grew tired and sat on the stage. I got us more drinks and sat next to her. Before I handed her another rum and cola, she took hold of my head and gave me a long, luscious kiss. I'm sure it was for show more than anything, but I didn't mind. I smacked my lips, and handed her the drink and smiled uncontrollably.
We watched the swirling mass, and after a while, the music became noticeably more tribal. It was now extremely warm in the dance area, and E said she wanted to go on the roof and get some air. Just then a dancer made her way onto the dance floor. I tapped E and told her to hold on a second.
The dancer had a lit torch in each hand and the crowd instantly cleared a large area, forming a circle around her. It's hard to recount all the moves of her fire dance, but I remember her thrusting the torches aggressively at the crowd, causing them to pull quickly back.
I felt like pushing my way to the front and have her go at me. I would not have moved back if she pushed the flame at my belly. Maybe she would have set me on fire. If she did, I would have found E and pulled her close. We could have burned together.
I was lost in this fantasy, and watched the fire dancer take her exit from the floor, then followed E up onto the roof to get air. It was a beautiful evening. There were young folks milling everywhere. We found an empty spot on the railing overlooking the street. We leaned against it, and watched a gaggle of roller bladers fly by.
E cozied up beside me, and commented that roller blading wasn't a safe activity for this time of the night. I went to brush her bangs away from her eyes. She pulled back and looked at me like I should not be touching her hair. She still stayed close, but I noticed her look and kept my hands to myself.
We watched the street, talking about this and that, and somehow the conversation got around to the fact that her father had died six months prior. I told her that I was sorry. She said it was several days before they found his body. When they did, they found his apartment reeking and soiled from his dogs. They were not able to go outside. This picture was quite vivid in my brain, and when I told her I really didn't know what to say, I meant it.
She looked startled, and said that none of the other men she had been out with since his death really seemed to care about it. I told her I knew a little about losing someone. When she asked what I meant, I told her that my ex and I split up about the same time her dad died. She was shocked, and asked me why I hadn't told her before that I was divorced. I said that I was telling her now.
Page 55
A few weeks after we chose the sacred song, my most recent band was rehearsing at the junkyard where the drummer worked. It was owned by his uncle, and the drummer did the paperwork for him. It was not our first choice, but after checking out a few rehearsal spaces and discovering each ones various policies and fees, the drummer said he would ask his uncle if we could rehearse at his business, and his uncle agreed.
It was wonderful to be playing electric. It felt so powerful. It was like being a giant. It was like being ruler of the world.
We hauled all our equipment to the junkyard in shifts. The drummer used his van and brought his kit. The bass player brought her cabinet and amplifier in her car. I loaded my amplifier and PA into the singer’s back seat and trunk. We still needed to get a couple microphones for the drum kit, but other than that, we were set. The singer and bassist went shopping together and got a good lead vocal microphone that we ran through the PA. The bass player and I played through our amplifiers and ran a line into the PA as well.
The nights we rehearsed, the drummer worked late and let each of us in as we arrived. It was not in the greatest part of town, and I was not crazy about the dog they had. He was a big dog they kept chained during the day. The drummer let him loose when we left.
The singer’s cousin began calling me. At first I was polite and made small talk, but she began calling more frequently and she also started calling at all hours. Our last conversation went like this:
“Hello?” I said.
“What if you got me pregnant?” She replied.
“You were on your period when we had sex.”
“I know.”
“Well, are you pregnant?”
“No. But what if you got me pregnant?”
“Listen, you seem like an interesting person, but you can’t keep...”
“No, you listen. You can’t murder someone in my apartment, rape me, and just disappear. That’s not how it’s done. Understand?”
“No.”
“Well then, let me explain. You and I need to repent. We need to go to church.”
I am not going to detail the rest of the crazy conversation. Shortly thereafter I got an unlisted telephone number, and instructed the singer not to provide it to her cousin under any circumstances.
It was wonderful to be playing electric. It felt so powerful. It was like being a giant. It was like being ruler of the world.
We hauled all our equipment to the junkyard in shifts. The drummer used his van and brought his kit. The bass player brought her cabinet and amplifier in her car. I loaded my amplifier and PA into the singer’s back seat and trunk. We still needed to get a couple microphones for the drum kit, but other than that, we were set. The singer and bassist went shopping together and got a good lead vocal microphone that we ran through the PA. The bass player and I played through our amplifiers and ran a line into the PA as well.
The nights we rehearsed, the drummer worked late and let each of us in as we arrived. It was not in the greatest part of town, and I was not crazy about the dog they had. He was a big dog they kept chained during the day. The drummer let him loose when we left.
The singer’s cousin began calling me. At first I was polite and made small talk, but she began calling more frequently and she also started calling at all hours. Our last conversation went like this:
“Hello?” I said.
“What if you got me pregnant?” She replied.
“You were on your period when we had sex.”
“I know.”
“Well, are you pregnant?”
“No. But what if you got me pregnant?”
“Listen, you seem like an interesting person, but you can’t keep...”
“No, you listen. You can’t murder someone in my apartment, rape me, and just disappear. That’s not how it’s done. Understand?”
“No.”
“Well then, let me explain. You and I need to repent. We need to go to church.”
I am not going to detail the rest of the crazy conversation. Shortly thereafter I got an unlisted telephone number, and instructed the singer not to provide it to her cousin under any circumstances.
Page 56
I work for a company that is part of a corporation based in another country.
I am a cog in the wheel of the machine.
Basically, I work at my computer and talk to liars all day on the phone.
Still, I like my job. I really do.
Most of the people at the company are white, but there are some yellow, brown, and black people too. The men are either giants or dwarves. I'm a dwarf.
The big boss is a foreign giant. He is from the same country as the corporation. They sent him here to straighten things out and everybody thinks he has done a good job. He speaks with an accent. Once a month, the company has an all employee meeting where the big boss shows us graphs and numbers and tells us how everything is going. From what I can tell business is good. Also, every month the company sends out an electric newsletter.
Along with all the blah blah blahness, the monthly newsletter gives everyone's anniversary date of hire and birthday for the month. My birthday and the big boss's are just a few days apart in early December. I find that encouraging. Maybe someday, I can be a giant.
I am a cog in the wheel of the machine.
Basically, I work at my computer and talk to liars all day on the phone.
Still, I like my job. I really do.
Most of the people at the company are white, but there are some yellow, brown, and black people too. The men are either giants or dwarves. I'm a dwarf.
The big boss is a foreign giant. He is from the same country as the corporation. They sent him here to straighten things out and everybody thinks he has done a good job. He speaks with an accent. Once a month, the company has an all employee meeting where the big boss shows us graphs and numbers and tells us how everything is going. From what I can tell business is good. Also, every month the company sends out an electric newsletter.
Along with all the blah blah blahness, the monthly newsletter gives everyone's anniversary date of hire and birthday for the month. My birthday and the big boss's are just a few days apart in early December. I find that encouraging. Maybe someday, I can be a giant.
Page 57
My most recent band’s first gig was playing a party.
The party was at an anal retentive work friend of the singer’s. There was a small plastic sign just inside his front door that read ‘White Carpet-Please Remove Your Shoes.’
We could not use the side gate or garage to do the load in. We all took off our shoes and carried in our gear through the house into the backyard, setting up near the pool. I told the singer that once we started playing she should step onto the diving board and sing.
As more people arrived and the place started to come alive it became obvious to me that both the drummer and bass player were uncomfortable.
I sat next to them on the pools’ edge and tried to make small talk, when the singer arrived with a jerk in tow, busting our bubble.
“Hi.” He said.
We offered weak replies. Our host came over and said we had better set up and play. He did not want us to perform too much later because it was getting near the hour where he did not want to disturb the neighbors with loud music. We stood and got our gear in order.
Once we were tuned and ready, the singer took her microphone and stepped on to the ground level diving board over the pool. She spoke in a deep voice that turned everyone’s attention toward us, and with a crack of the snare drum we launched into the sacred song.
Mercifully, the singer retreated to solid ground.
It was not a good idea to have a microphone chord over water.
The backyard was illuminated by the porch lights, giving the party a cozy feeling. Our host had his pool cleaner going. It was a white manta ray looking device that scurried along the bottom of the pool and up the walls. I began to fully realize how bizarre the entire scene was. I looked at the bass player. We laughed and shook our heads.
After the show almost everyone came over and told us that we were great and asked us where we were playing next. The bass player and drummer were talking with a lot of the guests. I got this weird feeling that we had actually changed something with our music.
After a while we loaded our gear and thanked our host for letting us play. The jerk hung around the van. He asked the singer and me if we were related.
“No.” I answered.
“We’re just friends.”
“Really? You two look like brother and sister.”
I walked away after he said this and said goodbye to our host one last time. I went back to the van to find the jerk and the singer laughing. The singer had her back against the side of the van and the jerk was resting on his elbow, with his hand folded behind his head, smiling a handsome man smile.
“Guess what?” The singer said as I stepped over.
“What?” I answered.
“This nice gentleman is having a party in a few weeks and he wants us to play.”
“Great.” I replied, doing my best to hide my hatred of him.
“I’m having a birthday party at the recreation center in my complex. You guys can play if you want.”
“Thanks.”
He turned from me to the singer.
“You were incredible. Can I call you sometime?”
“Sure. Let me give you my number.”
I got in the back of the van and the bass player rode up front.
The singer climbed in and made her way to the rear as well, and we were on our merry way. Not even the jerk could ruin my mood.
There is nothing like the high of a good show.
The party was at an anal retentive work friend of the singer’s. There was a small plastic sign just inside his front door that read ‘White Carpet-Please Remove Your Shoes.’
We could not use the side gate or garage to do the load in. We all took off our shoes and carried in our gear through the house into the backyard, setting up near the pool. I told the singer that once we started playing she should step onto the diving board and sing.
As more people arrived and the place started to come alive it became obvious to me that both the drummer and bass player were uncomfortable.
I sat next to them on the pools’ edge and tried to make small talk, when the singer arrived with a jerk in tow, busting our bubble.
“Hi.” He said.
We offered weak replies. Our host came over and said we had better set up and play. He did not want us to perform too much later because it was getting near the hour where he did not want to disturb the neighbors with loud music. We stood and got our gear in order.
Once we were tuned and ready, the singer took her microphone and stepped on to the ground level diving board over the pool. She spoke in a deep voice that turned everyone’s attention toward us, and with a crack of the snare drum we launched into the sacred song.
Mercifully, the singer retreated to solid ground.
It was not a good idea to have a microphone chord over water.
The backyard was illuminated by the porch lights, giving the party a cozy feeling. Our host had his pool cleaner going. It was a white manta ray looking device that scurried along the bottom of the pool and up the walls. I began to fully realize how bizarre the entire scene was. I looked at the bass player. We laughed and shook our heads.
After the show almost everyone came over and told us that we were great and asked us where we were playing next. The bass player and drummer were talking with a lot of the guests. I got this weird feeling that we had actually changed something with our music.
After a while we loaded our gear and thanked our host for letting us play. The jerk hung around the van. He asked the singer and me if we were related.
“No.” I answered.
“We’re just friends.”
“Really? You two look like brother and sister.”
I walked away after he said this and said goodbye to our host one last time. I went back to the van to find the jerk and the singer laughing. The singer had her back against the side of the van and the jerk was resting on his elbow, with his hand folded behind his head, smiling a handsome man smile.
“Guess what?” The singer said as I stepped over.
“What?” I answered.
“This nice gentleman is having a party in a few weeks and he wants us to play.”
“Great.” I replied, doing my best to hide my hatred of him.
“I’m having a birthday party at the recreation center in my complex. You guys can play if you want.”
“Thanks.”
He turned from me to the singer.
“You were incredible. Can I call you sometime?”
“Sure. Let me give you my number.”
I got in the back of the van and the bass player rode up front.
The singer climbed in and made her way to the rear as well, and we were on our merry way. Not even the jerk could ruin my mood.
There is nothing like the high of a good show.
Page 58
It is Thursday night after work. I'm in line with the tourists at a rental car place downtown. On my way over, I saw a guy dressed like a bull fighter. I've seen him before. I wonder what he does for a living. My guess is that he is a teacher. Dressing like a matador. That sure is a strange. But I guess it's no stranger than someone writing about their life after a divorce.
Tonight a friend of my roommate's and I are going to a concert at the stockyard arena. I'm getting a car, because I don't want to be on the bus in that part of town. I was once, and it was like being in a Third World country. The houses were covered with graffiti. They had boarded windows, and dirt yards with abandoned vehicles and razor wire on the top of fences. I saw trails of bullet holes in some of the cars that obviously didn't come from kids shooting at cans with toy guns.
The line is incredibly long. I have plenty of time. I tell myself to stay calm and appreciate the fact that soon I will be behind the wheel again.
The line inches along. I give the nice yellow woman working behind the counter my credit card and drivers’ license, wondering if they are going to pick up the fact that I'm at two locations. I still have not changed my address with the motor vehicle department. The woman asks if this is my correct address and I say yes. I get insurance for the car just in case I live one of my fantasies and take it right off the bridge. I sign a few pieces of paper, get the key, and step upstairs to get my present.
I adjust the seat and outside mirrors, remove the plastic tag from the rear view mirror that lets everyone know you're driving a rental, and then start her up and slowly go down the ramp.
After easing into the traffic, I put in the same music that had E dangling her feet out the window, lock the doors, turn up the volume until the speakers begin to buzz, and enjoy the drive. I don't know if the coverage I bought in case my bridge fantasy is realized covers blowing out the stereo speakers. I guess I'll find out if it happens.
My roommate's friend is taking night classes at the local college. I decide to take the scenic route, just because I have the time.
Tonight a friend of my roommate's and I are going to a concert at the stockyard arena. I'm getting a car, because I don't want to be on the bus in that part of town. I was once, and it was like being in a Third World country. The houses were covered with graffiti. They had boarded windows, and dirt yards with abandoned vehicles and razor wire on the top of fences. I saw trails of bullet holes in some of the cars that obviously didn't come from kids shooting at cans with toy guns.
The line is incredibly long. I have plenty of time. I tell myself to stay calm and appreciate the fact that soon I will be behind the wheel again.
The line inches along. I give the nice yellow woman working behind the counter my credit card and drivers’ license, wondering if they are going to pick up the fact that I'm at two locations. I still have not changed my address with the motor vehicle department. The woman asks if this is my correct address and I say yes. I get insurance for the car just in case I live one of my fantasies and take it right off the bridge. I sign a few pieces of paper, get the key, and step upstairs to get my present.
I adjust the seat and outside mirrors, remove the plastic tag from the rear view mirror that lets everyone know you're driving a rental, and then start her up and slowly go down the ramp.
After easing into the traffic, I put in the same music that had E dangling her feet out the window, lock the doors, turn up the volume until the speakers begin to buzz, and enjoy the drive. I don't know if the coverage I bought in case my bridge fantasy is realized covers blowing out the stereo speakers. I guess I'll find out if it happens.
My roommate's friend is taking night classes at the local college. I decide to take the scenic route, just because I have the time.
Page 59
It is impossible to find a legitimate parking place near the college. I settle for a spot on the corner near a fire hydrant. The worst thing that will happen is that I'll get a ticket. I gamble on that not happening. I lock the door and cross the street, making my way across campus.
I try to think the purest thoughts as I notice all the pretty college girls everywhere. Oh, my goodness. If I didn't dislike school so much, and could afford the tuition, night classes might be a nice way to pass the time.
The friend of my roommate gave me specific directions on how to locate her classroom. Still, I have to ask a couple of the pretty college girls how to get to where it is I need to be. Because, well, it never hurts to ask.
I find the classroom and step over to my roommate's friend and tap her shoulder. The professor is lecturing at the front of the class. I don't think he sees me. A couple of her classmates notice. They don't approve. I give them a big smile and turn away. I leave the classroom and wait in the hallway, and a few seconds later my roommate's friend joins me.
She says I look great. I tell her so does she. And then she asks, “Are you positive?” She wasn't really sure about what to wear, but she figured all black was a choice that never fails. I tell her it was a perfect choice. We actually look like we could be brother and sister vampires out on the town.
We stop at a corner store. My roommate's friend buys a few beers. She finishes them, and tells me to stop at the first liquor store we see, so she can buy some more, which I do, happy that they last a little longer. I don't feel like stopping every ten seconds for beer.
The parking lot at the livestock arena is full. We have to park at the rear of the lot, much to the displeasure of my roommate's friend. She asks if it's okay if we hang out in the car and listen to tunes while she finishes her beer.
There are three bands playing tonight. The first one is an outfit with a good name, but lousy songs. I don't mind missing them.
The main act is a vampire. All the hype surrounding him promises quite the theatrical extravaganza.
My roommate's friend finishes her beer. After locking her purse in the trunk, we make our way through the parking lot to the entrance. We pass the other vampire’s hanging out in their cars getting primed for the show, and are greeted at the entrance by a gentleman with a bullhorn. He’s quoting scripture and telling us all to repent for our sins.
The majority of the crowd is teenage boys and girls wearing t-shirts and jeans, unwashed, with looks of dissatisfaction fixed on their pimply cherubic faces. My neighbors and peers, the Fringe Folks, are here attired in their usual casual hip ness. Many transvestites are present as well. Then there are the die-hard freaks. People with an excess of piercing, tattoos, with hair styles of every conceivable fashion and manner. And as impressive as they all are, and believe me, some of these men and women make quite a commitment to their look, sacrificing any sort of future in the mainstream of life, none come close to the Spider Man.
I try to think the purest thoughts as I notice all the pretty college girls everywhere. Oh, my goodness. If I didn't dislike school so much, and could afford the tuition, night classes might be a nice way to pass the time.
The friend of my roommate gave me specific directions on how to locate her classroom. Still, I have to ask a couple of the pretty college girls how to get to where it is I need to be. Because, well, it never hurts to ask.
I find the classroom and step over to my roommate's friend and tap her shoulder. The professor is lecturing at the front of the class. I don't think he sees me. A couple of her classmates notice. They don't approve. I give them a big smile and turn away. I leave the classroom and wait in the hallway, and a few seconds later my roommate's friend joins me.
She says I look great. I tell her so does she. And then she asks, “Are you positive?” She wasn't really sure about what to wear, but she figured all black was a choice that never fails. I tell her it was a perfect choice. We actually look like we could be brother and sister vampires out on the town.
We stop at a corner store. My roommate's friend buys a few beers. She finishes them, and tells me to stop at the first liquor store we see, so she can buy some more, which I do, happy that they last a little longer. I don't feel like stopping every ten seconds for beer.
The parking lot at the livestock arena is full. We have to park at the rear of the lot, much to the displeasure of my roommate's friend. She asks if it's okay if we hang out in the car and listen to tunes while she finishes her beer.
There are three bands playing tonight. The first one is an outfit with a good name, but lousy songs. I don't mind missing them.
The main act is a vampire. All the hype surrounding him promises quite the theatrical extravaganza.
My roommate's friend finishes her beer. After locking her purse in the trunk, we make our way through the parking lot to the entrance. We pass the other vampire’s hanging out in their cars getting primed for the show, and are greeted at the entrance by a gentleman with a bullhorn. He’s quoting scripture and telling us all to repent for our sins.
The majority of the crowd is teenage boys and girls wearing t-shirts and jeans, unwashed, with looks of dissatisfaction fixed on their pimply cherubic faces. My neighbors and peers, the Fringe Folks, are here attired in their usual casual hip ness. Many transvestites are present as well. Then there are the die-hard freaks. People with an excess of piercing, tattoos, with hair styles of every conceivable fashion and manner. And as impressive as they all are, and believe me, some of these men and women make quite a commitment to their look, sacrificing any sort of future in the mainstream of life, none come close to the Spider Man.
Page 60
I saw the Spider Man a few times. He has his head shaved. And it, as well as his face, arms, and upper body, is the template for a large spider web. I have a tattoo. I know what getting one entails. It feels like someone is carving into your skin with a lit match.
My tattoo is small. It only took about half an hour. My guess is that to get your entire head, face, arms, and upper torso tattooed to show a large spider web must have taken at least a month of visits to the tattoo parlor. I wonder who would have agreed to tattoo someone's face.
The only other tattoo that I've personally seen that comes close belongs to a young white woman who was performing at the Monday night open mike at the club near the freeway. She was a petite Blondie with a pretty smile and sparkling blue eyes, and she wore a white tank top showing a series of big black lightning bolts across the top of her chest and down her arms.
I talked to her while she was waiting to perform, and I told her that her tattoos put most people to shame. She was quite shy and friendly, and seemed like she really wanted someone to talk to her. I would have liked to ask her out and get to know her, because she seemed like a positive person, but I was very, very, tired and my head was quite cloudy. I wished her good luck with everything and left after she played her song.
My tattoo is small. It only took about half an hour. My guess is that to get your entire head, face, arms, and upper torso tattooed to show a large spider web must have taken at least a month of visits to the tattoo parlor. I wonder who would have agreed to tattoo someone's face.
The only other tattoo that I've personally seen that comes close belongs to a young white woman who was performing at the Monday night open mike at the club near the freeway. She was a petite Blondie with a pretty smile and sparkling blue eyes, and she wore a white tank top showing a series of big black lightning bolts across the top of her chest and down her arms.
I talked to her while she was waiting to perform, and I told her that her tattoos put most people to shame. She was quite shy and friendly, and seemed like she really wanted someone to talk to her. I would have liked to ask her out and get to know her, because she seemed like a positive person, but I was very, very, tired and my head was quite cloudy. I wished her good luck with everything and left after she played her song.
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My roommate's friend says something about hoping to be able to get a good seat, and I smile into the lens of a movie camera that some obviously gay guy pushes into my face. He is drunk, and after filming me from what I assume will be an unflattering angle for the playback, he staggers on among the crowd. I tell my roommate's friend that the show is general admission and that we can always go onto the floor and make our way to the front. She seems pleased with this idea and tosses back her hair.
We go inside. My roommate’s friend says she needs to use the restroom. I follow her, and stand in one of the runways. I’m listening to the middle band. It’s fronted by the famous female who apparently knew my ex at one time.
My roommate's friend taps me on the arm, and we make our way down the corridor and walk around. We find all the seats are taken except those near the top. The music is quite loud. I lean close and point down to the floor telling her that we should go down there. She nods. We exit and make our way down to the main area, and stand near the soundboard. I continue to watch the famous female and note that her in between song banter seems affected. Who knows what she's really like off the stage? For us common folk, us audience members and fans, it really doesn't matter. The performance is all there is. The image is everything.
My roommate's friend says she's bored. We leave the famous female, and walk back into the main concourse by the shirt stand. She knows the people in charge of the shirts, says hello, and then notices another group of older well-dressed white people standing next to the money machine. We walk over and say hi. She neglects to introduce me. I introduce myself and discover the friendly lawyer looking guy about my age is the manager of the main act. He excuses himself after only a few minutes. It's almost show time for his meal ticket, and I guess he needs to make sure he is happy and ready to fully entertain us.
The older white people tire of babbling and excuse themselves to the exclusiveness of backstage. My roommate's friend seems hurt that she wasn't invited, but tries not to let it show. I have no desire to go backstage. I've been before. And I know from experience, it's not that pleasant. These show biz types are some of the most insecure and intensely neurotic people on the planet. They constantly need someone's approval and it can be quite draining.
I hear the music inside the hall stop and everyone starts making their way into the lobby. I tell my roommate's friend this would be a good time for us to go in and get positioned in front of the stage for the main act. She agrees and we make our way upstream, like a couple of black salmon swimming against the tide.
We go inside. My roommate’s friend says she needs to use the restroom. I follow her, and stand in one of the runways. I’m listening to the middle band. It’s fronted by the famous female who apparently knew my ex at one time.
My roommate's friend taps me on the arm, and we make our way down the corridor and walk around. We find all the seats are taken except those near the top. The music is quite loud. I lean close and point down to the floor telling her that we should go down there. She nods. We exit and make our way down to the main area, and stand near the soundboard. I continue to watch the famous female and note that her in between song banter seems affected. Who knows what she's really like off the stage? For us common folk, us audience members and fans, it really doesn't matter. The performance is all there is. The image is everything.
My roommate's friend says she's bored. We leave the famous female, and walk back into the main concourse by the shirt stand. She knows the people in charge of the shirts, says hello, and then notices another group of older well-dressed white people standing next to the money machine. We walk over and say hi. She neglects to introduce me. I introduce myself and discover the friendly lawyer looking guy about my age is the manager of the main act. He excuses himself after only a few minutes. It's almost show time for his meal ticket, and I guess he needs to make sure he is happy and ready to fully entertain us.
The older white people tire of babbling and excuse themselves to the exclusiveness of backstage. My roommate's friend seems hurt that she wasn't invited, but tries not to let it show. I have no desire to go backstage. I've been before. And I know from experience, it's not that pleasant. These show biz types are some of the most insecure and intensely neurotic people on the planet. They constantly need someone's approval and it can be quite draining.
I hear the music inside the hall stop and everyone starts making their way into the lobby. I tell my roommate's friend this would be a good time for us to go in and get positioned in front of the stage for the main act. She agrees and we make our way upstream, like a couple of black salmon swimming against the tide.
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We find our spots on the floor, deciding just to the left of center stage. We're not right in front, but we are as close as we possibly can be, which is pretty close. She says she's never been in the pit before. I tell her that once everyone begins thrashing and swirling, its best not to fight it, unless someone grabs her and starts something. If that's the case, be absolutely ruthless. Gouge an eye. Dig fingernails into whatever is available, preferably the good old groin. She doesn't find my words comforting. I've been in enough pits to know my advice is sound and she would do well to heed it.
We stand our ground and everyone begins to return. It gets rather cozy, like the bus at rush hour. We are surrounded mostly by a non-threatening portion of the audience. I can even pick out a few older guys with long hair over to my right. I guess that they are here for the same reason I am. The main act has been on the cover of every music rag there is. We just want to see the hype.
Just as I'm happy with the situation, a pack of male and female white trash in their early twenties pushes and shoves their way in front of us. I haven't seen these types since I lived in the suburbs. White trash. How on earth did they afford the steep ticket prices? These people are definitely bad news. They are totally violence prone. I tell my roommate's friend to stay clear of them, as one removes a pipe for smoking crack from his jacket, fires it up and passes it along.
The lights dim. The crowd begins cheering and the pit begins churning. A deafening roar of rhythmic noise begins and I watch my roommate's friend be swept away. I hope that she pays attention to what I told her.
We stand our ground and everyone begins to return. It gets rather cozy, like the bus at rush hour. We are surrounded mostly by a non-threatening portion of the audience. I can even pick out a few older guys with long hair over to my right. I guess that they are here for the same reason I am. The main act has been on the cover of every music rag there is. We just want to see the hype.
Just as I'm happy with the situation, a pack of male and female white trash in their early twenties pushes and shoves their way in front of us. I haven't seen these types since I lived in the suburbs. White trash. How on earth did they afford the steep ticket prices? These people are definitely bad news. They are totally violence prone. I tell my roommate's friend to stay clear of them, as one removes a pipe for smoking crack from his jacket, fires it up and passes it along.
The lights dim. The crowd begins cheering and the pit begins churning. A deafening roar of rhythmic noise begins and I watch my roommate's friend be swept away. I hope that she pays attention to what I told her.
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Today a pretty yellow girl gave me a pink card that reads:
"Please chant Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo."
She said the phrase means, "Devotion to the Mystic Law of the Lotus Sutra." She said that if I repeated it again and again aloud, I would be happy. She sure seemed happy.
"Please chant Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo."
She said the phrase means, "Devotion to the Mystic Law of the Lotus Sutra." She said that if I repeated it again and again aloud, I would be happy. She sure seemed happy.
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After my most recent bands pool party performance the drummer and the bass player presented a new song. It was not as long as the ten minute song, but it was close. It clocked it at almost eight minutes.
We all agreed we would not try to perform it at the jerk’s birthday, but that we would definitely add it to our repertoire.
I knew that the gig at the jerk’s birthday was not going to go well as soon as we arrived, because everyone was really enjoying the music that was already playing.
We put our gear off to the side and tried to blend in. This was quite hard for both the bass player and singer because the girl to guy ratio was heavy on the testosterone side.
The jerk’s apartment complex clubhouse had tables and chairs and a couple of kegs at one end and the music and the attendees at the other end. The drummer and I looked at each other and did not say a word, but it was clear to me that there were definite bad vibes present.
The jerk came over and hugged the singer and said hello to me and the rest of the band, telling us to get something to drink. I asked him where he wanted us to set up and he pointed to an area and took the singers hand and led her away.
“Let’s get out of here. Let’s go home.” The drummer said.
I should have listened to him, but I said not to worry, everything would be okay.
We got set. I put the singers gear together and asked someone near the music if we could start after the next song. The person killed the music as soon as I said this. I stepped over to the singer’s mike stand and paged her. There was much whooping and hollering from the big boy crowd as she made her way to where we were and took her place. I did a quick count and we launched in to the sacred song.
About a third of the way in to the ten minute song the big boys began chanting “Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip!” to the singer.
They had been whistling and shouting various lewd remarks during the first three songs, but this was more than I could take.
I turned down the volume of my guitar. I stepped over to the singer’s microphone and apologized to the crowd. I said my guitar was malfunctioning and that I was unable to continue playing.
“Who cares about your guitar?” Someone shouted.
“Yeah!” Another replied.
“Blondie, show us your tits!”
The music began playing again. I started unplugging and winding up chords.
“What the hell was that about!?” The singer demanded. I ignored her and kept to the task at hand. The drummer and bass player jumped in to action as well. In a flash the gear was loaded. We were ready to go.
“I’m waiting inside the van.” The bass player said.
“Me too.” Replied the drummer.
I told them I would be right back with the singer.
The singer was holding court among the big boys. I told the fellows to excuse us for a moment and led her aside telling her that we were leaving.
“What do you mean?” She demanded.
I told her everything was loaded no thanks to her and that the bass player and drummer were in the van. The jerk appeared and asked what the problem was and the singer told him she had to go.
He said “You’re not going anywhere until I get my birthday kiss.”
He took her arm, pulled her close, and presented her with deep throated mouth action. When he released his grip and stepped back the singer spit in his face. He drew back to hit her. I pushed the singer aside and ducked. The jerk swung at the air. I grabbed the singer and ran to the van.
“Why did you have to start some crazy fight?!” I yelled as we ran.
“I started this?! How the hell did I start this?!”
I pushed her inside the passenger side, got in, and locked the door. The jerk and many of the big boys we coming out of the club house towards us.
“What’s going on?” the drummer asked.
“Later.” I said. He started the van and left the scene as quickly as possible.
We all agreed we would not try to perform it at the jerk’s birthday, but that we would definitely add it to our repertoire.
I knew that the gig at the jerk’s birthday was not going to go well as soon as we arrived, because everyone was really enjoying the music that was already playing.
We put our gear off to the side and tried to blend in. This was quite hard for both the bass player and singer because the girl to guy ratio was heavy on the testosterone side.
The jerk’s apartment complex clubhouse had tables and chairs and a couple of kegs at one end and the music and the attendees at the other end. The drummer and I looked at each other and did not say a word, but it was clear to me that there were definite bad vibes present.
The jerk came over and hugged the singer and said hello to me and the rest of the band, telling us to get something to drink. I asked him where he wanted us to set up and he pointed to an area and took the singers hand and led her away.
“Let’s get out of here. Let’s go home.” The drummer said.
I should have listened to him, but I said not to worry, everything would be okay.
We got set. I put the singers gear together and asked someone near the music if we could start after the next song. The person killed the music as soon as I said this. I stepped over to the singer’s mike stand and paged her. There was much whooping and hollering from the big boy crowd as she made her way to where we were and took her place. I did a quick count and we launched in to the sacred song.
About a third of the way in to the ten minute song the big boys began chanting “Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip!” to the singer.
They had been whistling and shouting various lewd remarks during the first three songs, but this was more than I could take.
I turned down the volume of my guitar. I stepped over to the singer’s microphone and apologized to the crowd. I said my guitar was malfunctioning and that I was unable to continue playing.
“Who cares about your guitar?” Someone shouted.
“Yeah!” Another replied.
“Blondie, show us your tits!”
The music began playing again. I started unplugging and winding up chords.
“What the hell was that about!?” The singer demanded. I ignored her and kept to the task at hand. The drummer and bass player jumped in to action as well. In a flash the gear was loaded. We were ready to go.
“I’m waiting inside the van.” The bass player said.
“Me too.” Replied the drummer.
I told them I would be right back with the singer.
The singer was holding court among the big boys. I told the fellows to excuse us for a moment and led her aside telling her that we were leaving.
“What do you mean?” She demanded.
I told her everything was loaded no thanks to her and that the bass player and drummer were in the van. The jerk appeared and asked what the problem was and the singer told him she had to go.
He said “You’re not going anywhere until I get my birthday kiss.”
He took her arm, pulled her close, and presented her with deep throated mouth action. When he released his grip and stepped back the singer spit in his face. He drew back to hit her. I pushed the singer aside and ducked. The jerk swung at the air. I grabbed the singer and ran to the van.
“Why did you have to start some crazy fight?!” I yelled as we ran.
“I started this?! How the hell did I start this?!”
I pushed her inside the passenger side, got in, and locked the door. The jerk and many of the big boys we coming out of the club house towards us.
“What’s going on?” the drummer asked.
“Later.” I said. He started the van and left the scene as quickly as possible.
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After our night on the town with the bumper cars and fire dancer, E told me to wait a couple of days before calling her, so I did. She said she was going to be out of town visiting the other guy. I said to say hello to his friendly friends. She said she intended to break up with him. I told her she didn't need to on my account, but secretly I hoped that I could be the only one occupying her brain.
I waited and dealt with the ache I felt from being away from her. It seemed to lessen each time we parted, but there was pain nonetheless. I felt needy and weak. And at the same time, happy and secure. It was a weird feeling.
When she finally telephoned, E sounded on edge and had to keep clicking over to her other phone line, because the other guy kept calling. After about the third time of being told to hold, I let her know that she could call me later, once she was done counseling her long distance love. I took a shower and went to bed and was awakened after midnight. I listened as she told me the trouble she was having breaking up with the other guy.
The detailing of the drama finally ran its course, and E said she wanted to see me the next weekend. Her sister was having a party at her house, and if I wanted, I could go with her and spend the night and leave the next morning. She said she was going to visit a friend and she would drop me off at the train station on her way out of town.
It sounded great. She said for me to take the train and go to her work. I said for her to pick me up at the station. She told me which train to take to time it right. She didn't really feel like talking much more, because she was emotionally exhausted from her dealing with the other guy.
I asked her if I needed to bring anything for the party. She said all I needed to bring was my beautiful self, and after telling her that wasn't a problem, it was goodnight and then I was unable to sleep for about two hours while my mind raced with the anticipation of seeing her.
Sometimes, I wish my brain had a switch that I could turn on or off.
I waited and dealt with the ache I felt from being away from her. It seemed to lessen each time we parted, but there was pain nonetheless. I felt needy and weak. And at the same time, happy and secure. It was a weird feeling.
When she finally telephoned, E sounded on edge and had to keep clicking over to her other phone line, because the other guy kept calling. After about the third time of being told to hold, I let her know that she could call me later, once she was done counseling her long distance love. I took a shower and went to bed and was awakened after midnight. I listened as she told me the trouble she was having breaking up with the other guy.
The detailing of the drama finally ran its course, and E said she wanted to see me the next weekend. Her sister was having a party at her house, and if I wanted, I could go with her and spend the night and leave the next morning. She said she was going to visit a friend and she would drop me off at the train station on her way out of town.
It sounded great. She said for me to take the train and go to her work. I said for her to pick me up at the station. She told me which train to take to time it right. She didn't really feel like talking much more, because she was emotionally exhausted from her dealing with the other guy.
I asked her if I needed to bring anything for the party. She said all I needed to bring was my beautiful self, and after telling her that wasn't a problem, it was goodnight and then I was unable to sleep for about two hours while my mind raced with the anticipation of seeing her.
Sometimes, I wish my brain had a switch that I could turn on or off.
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A co-worker said it was time for flowers.
Before I got on the train, I bought a bouquet of assorted flowers at the small gift stand next to the ticket window, just behind the chain link maze that lead to the platform.
The scene was the same as before, with the station being under construction and the urban wasteland that follows the train line until you get to the racetrack.
I had not been sleeping well at the time and was drinking a lot of coffee and smoking a lot of cigarettes. My brain was jumpy and I had horrible dark circles under my eyes. I was wearing sunglasses. There wasn't a lot I could do about my face. I figured I would try to make up for it by dressing sharp and thinking before I spoke, so as not to say anything too strange.
Some of you might have seen films where movie audiences followed a bouncing ball on the screen. I saw it in a movie about what it was like to be alive before television. It showed people sitting in the theater, singing along to the bouncing ball. Anyway, that's what my brain felt like as the train rolled along. The bouncing ball.
Before I got on the train, I bought a bouquet of assorted flowers at the small gift stand next to the ticket window, just behind the chain link maze that lead to the platform.
The scene was the same as before, with the station being under construction and the urban wasteland that follows the train line until you get to the racetrack.
I had not been sleeping well at the time and was drinking a lot of coffee and smoking a lot of cigarettes. My brain was jumpy and I had horrible dark circles under my eyes. I was wearing sunglasses. There wasn't a lot I could do about my face. I figured I would try to make up for it by dressing sharp and thinking before I spoke, so as not to say anything too strange.
Some of you might have seen films where movie audiences followed a bouncing ball on the screen. I saw it in a movie about what it was like to be alive before television. It showed people sitting in the theater, singing along to the bouncing ball. Anyway, that's what my brain felt like as the train rolled along. The bouncing ball.
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I called E when I got off the train. She said she was on her way. After waiting about half an hour, I called again and she said she was finishing with a customer and was on her way. I sat on top of a baggage locker in the sun, watching a homeless woman shouting at a group of teenagers waiting for the bus. She was relentless, and the kids were huddled to one side of the Plexiglas bus stop, trying their best to ignore her.
When the bus finally came, and the kids were no longer there, the woman directed her attention to the traffic and began shouting at cars as they drove by. She started screaming that all she wanted money to get something to eat at the golden arches.
I left my travel bag and flowers on top of the baggage locker, hopped to the ground, and walked to where she was and gave her money. She barely acknowledged my presence. She shoved the money inside her dirty pants and ambled down the sidewalk towards the golden arches, muttering something about how a person has to practically scream their head off before someone listens to what they are saying.
Fifteen minutes had passed since E said she was finishing with a customer and was on her way, and I called her again. One of her co-workers said she just left. I said, thanks, and returned to my perch.
I told myself if she didn't show up within fifteen minutes, I would get back on the train, and give the flowers I had to the first good looking woman I saw, and I meant it. I had never waited so long for a girl to arrive in my life. I didn't know if she was punishing me for not following her initial request of meeting her at work, or if she had been truly tied up with a customer. When she arrived I was so glad to be getting inside a car and going somewhere I didn't say anything. I just handed her the flowers and gave her a kiss.
She made a fuss over the bouquet, as she tore out of the parking lot, placing it next to the suitcase in the back with one hand, and steering with the other. She looked good as always. It seemed to me like she might have gone home and changed, because her make up and outfit seemed fresh.
As we left the peninsula and got onto the bridge, I threw my overnight bag on top of E's suitcase, looked at the murky water, and fantasized about her pulling a hard right and sending us to a watery death.
When the bus finally came, and the kids were no longer there, the woman directed her attention to the traffic and began shouting at cars as they drove by. She started screaming that all she wanted money to get something to eat at the golden arches.
I left my travel bag and flowers on top of the baggage locker, hopped to the ground, and walked to where she was and gave her money. She barely acknowledged my presence. She shoved the money inside her dirty pants and ambled down the sidewalk towards the golden arches, muttering something about how a person has to practically scream their head off before someone listens to what they are saying.
Fifteen minutes had passed since E said she was finishing with a customer and was on her way, and I called her again. One of her co-workers said she just left. I said, thanks, and returned to my perch.
I told myself if she didn't show up within fifteen minutes, I would get back on the train, and give the flowers I had to the first good looking woman I saw, and I meant it. I had never waited so long for a girl to arrive in my life. I didn't know if she was punishing me for not following her initial request of meeting her at work, or if she had been truly tied up with a customer. When she arrived I was so glad to be getting inside a car and going somewhere I didn't say anything. I just handed her the flowers and gave her a kiss.
She made a fuss over the bouquet, as she tore out of the parking lot, placing it next to the suitcase in the back with one hand, and steering with the other. She looked good as always. It seemed to me like she might have gone home and changed, because her make up and outfit seemed fresh.
As we left the peninsula and got onto the bridge, I threw my overnight bag on top of E's suitcase, looked at the murky water, and fantasized about her pulling a hard right and sending us to a watery death.
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It took a while to find her sister's house because E didn't have an address. She knew approximately where it was and I was completely amazed when we found the place because basically all the houses looked the same. But, after driving up and down several streets following some invisible bread crumb-like trail inside her head, we parked outside the house.
E grabbed the flowers from the back and asked if I minded if she gave them to her sister because she forgot to get anything to bring as a gift. I said it was fine and we got out and walked to the front door.
E's sister answered with a big smile, saying hello in an exaggerated way, and was very, very, happy with the flowers. E said she bought them just for her and went to the kitchen and got a vase from a cupboard above the sink. The husband came trotting down the carpeted living room stairs and introduced himself. He was a very, very nice, very, very, white man, whose hello was as exaggerated as his wife's.
Eventually, we all got comfortable enough with one another to linger inside the kitchen and we all helped prepare the food for the party. The husband was sautéing shrimp in some kind of special sauce on top of the stove, and E's sister was preparing crab dip. E and I worked on a tossed salad. I had the duty of washing and cutting the stuff that went inside, and E, well, I don't remember how she helped. I do remember her telling her sister about me spending the weekend pretending to be Ed.
Either E's sister was good at hiding how strange she thought it was, or didn't find it strange at all, because she just laughed and kept saying, “Really?, after each detail was provided by E. The husband was talking on his phone and stirring his concoction at the same time. He was talking loudly and smiling to whoever was on the other side of his conversation. I didn't mind E's sister knowing about our weird weekend, but I didn't want the husband to know, because he might have felt uncomfortable and not include me in his conversation with the guys.
I'm sure he learned about it from his wife eventually.
E grabbed the flowers from the back and asked if I minded if she gave them to her sister because she forgot to get anything to bring as a gift. I said it was fine and we got out and walked to the front door.
E's sister answered with a big smile, saying hello in an exaggerated way, and was very, very, happy with the flowers. E said she bought them just for her and went to the kitchen and got a vase from a cupboard above the sink. The husband came trotting down the carpeted living room stairs and introduced himself. He was a very, very nice, very, very, white man, whose hello was as exaggerated as his wife's.
Eventually, we all got comfortable enough with one another to linger inside the kitchen and we all helped prepare the food for the party. The husband was sautéing shrimp in some kind of special sauce on top of the stove, and E's sister was preparing crab dip. E and I worked on a tossed salad. I had the duty of washing and cutting the stuff that went inside, and E, well, I don't remember how she helped. I do remember her telling her sister about me spending the weekend pretending to be Ed.
Either E's sister was good at hiding how strange she thought it was, or didn't find it strange at all, because she just laughed and kept saying, “Really?, after each detail was provided by E. The husband was talking on his phone and stirring his concoction at the same time. He was talking loudly and smiling to whoever was on the other side of his conversation. I didn't mind E's sister knowing about our weird weekend, but I didn't want the husband to know, because he might have felt uncomfortable and not include me in his conversation with the guys.
I'm sure he learned about it from his wife eventually.
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The food was finished and put in special places for all to enjoy, and we settled into the living room to make pleasant conversation. I was actually quite tired due to my lack of sleep and caught myself nodding off a few times. My head would bob up and I would wake quickly each time to see E's sister looking at me concerned. She asked if I wanted some coffee and I said, please. I don't remember having eaten that day either. Anyway, the coffee did the trick.
The place was nice. There was a big television, expensive music system, flowery furniture, and potpourri. More white people with exaggerated hellos began arriving, which was a relief, because the more people, the easier it was for me to step inside the jumpy comfort of my brain and keep my participation to a minimum, allowing me to be a spectator of sorts and soak in the blinding paleness of the scene.
Someone put on music from twenty years ago and the party was underway.
I was amazed by the ego everywhere. It seemed as if everyone stood stiffly and raised their head when they spoke, puffing like blowfish. I got the feeling that I didn't belong. I am damaged. Those folks seemed like they had coasted through life with only minor complaints to report.
I did my best to blend and talk about what it was that interested them, mostly jobs, money, and television. It got to be tiring and eventually I sat in the living room, near the expensive music system, flipping through the wedding photo albums that were displayed on the coffee table.
E came from upstairs and joined me, sitting on my lap and pressing herself very, very, close as she narrated the photos in the album. Her sister and brother in law were basically newlyweds, and were hitched a little over a year ago. E's father was in a lot of the photos. Everyone was obviously drunk, but he looked like drinking was killing him. He had that withered look of an alcoholic on his last legs. E looked fantastic. She pointed at herself and pressed herself even closer to me, and said something about wouldn't it be great to be married and come home to her every day, and I had to agree that it would be wonderful.
One of those radio songs that you heard too much and know simply because of repetition began to play and E pulled me up to dance. There were already a few others dancing, mostly women, and I joined them.
I had never danced in someone's house before. I had always gone to a club, but the privacy of a house party allowed for one to cut loose, even more than one would in public, and the ladies were grinding away. They were moving like dancers I've seen in strip clubs, slowly, full of pelvic motion, hands folded behind their heads or arms raised in the air. I felt like having a seat in a chair, pulling out money, and soliciting a private dance. That probably wouldn't have gone over well. I didn't really feel like having one of those big white husbands put a fist in my face.
The place was nice. There was a big television, expensive music system, flowery furniture, and potpourri. More white people with exaggerated hellos began arriving, which was a relief, because the more people, the easier it was for me to step inside the jumpy comfort of my brain and keep my participation to a minimum, allowing me to be a spectator of sorts and soak in the blinding paleness of the scene.
Someone put on music from twenty years ago and the party was underway.
I was amazed by the ego everywhere. It seemed as if everyone stood stiffly and raised their head when they spoke, puffing like blowfish. I got the feeling that I didn't belong. I am damaged. Those folks seemed like they had coasted through life with only minor complaints to report.
I did my best to blend and talk about what it was that interested them, mostly jobs, money, and television. It got to be tiring and eventually I sat in the living room, near the expensive music system, flipping through the wedding photo albums that were displayed on the coffee table.
E came from upstairs and joined me, sitting on my lap and pressing herself very, very, close as she narrated the photos in the album. Her sister and brother in law were basically newlyweds, and were hitched a little over a year ago. E's father was in a lot of the photos. Everyone was obviously drunk, but he looked like drinking was killing him. He had that withered look of an alcoholic on his last legs. E looked fantastic. She pointed at herself and pressed herself even closer to me, and said something about wouldn't it be great to be married and come home to her every day, and I had to agree that it would be wonderful.
One of those radio songs that you heard too much and know simply because of repetition began to play and E pulled me up to dance. There were already a few others dancing, mostly women, and I joined them.
I had never danced in someone's house before. I had always gone to a club, but the privacy of a house party allowed for one to cut loose, even more than one would in public, and the ladies were grinding away. They were moving like dancers I've seen in strip clubs, slowly, full of pelvic motion, hands folded behind their heads or arms raised in the air. I felt like having a seat in a chair, pulling out money, and soliciting a private dance. That probably wouldn't have gone over well. I didn't really feel like having one of those big white husbands put a fist in my face.
Page 70
I was bored after a few songs, and went out to the patio. I got a beer and sat down in a lawn chair, looking up at the big starry sky. Except for the music and talk from the house, the neighborhood was quiet. I could hear crickets chirping if I listened hard enough.
There were a few other people on the patio, and I realized they were watching E dance by herself through the sliding glass door and making fun of her. I stood, gave them a long, long, look to kill, then went inside and joined her. I danced and smiled at the patio people, then took E by the hand and led her out the front door and down the street.
I sat on the curb at the end of the street, and she sat next to me. I had my face buried in my hands. She asked if I was strung out and I told her no. She said there was something she wanted to give me. I asked her what it was and she started punching me in the arm as hard as she could. At first it felt good. I endured it, hoping she would stop, and when she didn't, I shoved her away from me and she fell off the curb onto the street.
I rubbed my arm and asked her why she did that. She said she wanted to give me something to remember her by when we were apart. I told her I would rather have a photograph. She laughed and laid down on her back in the street and told me to get on top of her. I said no. She said fine, and began moaning in an exaggerated way. I started laughing and tapped her lightly on the thigh with the toe of my shoe. She reached her climax and enjoyed a brief afterglow with herself and then sat up and smiled. I told her that it was obvious that she was faking, and she said that she could use a cigarette and stood. I joined her. She wrapped her arms around mine and said she couldn't wait to see my bruise tomorrow. I didn't say anything and shook my head and looked at her sparkling mischievous eyes.
She had the idea of ringing one of the neighbors' doorbells and running away. I told her she could do what she liked, but I was too old for that. She untangled herself from my arm, and walked quietly up the sidewalk of one of the neighboring houses, and slowly, silently, opened the gate that led to the front door and disappeared from my view.
I stood and waited for her to bolt from the place, but nothing happened. I had the terrible thought that maybe she decided to do a little breaking and entering, rummaging through the bedroom in search of some odd trinket, but that was entertained for only an instant. E stepped back out the gate and walked down the sidewalk.
She said she lost her nerve, but it was nice to see that I had waited for her. She challenged me to a race and ran up the block. I wasn't about to let her beat me. I sprinted to catch her and then I zoomed on ahead to her car. It was unlocked. I reached into her glove box and got my cigarettes, lighting one, leaning against the passenger side door.
When she made it to me, she said I cheated. I handed her my cigarette and lit myself a new one. We finished the smokes and then went back to the party.
Boy, was my arm sore.
There were a few other people on the patio, and I realized they were watching E dance by herself through the sliding glass door and making fun of her. I stood, gave them a long, long, look to kill, then went inside and joined her. I danced and smiled at the patio people, then took E by the hand and led her out the front door and down the street.
I sat on the curb at the end of the street, and she sat next to me. I had my face buried in my hands. She asked if I was strung out and I told her no. She said there was something she wanted to give me. I asked her what it was and she started punching me in the arm as hard as she could. At first it felt good. I endured it, hoping she would stop, and when she didn't, I shoved her away from me and she fell off the curb onto the street.
I rubbed my arm and asked her why she did that. She said she wanted to give me something to remember her by when we were apart. I told her I would rather have a photograph. She laughed and laid down on her back in the street and told me to get on top of her. I said no. She said fine, and began moaning in an exaggerated way. I started laughing and tapped her lightly on the thigh with the toe of my shoe. She reached her climax and enjoyed a brief afterglow with herself and then sat up and smiled. I told her that it was obvious that she was faking, and she said that she could use a cigarette and stood. I joined her. She wrapped her arms around mine and said she couldn't wait to see my bruise tomorrow. I didn't say anything and shook my head and looked at her sparkling mischievous eyes.
She had the idea of ringing one of the neighbors' doorbells and running away. I told her she could do what she liked, but I was too old for that. She untangled herself from my arm, and walked quietly up the sidewalk of one of the neighboring houses, and slowly, silently, opened the gate that led to the front door and disappeared from my view.
I stood and waited for her to bolt from the place, but nothing happened. I had the terrible thought that maybe she decided to do a little breaking and entering, rummaging through the bedroom in search of some odd trinket, but that was entertained for only an instant. E stepped back out the gate and walked down the sidewalk.
She said she lost her nerve, but it was nice to see that I had waited for her. She challenged me to a race and ran up the block. I wasn't about to let her beat me. I sprinted to catch her and then I zoomed on ahead to her car. It was unlocked. I reached into her glove box and got my cigarettes, lighting one, leaning against the passenger side door.
When she made it to me, she said I cheated. I handed her my cigarette and lit myself a new one. We finished the smokes and then went back to the party.
Boy, was my arm sore.
Page 71
Back inside, the only thing that had changed was that everybody was sloppier and louder. We hung out, but E had to get up early to head out of town, and I was exhausted, so she told her sister goodnight, and went upstairs into the guest room.
Once we were alone I took off my shoes and belt. E removed her shoes, and unsnapped her bra and snuck it out from under her blouse. We both got in bed and slept with our hands cupped together in each other's legs.
Up to this point, this was the best I had felt since my divorce.
I was sad when E poked me at about five o'clock and asked me what time it was, because when I told her, she got out of bed and went into the bathroom. All of a sudden, I felt what it was like not to have someone sleeping with me again. I turned to the side, and looked at the light that trickled out from under the bathroom door and wished that I could freeze time.
Once we were alone I took off my shoes and belt. E removed her shoes, and unsnapped her bra and snuck it out from under her blouse. We both got in bed and slept with our hands cupped together in each other's legs.
Up to this point, this was the best I had felt since my divorce.
I was sad when E poked me at about five o'clock and asked me what time it was, because when I told her, she got out of bed and went into the bathroom. All of a sudden, I felt what it was like not to have someone sleeping with me again. I turned to the side, and looked at the light that trickled out from under the bathroom door and wished that I could freeze time.
Page 72
My most recent band’s first real gig was at a dive bar a block from where I work. We promoted it through the usual channels: computer, telephone, and fliers.
“I don’t know if you’re paying attention, but music is dead in this town. High rent and technology killed it. Look at all the clubs closing down and all the rehearsal spaces bought and turned into office space. The only bands still around are no name no talents that generate zero interest from the locals. It wasn’t always this way.”
This was not what I wanted to hear just before I was to take the stage for my most recent band’s first real gig, but it was what I had to hear, from a bald, fat, white fellow, nursing a long neck bottle of beer outside the front of the dive bar. He made me feel depressed. This feeling rested inside me next to the ball of hate.
The ball of hate is the size of an egg. It started out the size of a melon. It appeared after my first successful group disbanded. I have spent years trying to bury the ball of hate. I have tried to pretend it does not exist. Eventually I accepted it. When I can, I try and draw strength from it and use it as motivation to carry on. Like I said, this ball has lessened considerably, and my hope is, if it does not dissipate completely, it will shrink to the size of a pea, or even a grain of sand.
My most recent band’s first real gig went well. We were the opening band. Everyone we invited showed. This prompted the bartender who booked the acts to ask us if we could play again in a few months. I said sure. He booked us for another Saturday night.
The singer was cheerful and sang with real emotion. Even the Bass player appeared happy. Afterwards when we were loading out, the bald, fat, white fellow with the negative outlook on the local music scene came up to me and apologized, saying he would have never said what he did to me had he known I was in the band. I told him no problem. He asked in a shy way when we were playing again.
“I’m not lying when I say this, but you guys are pretty damn good.”
I told him thanks. Then I had to stay long after everyone else in the band left in order to collect our share of the door.
“I don’t know if you’re paying attention, but music is dead in this town. High rent and technology killed it. Look at all the clubs closing down and all the rehearsal spaces bought and turned into office space. The only bands still around are no name no talents that generate zero interest from the locals. It wasn’t always this way.”
This was not what I wanted to hear just before I was to take the stage for my most recent band’s first real gig, but it was what I had to hear, from a bald, fat, white fellow, nursing a long neck bottle of beer outside the front of the dive bar. He made me feel depressed. This feeling rested inside me next to the ball of hate.
The ball of hate is the size of an egg. It started out the size of a melon. It appeared after my first successful group disbanded. I have spent years trying to bury the ball of hate. I have tried to pretend it does not exist. Eventually I accepted it. When I can, I try and draw strength from it and use it as motivation to carry on. Like I said, this ball has lessened considerably, and my hope is, if it does not dissipate completely, it will shrink to the size of a pea, or even a grain of sand.
My most recent band’s first real gig went well. We were the opening band. Everyone we invited showed. This prompted the bartender who booked the acts to ask us if we could play again in a few months. I said sure. He booked us for another Saturday night.
The singer was cheerful and sang with real emotion. Even the Bass player appeared happy. Afterwards when we were loading out, the bald, fat, white fellow with the negative outlook on the local music scene came up to me and apologized, saying he would have never said what he did to me had he known I was in the band. I told him no problem. He asked in a shy way when we were playing again.
“I’m not lying when I say this, but you guys are pretty damn good.”
I told him thanks. Then I had to stay long after everyone else in the band left in order to collect our share of the door.
Page 73
They recently released a movie that everybody is talking about, and since it is unlikely I will actually spend the money to see it in the theaters, I decided to check out the book. I went during lunch to a place near the cable cars, passing through the street circus.
The Chess Champs were in heavy competition. There is an area where the tourists line up to ride the cable cars that the Chess Champs have claimed as their own. They have discarded card tables lined in a row, with ragged folding chairs on both sides facing one another. They have chess boards and pieces positioned, ready for play.
Every table was occupied and there was a crowd gathered around the players, watching their moves. I play kamikaze chess. I'll move pieces for you to capture until the game ends. I don't really have the patience for chess. I like to play cards.
I got to the bookstore and found the book and flipped a few pages, finally stopping at a section in the middle. I couldn't believe what I read. I closed the book and put it back on the shelf. I felt like I had been lying down and stood up too fast. As I made my way outside, it felt like the ground was moving. What I read really, really, bothered me. I went back at lunch two more days in a row, reading passages that were absolutely horrific.
I didn't want to go to that bookstore at lunch every day. I decided the only way to rid myself of the awful compulsion was to buy the book and read it at home.
I like to read just before I go to sleep, but with that book, I didn't think it was a good idea. I read it when I got home from work, before I ate dinner, because I thought I might vomit if I ate and then read.
I finished the book. Now I have the most terrible thoughts running through my brain. When I see people I imagine their limbs are being cut off, and their heads are on sticks.
The Chess Champs were in heavy competition. There is an area where the tourists line up to ride the cable cars that the Chess Champs have claimed as their own. They have discarded card tables lined in a row, with ragged folding chairs on both sides facing one another. They have chess boards and pieces positioned, ready for play.
Every table was occupied and there was a crowd gathered around the players, watching their moves. I play kamikaze chess. I'll move pieces for you to capture until the game ends. I don't really have the patience for chess. I like to play cards.
I got to the bookstore and found the book and flipped a few pages, finally stopping at a section in the middle. I couldn't believe what I read. I closed the book and put it back on the shelf. I felt like I had been lying down and stood up too fast. As I made my way outside, it felt like the ground was moving. What I read really, really, bothered me. I went back at lunch two more days in a row, reading passages that were absolutely horrific.
I didn't want to go to that bookstore at lunch every day. I decided the only way to rid myself of the awful compulsion was to buy the book and read it at home.
I like to read just before I go to sleep, but with that book, I didn't think it was a good idea. I read it when I got home from work, before I ate dinner, because I thought I might vomit if I ate and then read.
I finished the book. Now I have the most terrible thoughts running through my brain. When I see people I imagine their limbs are being cut off, and their heads are on sticks.
Page 74
After my most recent band’s gig at the dive bar we booked studio time. When we discussed which songs to include on the demo everyone agreed that the singer’s pop hit should lead off because it was our catchiest song.
“We’ve only booked two sessions. One to record, and one for the mix down. We’ll be lucky if that turns out to be enough.” The bass player explained.
“We can always book more time can’t we?” The singer asked.
“The studio is booked solid for several months. We were lucky to get these two days.” I said.
“Okay. But why can’t we just record all of our songs?”
“You’ve never recorded before.” The drummer interjected.
“What does that have to do with anything?” The singer asked.
The bass player answered.
“We’ve booked an eight hour session to record. The best thing is for us to play live. Hopefully we’ll be able to lay down a solid musical performance so most of the time can be spent with you.”
The singer did not understand what she was trying to say.
“What do you mean most of the time will be spent with me?! I’m a good singer!”
“Listen, when you record you cut and paste certain segments. You will slur some words, or breathe weird, or bump the mike stand, or whatever. So, calm down.”
“Okay. I didn’t know that. Thank you. But don’t tell me to calm down, alright?”
The drummer spoke.
“Can we quit bickering and decide which other songs to record?”
“I think in addition to her song we should include a cover, and one of the longer songs to show a variety.”
“I agree.”
“So do I.”
“Me too.”
“I think we should include the newest of the long songs, not the one about the girl lost in the woods. That one is spooky.”
We all agreed.
“So that only leaves which cover we are going to do.”
I suggested the sacred song, but the drummer did not think it was the best choice.
“That song is too long. We’re already recording a long song. We should do the party song.”
Again, we all agreed.
“We’ve only booked two sessions. One to record, and one for the mix down. We’ll be lucky if that turns out to be enough.” The bass player explained.
“We can always book more time can’t we?” The singer asked.
“The studio is booked solid for several months. We were lucky to get these two days.” I said.
“Okay. But why can’t we just record all of our songs?”
“You’ve never recorded before.” The drummer interjected.
“What does that have to do with anything?” The singer asked.
The bass player answered.
“We’ve booked an eight hour session to record. The best thing is for us to play live. Hopefully we’ll be able to lay down a solid musical performance so most of the time can be spent with you.”
The singer did not understand what she was trying to say.
“What do you mean most of the time will be spent with me?! I’m a good singer!”
“Listen, when you record you cut and paste certain segments. You will slur some words, or breathe weird, or bump the mike stand, or whatever. So, calm down.”
“Okay. I didn’t know that. Thank you. But don’t tell me to calm down, alright?”
The drummer spoke.
“Can we quit bickering and decide which other songs to record?”
“I think in addition to her song we should include a cover, and one of the longer songs to show a variety.”
“I agree.”
“So do I.”
“Me too.”
“I think we should include the newest of the long songs, not the one about the girl lost in the woods. That one is spooky.”
We all agreed.
“So that only leaves which cover we are going to do.”
I suggested the sacred song, but the drummer did not think it was the best choice.
“That song is too long. We’re already recording a long song. We should do the party song.”
Again, we all agreed.
Page 75
I'm sitting at the bus stop in front of the guitar store, waiting for it to be eleven o' clock. I'm visiting a friend who lives in a hotel across the street. He is slightly autistic. It isn't a good idea to be early or late. I must arrive exactly at eleven.
I'm sure at least some of you have felt an earthquake. I've felt many small ones. Usually they happen when I'm sleeping. It feels like you're on water. It's like the ground turns into waves.
Yesterday, we had a tremor that they said was an aftershock from a big earthquake that devastated the Middle East. The one here happened about six in the evening. I was listening to music in the front room, and I saw the lamp swaying in the breeze, only there wasn't a breeze.
I immediately jumped under a doorway and waited for all the motion to stop. After it did, I noticed my heart was pounding, and I stayed under the frame a little while longer, just to be sure.
It's ten to eleven. I'm tired of trying to ignore the diesel exhaust, bright sun, and all the other ragged fellow passengers of life at this bus stop, and decide to buy some guitar picks.
The guy who helps me behind the counter is quite nice. As he gets my picks, someone calls my name from the other end of the counter. I look and see a guy that I know whom I haven't seen in quite awhile. I go over and say hello.
My ex and I used to socialize with him and his ex. He's a bass player. We used to jam and have dinner together. He has many tattoos on his arms. The one of Buddha peeks out from under his right sleeve. I tell him, now that I have one myself, I can really appreciate the amount of time that goes in to a tattoo as detailed as his.
He says that he's thinking of getting his girlfriend's name branded into his right bicep, but he has to research it first to make sure that it's lasting. I think that's a big step to take with a girl you're only dating. I mean, there's nothing wrong with branding her name into his skin, but I would wait to do it on some special anniversary, like say, you're tenth or fifteenth. Go ahead and have it as a surprise.
I wouldn't go for the bicep. If I was going to do it I would have the name branded right on my butt. Have you ever seen bulls with the big metal rings through their noses? They have them so ranchers can pull on them and get them to go where they need to go. Usually, to be slaughtered. One of my coworkers said that all married men have one of those rings in their noses, only it's invisible.
I notice it's just before eleven. I give my tattooed friend my card and he does the same, saying that he's playing in a couple of bands and he will let me know when he has a gig. I tell him that would be cool and wish him well, and then step back into the bright sun and across the street to the hotel where my slightly autistic friend lives.
I'm sure at least some of you have felt an earthquake. I've felt many small ones. Usually they happen when I'm sleeping. It feels like you're on water. It's like the ground turns into waves.
Yesterday, we had a tremor that they said was an aftershock from a big earthquake that devastated the Middle East. The one here happened about six in the evening. I was listening to music in the front room, and I saw the lamp swaying in the breeze, only there wasn't a breeze.
I immediately jumped under a doorway and waited for all the motion to stop. After it did, I noticed my heart was pounding, and I stayed under the frame a little while longer, just to be sure.
It's ten to eleven. I'm tired of trying to ignore the diesel exhaust, bright sun, and all the other ragged fellow passengers of life at this bus stop, and decide to buy some guitar picks.
The guy who helps me behind the counter is quite nice. As he gets my picks, someone calls my name from the other end of the counter. I look and see a guy that I know whom I haven't seen in quite awhile. I go over and say hello.
My ex and I used to socialize with him and his ex. He's a bass player. We used to jam and have dinner together. He has many tattoos on his arms. The one of Buddha peeks out from under his right sleeve. I tell him, now that I have one myself, I can really appreciate the amount of time that goes in to a tattoo as detailed as his.
He says that he's thinking of getting his girlfriend's name branded into his right bicep, but he has to research it first to make sure that it's lasting. I think that's a big step to take with a girl you're only dating. I mean, there's nothing wrong with branding her name into his skin, but I would wait to do it on some special anniversary, like say, you're tenth or fifteenth. Go ahead and have it as a surprise.
I wouldn't go for the bicep. If I was going to do it I would have the name branded right on my butt. Have you ever seen bulls with the big metal rings through their noses? They have them so ranchers can pull on them and get them to go where they need to go. Usually, to be slaughtered. One of my coworkers said that all married men have one of those rings in their noses, only it's invisible.
I notice it's just before eleven. I give my tattooed friend my card and he does the same, saying that he's playing in a couple of bands and he will let me know when he has a gig. I tell him that would be cool and wish him well, and then step back into the bright sun and across the street to the hotel where my slightly autistic friend lives.
Page 76
I step into the lobby and am met by many birds. There is several wire cages stacked on top of one another to my left and a colorful parrot perched out in the open at the top of them, like a member of royalty. I can't tell if it's a king or queen parrot, because I'm not familiar with birds. I think female birds tend to be less colorful for survival reasons. It's the exact opposite with the sexes of our species. With us, it's the males that are less colorful for survival reasons. The ones wearing the blue and gray suits not only survive, but thrive.
I move past the birds, and begin going up the stairs, when the old white man working the desk tells me I need to register. I tell him I'm not interested in getting a room. I'm just visiting a friend. He says it doesn't matter. I need to sign in. There is a resident standing in front of him negotiating his bill. I go and look at the birds and wait for him to settle his account.
Finally, the old white man behind the counter and the resident come to a mutual payment agreement and I register. The old white man behind the counter asks for identification, and I show him my driver's license, and then he asks who I'm visiting. I tell him, and he has me sign my name on a clipboard. He writes the time next to my signature. He tells me my friend is on the second floor.
I'm walking up the stairs. The ceiling is low and the furnishings consist of second hand chairs. I make my way past the first floor, and once I get to the second floor, I walk it twice before I find the right room. I knock on the door and am greeted by my slightly autistic friend.
He invites me in and I'm stunned by the smallness of the room. It is about the size of a jail cell, or a walk-in closet. There is a bed and a dresser, and a sink in the corner, a tiny closet, and a table that has a small refrigerator and television on top. There is a hot plate under the table on the floor.
He shuts the door and I take two baby steps over to the bed and sit. He works at the grocery store where I shop and I see him around. He mentioned once that he has been in the city for over three years and did not know anyone. I gave him my number and told him to call. He did and that's why I'm here. He bought a telephone and wants help understanding it.
I look around the room and see that he has several pictures up similar to ones I have in my room. You know, pictures of pretty girls. We talk and I find out that his birthday is near mine and that we are close in age.
I get the weirdest feeling. It is like I'm looking in one of those mirrors that you might find in a carnival or the funhouse of an amusement park, the ones that distort your image so you look grotesque in some way. I feel like I could have been him, had things been different.
I do my best to shake this feeling and ask him to let me see his phone.
I move past the birds, and begin going up the stairs, when the old white man working the desk tells me I need to register. I tell him I'm not interested in getting a room. I'm just visiting a friend. He says it doesn't matter. I need to sign in. There is a resident standing in front of him negotiating his bill. I go and look at the birds and wait for him to settle his account.
Finally, the old white man behind the counter and the resident come to a mutual payment agreement and I register. The old white man behind the counter asks for identification, and I show him my driver's license, and then he asks who I'm visiting. I tell him, and he has me sign my name on a clipboard. He writes the time next to my signature. He tells me my friend is on the second floor.
I'm walking up the stairs. The ceiling is low and the furnishings consist of second hand chairs. I make my way past the first floor, and once I get to the second floor, I walk it twice before I find the right room. I knock on the door and am greeted by my slightly autistic friend.
He invites me in and I'm stunned by the smallness of the room. It is about the size of a jail cell, or a walk-in closet. There is a bed and a dresser, and a sink in the corner, a tiny closet, and a table that has a small refrigerator and television on top. There is a hot plate under the table on the floor.
He shuts the door and I take two baby steps over to the bed and sit. He works at the grocery store where I shop and I see him around. He mentioned once that he has been in the city for over three years and did not know anyone. I gave him my number and told him to call. He did and that's why I'm here. He bought a telephone and wants help understanding it.
I look around the room and see that he has several pictures up similar to ones I have in my room. You know, pictures of pretty girls. We talk and I find out that his birthday is near mine and that we are close in age.
I get the weirdest feeling. It is like I'm looking in one of those mirrors that you might find in a carnival or the funhouse of an amusement park, the ones that distort your image so you look grotesque in some way. I feel like I could have been him, had things been different.
I do my best to shake this feeling and ask him to let me see his phone.
Page 77
I'm home. And let me tell you, I have a new appreciation for this place. My bedroom is as big as that whole room in the hotel.
Sometimes, I see the homeless folks who are literally camped out on the sidewalk around here, and get the feeling that could have been me. They have tarps or blankets thrown over shopping carts and huddle underneath, claiming a spot for the night, trying to stay warm.
Things are fragile. All those tycoons in the past thought they were untouchable before their crash. The next thing you know, they were leaping off ledges, like desperate divers into empty pools.
Sometimes, I see the homeless folks who are literally camped out on the sidewalk around here, and get the feeling that could have been me. They have tarps or blankets thrown over shopping carts and huddle underneath, claiming a spot for the night, trying to stay warm.
Things are fragile. All those tycoons in the past thought they were untouchable before their crash. The next thing you know, they were leaping off ledges, like desperate divers into empty pools.
Page 78
My most recent band started the load in at the studio a little before six o clock in the evening. I went straight from work. So did the bass player and singer.
The place where we recorded is near the new ballpark. Before the new ballpark this was the industrial part of town. Now it is near where everything is being renovated. The studio is in a big warehouse. It occupies the top floor. The bottom floor is a sweatshop that has many yellow people coming and going. The door to the sweatshop was open when we were loading in and I got a glimpse of what the place looks like on the inside: Rows of sewing machines with people hunched over them slaving away.
We hauled in all our gear and set it up in the freezing cold recording room. After placing portable sound walls to separate us, and after doing sound checks, and after getting the levels right in our headphones, the engineer gave each of us a space heater. The drummer was enclosed in a big glassed booth. It was only me and the bass player in the cold room. The singer was in the isolation booth. The engineer was in the control room with the soundboards.
It is a good thing we rehearsed as much as we did. No matter how much the engineer adjusted the mix in my headphones it was still too heavy with bass. I actually pulled the headphones just above my ears and was playing more by the feel of the song, following the rhythm of the drums and bass. We played the first song four times and the engineer said it was enough. He thought we nailed it on the third take and that we could always smooth anything we needed to later.
After we were done and had loaded all the gear back into the van we all staggered around giggling with glee. After a while our engineer said he wanted to get some sleep before his next session. It was close to five in the morning and we said we would see him next Tuesday for the mix down.
The drummer offered to take me home before returning the van to the junkyard, but the singer said she would take me home. Everybody except for me took the day off from work. The singer said I should call in sick and go with her back to her place. She offered for me to sleep on her couch. I told her that sounded great; but that I was still in the probationary period of my job and that I had to go to work.
The place where we recorded is near the new ballpark. Before the new ballpark this was the industrial part of town. Now it is near where everything is being renovated. The studio is in a big warehouse. It occupies the top floor. The bottom floor is a sweatshop that has many yellow people coming and going. The door to the sweatshop was open when we were loading in and I got a glimpse of what the place looks like on the inside: Rows of sewing machines with people hunched over them slaving away.
We hauled in all our gear and set it up in the freezing cold recording room. After placing portable sound walls to separate us, and after doing sound checks, and after getting the levels right in our headphones, the engineer gave each of us a space heater. The drummer was enclosed in a big glassed booth. It was only me and the bass player in the cold room. The singer was in the isolation booth. The engineer was in the control room with the soundboards.
It is a good thing we rehearsed as much as we did. No matter how much the engineer adjusted the mix in my headphones it was still too heavy with bass. I actually pulled the headphones just above my ears and was playing more by the feel of the song, following the rhythm of the drums and bass. We played the first song four times and the engineer said it was enough. He thought we nailed it on the third take and that we could always smooth anything we needed to later.
After we were done and had loaded all the gear back into the van we all staggered around giggling with glee. After a while our engineer said he wanted to get some sleep before his next session. It was close to five in the morning and we said we would see him next Tuesday for the mix down.
The drummer offered to take me home before returning the van to the junkyard, but the singer said she would take me home. Everybody except for me took the day off from work. The singer said I should call in sick and go with her back to her place. She offered for me to sleep on her couch. I told her that sounded great; but that I was still in the probationary period of my job and that I had to go to work.
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When E got back from out of town, she called and said we probably wouldn't be getting together for Halloween. So, I made plans to go to this club that had an ad in the paper, promising fun for all. However, E called the day before Halloween. She said she wanted me to take the train down, and accompany her to a couple of parties. She told me to meet her at her work, and this time, I agreed. I didn't feel like waiting on top of a locker again for forty-five minutes.
I hadn't planned a costume for Halloween, so I decided to be the Devil. I know this is strange, but I didn't know what else to do. I don't think the Devil is real. Basically, I was dressing as something I don't believe exists. I didn't wear horns or a tail or anything like that. I just wore sharp clothes, and whenever anyone asked who I was supposed to be, I told them and smiled.
I hadn't planned a costume for Halloween, so I decided to be the Devil. I know this is strange, but I didn't know what else to do. I don't think the Devil is real. Basically, I was dressing as something I don't believe exists. I didn't wear horns or a tail or anything like that. I just wore sharp clothes, and whenever anyone asked who I was supposed to be, I told them and smiled.
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The train ride was the same as before. When I got off at my stop, I had to walk a good while in dressy shoes to get to E's work. It looked a lot closer on the train map. If I had known how far it actually was, I would have worn sneakers and carried my shoes. Oh well, I guess it was my payback for choosing to be the prince of darkness.
I walked along the main street passing the strip-mall businesses, you know, the pre-fab cookie-cuttered places that you see everywhere. The clone stores. It started to drizzle and I stood under the awning of a movie store and waited for it to stop. I would catch some of the passengers going by in the cars do a double take at me. I was conspicuous. I looked like a movie star.
The drizzle stopped and I continued my fantastic journey along the main street until I finally got to E's work. I was about a half-hour early and decided to go into the coffee shop of the motel next door.
I got a cup of coffee and a slice of pecan pie. The people working at the coffee shop were dressed for Halloween. They seemed so sweet that if any of them asked me who I was supposed to be, I was going to lie and say nobody in particular.
The waitress was dressed as a clown. She smiled the biggest smile I had seen in a while as she took my menu from me. She brought me my pie and I ate as slowly as I could, staring out the window at the grayness all around, listening to the hits from yesteryear that sneaked out from the restaurant's speakers overhead.
I don't know if it was that I had been walking for so long, and that the mere act of sitting caused everything to seem like it was going in slow motion or what, but everything did feel like it was going in slow motion. Not even the two cups of coffee I drank helped speed things. It was like trying to run in water.
Eventually, my watch hands creaked along to show that it was time to go. I paid the bill, left a tip and went next door to see E. I walked into her place and saw that everyone was in costume. She asked who I was supposed to be, and when I told her, she disapproved.
A co-worker of hers didn't seem to mind. It was obvious that she liked me. She was dressed as a famous actress, and there was an obvious spark between us. When we made eye contact it was like there was an electric wire attached to our brains and I could feel it vibrate and hear it hum. E must have sensed this, because we didn't stick around long.
E was dressed like a leopard and she had me wear her full-length leopard skin coat so we matched. I didn't mind, because the coat looked good, and even with that spark I had felt with her co-worker, she was the one I wanted.
I walked along the main street passing the strip-mall businesses, you know, the pre-fab cookie-cuttered places that you see everywhere. The clone stores. It started to drizzle and I stood under the awning of a movie store and waited for it to stop. I would catch some of the passengers going by in the cars do a double take at me. I was conspicuous. I looked like a movie star.
The drizzle stopped and I continued my fantastic journey along the main street until I finally got to E's work. I was about a half-hour early and decided to go into the coffee shop of the motel next door.
I got a cup of coffee and a slice of pecan pie. The people working at the coffee shop were dressed for Halloween. They seemed so sweet that if any of them asked me who I was supposed to be, I was going to lie and say nobody in particular.
The waitress was dressed as a clown. She smiled the biggest smile I had seen in a while as she took my menu from me. She brought me my pie and I ate as slowly as I could, staring out the window at the grayness all around, listening to the hits from yesteryear that sneaked out from the restaurant's speakers overhead.
I don't know if it was that I had been walking for so long, and that the mere act of sitting caused everything to seem like it was going in slow motion or what, but everything did feel like it was going in slow motion. Not even the two cups of coffee I drank helped speed things. It was like trying to run in water.
Eventually, my watch hands creaked along to show that it was time to go. I paid the bill, left a tip and went next door to see E. I walked into her place and saw that everyone was in costume. She asked who I was supposed to be, and when I told her, she disapproved.
A co-worker of hers didn't seem to mind. It was obvious that she liked me. She was dressed as a famous actress, and there was an obvious spark between us. When we made eye contact it was like there was an electric wire attached to our brains and I could feel it vibrate and hear it hum. E must have sensed this, because we didn't stick around long.
E was dressed like a leopard and she had me wear her full-length leopard skin coat so we matched. I didn't mind, because the coat looked good, and even with that spark I had felt with her co-worker, she was the one I wanted.
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We got in her car and she said we should eat, and then go home and change before going to the parties. I said, whatever she wanted to do was fine. We went to this upscale place where we were the only ones dressed for Halloween. E knew the waitress and chatted to her about the restaurant she used to work at before this place. E used to date the waitress's old boss and apparently he was a real jerk, because they both made it clear he was not someone they wanted to ever see again.
We ate and then left for E's place, so she could change. Inside, it was still the same. Everything everywhere.
I waited downstairs while she went to her room to put on something new. There was a box of old oversized books next to the sofa and I sat and thumbed through one.
After I read many, many, poems, E appeared in full combat attire, wearing a green army outfit, and camouflage paint on her face. She was holding a martial arts robe, and asked me, if I would rather be a karate man and I told her no thanks. I was happy with myself. She shrugged and tossed the robe on the sofa.
I asked her if I could wear her full-length leopard skin jacket and she said no, because she was no longer dressed like a cat. I told her we really didn't match with her dressed like a soldier, but she still said I couldn't wear her jacket because it made me look like a pimp. I figured no meant no, so I didn't argue any longer. I wish I could have worn that jacket. It really looked good on me.
Before we went to the first party, we went around her neighborhood, visiting her favorite trick or treat houses. There was one that had a dinosaur head rigged up so that when you rang the doorbell, its mouth opened and offered candy on its tongue. Another was a haunted house where a person dressed in a black robe and skeleton mask led us around, while ghouls and monsters leaped from behind doorways grabbing at us. The payoff for putting up with all that silliness was pretty good. The black robed skeleton was generous with his treats.
We ate and then left for E's place, so she could change. Inside, it was still the same. Everything everywhere.
I waited downstairs while she went to her room to put on something new. There was a box of old oversized books next to the sofa and I sat and thumbed through one.
After I read many, many, poems, E appeared in full combat attire, wearing a green army outfit, and camouflage paint on her face. She was holding a martial arts robe, and asked me, if I would rather be a karate man and I told her no thanks. I was happy with myself. She shrugged and tossed the robe on the sofa.
I asked her if I could wear her full-length leopard skin jacket and she said no, because she was no longer dressed like a cat. I told her we really didn't match with her dressed like a soldier, but she still said I couldn't wear her jacket because it made me look like a pimp. I figured no meant no, so I didn't argue any longer. I wish I could have worn that jacket. It really looked good on me.
Before we went to the first party, we went around her neighborhood, visiting her favorite trick or treat houses. There was one that had a dinosaur head rigged up so that when you rang the doorbell, its mouth opened and offered candy on its tongue. Another was a haunted house where a person dressed in a black robe and skeleton mask led us around, while ghouls and monsters leaped from behind doorways grabbing at us. The payoff for putting up with all that silliness was pretty good. The black robed skeleton was generous with his treats.
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The first party was in a high rise apartment building next to E's gym. The people who invited her were from the gym. We parked on the street and followed the handwritten sign that pointed the way to the party. We went up stairs, elevators, and along hallways, eventually locating the lair.
The door was open and we stepped into the company of children. I would say the average age of everyone was twenty-five and they were busy doing the things that twenty-five year olds do: heavy drinking and heavy petting.
E spotted the guys that invited her and we said hello. They asked who I was supposed to be and when I told them, they didn't know what to say. I smiled and told them their costumes looked great. One was dressed in a trench coat and when he opened it, he revealed a large dangling replica of the male genitalia.
Most of the girls at the party thought his costume was hilarious, and I must say, it was rather bold in its own way. The other gym guy was dressed in combat gear and had his face painted. Had he been better looking, he and E would have matched.
The kids made gelatin desserts with vodka. One of the girls was dressed like a prostitute. She wore a lot of make up and very, very, little clothing. She walked around offering the treats from a large plate. When she made her way to me, I declined, and got a very, very, good look down the inside of her loose tank top.
E noticed this and elbowed me in the ribs very, very, hard. I looked at her and could see that she was angry. I told her she didn't have to elbow me so hard. She got huffy and went to the kitchen. She started flirting with the boys, especially the gym guy in combat gear.
I turned away and stepped onto the balcony. There was a couple making out on a chair and we did our best to ignore one another. I rubbed my ribs and leaned on the balcony, looking down at the quiet suburban sidewalk and up at the moon.
E joined me. She did her best to ignore the couple making out in the chair. I asked her if we could please go to the next party and she said, didn't I want to stay longer and look down all the other girls' tops?
I stared at her, and then answered that, actually, I would prefer to leave. The couple in the chair was oblivious to us. This bothered E and she said that we might as well go.
The door was open and we stepped into the company of children. I would say the average age of everyone was twenty-five and they were busy doing the things that twenty-five year olds do: heavy drinking and heavy petting.
E spotted the guys that invited her and we said hello. They asked who I was supposed to be and when I told them, they didn't know what to say. I smiled and told them their costumes looked great. One was dressed in a trench coat and when he opened it, he revealed a large dangling replica of the male genitalia.
Most of the girls at the party thought his costume was hilarious, and I must say, it was rather bold in its own way. The other gym guy was dressed in combat gear and had his face painted. Had he been better looking, he and E would have matched.
The kids made gelatin desserts with vodka. One of the girls was dressed like a prostitute. She wore a lot of make up and very, very, little clothing. She walked around offering the treats from a large plate. When she made her way to me, I declined, and got a very, very, good look down the inside of her loose tank top.
E noticed this and elbowed me in the ribs very, very, hard. I looked at her and could see that she was angry. I told her she didn't have to elbow me so hard. She got huffy and went to the kitchen. She started flirting with the boys, especially the gym guy in combat gear.
I turned away and stepped onto the balcony. There was a couple making out on a chair and we did our best to ignore one another. I rubbed my ribs and leaned on the balcony, looking down at the quiet suburban sidewalk and up at the moon.
E joined me. She did her best to ignore the couple making out in the chair. I asked her if we could please go to the next party and she said, didn't I want to stay longer and look down all the other girls' tops?
I stared at her, and then answered that, actually, I would prefer to leave. The couple in the chair was oblivious to us. This bothered E and she said that we might as well go.
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On our drive to the city where the next party was, I asked E if I was the only person she was seeing.
She said of course not, and listed off three other guys' names and occupations that apparently were vying for her attention like myself. It felt like someone kicked me in the groin and I didn't say anything for a long time.
She said that she would try and come to the show I had invited her to the day after tomorrow and I absently answered that would be great.
I had forgotten that I had sent her a flier for a show my friend was playing on Monday night at the club next to the freeway, and was thinking that I would like to go ahead and jump out of the car. We were only going the speed limit, and if I landed right maybe I wouldn't actually die. Perhaps the worst I would suffer would be a broken neck or head. I already had a broken heart.
The second party was over the hill from my place and was a much more enjoyable scene. There were many more Devils beside myself. Some were quite elaborately presented with horns and tails.
If there is such a thing as Satan, I don't think he would make himself conspicuous like a cartoon character. My guess is that he would actually be a woman and look like the nicest girl you could ever want to meet.
The party had a movie screen over a garden courtyard, on which an old black and white scary movie was projected while electronic music was playing. E's boss was the one throwing the party. We said hello and made small talk for a while before excusing ourselves to the kitchen to get Halloween punch.
Neither of us was in a good mood. Mine was due to the fact that I wasn't her one and only, and I had no idea why she was sour. My guess is that she was still mad at me for looking down that girl's tank top at the last party.
There was a room set up with a coffin leaned against the wall and an old instant camera. I took the camera and told E to get into the coffin. She said no. I told her to smile and then took two quick pictures of her. She said she wanted to go. I put the wet and still developing photographs in my coat pocket and followed her to the car. She walked ahead. I stopped and let her go.
She noticed I wasn't following, and turned and told me to hurry. I told her I could walk home. She looked at me with a blank expression on her pretty face, said for me to suit myself, and left.
I sat on the steps of a home and looked at the big black sky. I thought about going back to the party. But, I didn't feel like it, and since it was well after midnight anyway, I figured Halloween had ended. I stood and walked up the steep street, stopping at the top to look at the skyline of the city.
The lights on the bridge seemed stretched out to infinity. I remember muttering something to myself about E, and then turning and heading down the other side of the hilly street, walking home in absolute despair.
When I got to my room I pulled out the images of E and pinned them on my bulletin board. I took off my shoes and hung up my coat and then looked at the photos intensely.
I removed the pictures and tore them into little pieces, vowing that I had to break up with E as soon as possible.
The next day I called her, fully willing to talk to her live, but instead got her voice mail. I told her that I didn't want to see her again, and that I really had fun with her, but since she was dating three other guys anyway, it really should not be that big of a deal.
She said of course not, and listed off three other guys' names and occupations that apparently were vying for her attention like myself. It felt like someone kicked me in the groin and I didn't say anything for a long time.
She said that she would try and come to the show I had invited her to the day after tomorrow and I absently answered that would be great.
I had forgotten that I had sent her a flier for a show my friend was playing on Monday night at the club next to the freeway, and was thinking that I would like to go ahead and jump out of the car. We were only going the speed limit, and if I landed right maybe I wouldn't actually die. Perhaps the worst I would suffer would be a broken neck or head. I already had a broken heart.
The second party was over the hill from my place and was a much more enjoyable scene. There were many more Devils beside myself. Some were quite elaborately presented with horns and tails.
If there is such a thing as Satan, I don't think he would make himself conspicuous like a cartoon character. My guess is that he would actually be a woman and look like the nicest girl you could ever want to meet.
The party had a movie screen over a garden courtyard, on which an old black and white scary movie was projected while electronic music was playing. E's boss was the one throwing the party. We said hello and made small talk for a while before excusing ourselves to the kitchen to get Halloween punch.
Neither of us was in a good mood. Mine was due to the fact that I wasn't her one and only, and I had no idea why she was sour. My guess is that she was still mad at me for looking down that girl's tank top at the last party.
There was a room set up with a coffin leaned against the wall and an old instant camera. I took the camera and told E to get into the coffin. She said no. I told her to smile and then took two quick pictures of her. She said she wanted to go. I put the wet and still developing photographs in my coat pocket and followed her to the car. She walked ahead. I stopped and let her go.
She noticed I wasn't following, and turned and told me to hurry. I told her I could walk home. She looked at me with a blank expression on her pretty face, said for me to suit myself, and left.
I sat on the steps of a home and looked at the big black sky. I thought about going back to the party. But, I didn't feel like it, and since it was well after midnight anyway, I figured Halloween had ended. I stood and walked up the steep street, stopping at the top to look at the skyline of the city.
The lights on the bridge seemed stretched out to infinity. I remember muttering something to myself about E, and then turning and heading down the other side of the hilly street, walking home in absolute despair.
When I got to my room I pulled out the images of E and pinned them on my bulletin board. I took off my shoes and hung up my coat and then looked at the photos intensely.
I removed the pictures and tore them into little pieces, vowing that I had to break up with E as soon as possible.
The next day I called her, fully willing to talk to her live, but instead got her voice mail. I told her that I didn't want to see her again, and that I really had fun with her, but since she was dating three other guys anyway, it really should not be that big of a deal.
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The mix down session for my most recent band went well. The bassist and I still had to re- record a few things, but nothing too elaborate. The majority of the time was spent with our engineer listening to the songs over and over and over and over until we were all satisfied with the mix. Our engineer gave us an unmastered copy of the music and I eventually made one for each band member. The owner of the studio planned to master the songs in a few days.
I went to the studio and got the mastered version of our demo and told the owner that as soon as we had artwork we would be back to discuss the layout. He said that would be great, but it would have to be during the day because that is when the production manager worked.
When I got home I called each band member to let them know.
After this the singer’s parents were involved in a serious car accident.
The singer called everyone. She told us she had to be with her parents and she did not know when she would be back. She was taking a leave of absence from her job.
The bass player got another band to fulfill our upcoming gig. She also got us another show at the same dive bar on another Saturday night.
Our first rehearsal after the singer returned from visiting her parents was terrible. I had the stomach Flu and was forced to sit down to play. I was so sick and tired that I kept nodding off. The singer was quite rusty too, missing notes, and her voice kept cracking. I expected the bass player to throw some kind of fit. She shrugged and said we would have to keep at it and that we would be fine. The drummer asked when we would be getting our finished package from the studio and the bass player said in a few weeks. When the singer was gone the bass player took the artwork she had made and met with the production manager at the studio. She called the singer, the drummer, and I before hand. We all told her we trusted her judgment.
I went to the studio and got the mastered version of our demo and told the owner that as soon as we had artwork we would be back to discuss the layout. He said that would be great, but it would have to be during the day because that is when the production manager worked.
When I got home I called each band member to let them know.
After this the singer’s parents were involved in a serious car accident.
The singer called everyone. She told us she had to be with her parents and she did not know when she would be back. She was taking a leave of absence from her job.
The bass player got another band to fulfill our upcoming gig. She also got us another show at the same dive bar on another Saturday night.
Our first rehearsal after the singer returned from visiting her parents was terrible. I had the stomach Flu and was forced to sit down to play. I was so sick and tired that I kept nodding off. The singer was quite rusty too, missing notes, and her voice kept cracking. I expected the bass player to throw some kind of fit. She shrugged and said we would have to keep at it and that we would be fine. The drummer asked when we would be getting our finished package from the studio and the bass player said in a few weeks. When the singer was gone the bass player took the artwork she had made and met with the production manager at the studio. She called the singer, the drummer, and I before hand. We all told her we trusted her judgment.
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It's Saturday night. I'm standing in line with a co-worker, waiting to get into this club that is open once a month. It bills itself as a large indoor adult entertainment playground and promises fun for all. That sounds good to me. The majority of the people in line are young white couples.
There are other types in line: transvestites, homosexuals and the Loners. Surprisingly, the Loners seem to be evenly divided between men and women. Wonderful. I think that Loner girl over there with the blonde pig-tails and glasses is cute.
My co-worker points out a Loner girl that he likes, an older, slightly overweight woman wearing all black. To each their own. She does have a pretty face.
We make it to the front desk and are greeted by a white homosexual man wearing very, very, little, and what little he is wearing consists of black leather straps. There is a big sign on the wall with the club's rules, and as he takes our money and stamps our hand, he tells us to read them, which we do.
My co-worker wants to check his coat. We go into a black light room decorated with day-glow art and lava lamps. He hands his coat over to the coat check girl, who is really a black man made up like a girl.
We walk around the first floor, studying the rooms. Apart from the coat check room, there is a torture chamber where the hosts wear medieval type costumes, stretching people out on racks and teasing them with hot irons and whips. This room is extremely warm from the burning coals and the air is quite pungent.
We stay just long enough to realize that the people being pleased at the moment are white men who really should have the good sense to remain fully clothed in public. One being teased with hot irons has so much hair on his body, it's amazing that he doesn't go up like an old Christmas tree, and the gentleman being flogged, rolls like a bowl full of jelly with each lash.
The next room is a recreation room decorated like a retro diner. I step to the counter and order beers for my co-worker and I, and am told that the club doesn't serve alcohol. I get a couple of sodas instead. The woman behind the counter is really a brown man. His features are quite small, so he actually makes an attractive woman. He wears a poodle skirt and a cheerleader sweater. After giving me my change, he goes back over to a young brown boy sitting on one of the stools and kisses him.
This room has a small dance floor with a silver pole extending from its floor into the ceiling and two pool tables. My co-worker and I sit near the dance floor sipping our sodas, waiting for the two Loner girls we picked out in line to find us and say hello. Eventually we are tired of waiting and having all the gay guys looking us over, so we decide to see what else there is to see.
The last room on this floor is a hall of mirrors. We walk through it and only encounter paired white couples and the occasional Loner. No sign of either of our ladies. We venture to the basement.
There are other types in line: transvestites, homosexuals and the Loners. Surprisingly, the Loners seem to be evenly divided between men and women. Wonderful. I think that Loner girl over there with the blonde pig-tails and glasses is cute.
My co-worker points out a Loner girl that he likes, an older, slightly overweight woman wearing all black. To each their own. She does have a pretty face.
We make it to the front desk and are greeted by a white homosexual man wearing very, very, little, and what little he is wearing consists of black leather straps. There is a big sign on the wall with the club's rules, and as he takes our money and stamps our hand, he tells us to read them, which we do.
My co-worker wants to check his coat. We go into a black light room decorated with day-glow art and lava lamps. He hands his coat over to the coat check girl, who is really a black man made up like a girl.
We walk around the first floor, studying the rooms. Apart from the coat check room, there is a torture chamber where the hosts wear medieval type costumes, stretching people out on racks and teasing them with hot irons and whips. This room is extremely warm from the burning coals and the air is quite pungent.
We stay just long enough to realize that the people being pleased at the moment are white men who really should have the good sense to remain fully clothed in public. One being teased with hot irons has so much hair on his body, it's amazing that he doesn't go up like an old Christmas tree, and the gentleman being flogged, rolls like a bowl full of jelly with each lash.
The next room is a recreation room decorated like a retro diner. I step to the counter and order beers for my co-worker and I, and am told that the club doesn't serve alcohol. I get a couple of sodas instead. The woman behind the counter is really a brown man. His features are quite small, so he actually makes an attractive woman. He wears a poodle skirt and a cheerleader sweater. After giving me my change, he goes back over to a young brown boy sitting on one of the stools and kisses him.
This room has a small dance floor with a silver pole extending from its floor into the ceiling and two pool tables. My co-worker and I sit near the dance floor sipping our sodas, waiting for the two Loner girls we picked out in line to find us and say hello. Eventually we are tired of waiting and having all the gay guys looking us over, so we decide to see what else there is to see.
The last room on this floor is a hall of mirrors. We walk through it and only encounter paired white couples and the occasional Loner. No sign of either of our ladies. We venture to the basement.
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The basement is a dungeon. There are a lot of people crowded around the folks taking their licks. The oddest looking fellow is a white man, who is naked except for a leather hood with zippers for his eyes and mouth. He is strapped by the ankles and wrists to a leather footstool. He has his lips zipped, but not his eyes. I can see him looking around at his audience.
For some reason, he reminds me of a gopher or prairie dog sitting up alert and looking out the hole of his soul. He has an intense mental alertness that is vivid to me. It seems almost to have color, a kind of orange.
An average shaped young white woman with long black hair and tall black boots, a leather corset, and a black paper mask that covers just her cheekbones and forehead, drags the fringe of a short leather whip gently across his back and thighs. I guess the torture is in the not receiving of punishment. The tease of torture.
Another masked white man, who shouldn't really be naked because of what he looks like without his clothes on, is crouched to the side of the crowd, holding a movie camera.
He is filming another white man stretched out on a rack, who is taking a severe beating from a large black woman attired similar to the woman teasing the hooded gopher man. She brings her whip down hard across her client's back, landing it with a snap that pierces the room. Her client thanks her and asks for another, and my co-worker and I walk closer and get a good look at the welts on his back.
I'm not quite sure where the thrill in this lies, but the guy does seem to be enjoying himself and getting his money's worth, which is more than I can say for my co-worker and I. Neither of us has seen either of the Loner girls that we spotted in line while we were waiting to get in since we stepped inside. I guess that is our torture for the evening.
Actually my co-worker is the one who says this. I tell him not to give up hope. I am the eternal optimist. I would be on a sinking ocean liner believing that the hole in the ship is just a scratch.
My co-worker and I head up to the third floor and walk around the simulated outdoor camping area. There are tee-pees set up among the plastic shrubbery, as nature sounds play from the loud speakers. I guess the idea is for people to step inside the tee-pees and have some fun.
The thing is, even the real outdoors only appeals to me in weekend doses. We are evolved creatures who have made structures with electricity and running water. I don't understand the appeal of camping. Most of the time you end up dragging half of civilization along with you on your back or loaded in your vehicle: cooking supplies, extra this and that, and even stuff like radios and televisions.
I say, if you're really going to rough it, you should be dropped off deep in the woods totally naked without anything and then fend for yourself. Anything less is just faking it.
For some reason, he reminds me of a gopher or prairie dog sitting up alert and looking out the hole of his soul. He has an intense mental alertness that is vivid to me. It seems almost to have color, a kind of orange.
An average shaped young white woman with long black hair and tall black boots, a leather corset, and a black paper mask that covers just her cheekbones and forehead, drags the fringe of a short leather whip gently across his back and thighs. I guess the torture is in the not receiving of punishment. The tease of torture.
Another masked white man, who shouldn't really be naked because of what he looks like without his clothes on, is crouched to the side of the crowd, holding a movie camera.
He is filming another white man stretched out on a rack, who is taking a severe beating from a large black woman attired similar to the woman teasing the hooded gopher man. She brings her whip down hard across her client's back, landing it with a snap that pierces the room. Her client thanks her and asks for another, and my co-worker and I walk closer and get a good look at the welts on his back.
I'm not quite sure where the thrill in this lies, but the guy does seem to be enjoying himself and getting his money's worth, which is more than I can say for my co-worker and I. Neither of us has seen either of the Loner girls that we spotted in line while we were waiting to get in since we stepped inside. I guess that is our torture for the evening.
Actually my co-worker is the one who says this. I tell him not to give up hope. I am the eternal optimist. I would be on a sinking ocean liner believing that the hole in the ship is just a scratch.
My co-worker and I head up to the third floor and walk around the simulated outdoor camping area. There are tee-pees set up among the plastic shrubbery, as nature sounds play from the loud speakers. I guess the idea is for people to step inside the tee-pees and have some fun.
The thing is, even the real outdoors only appeals to me in weekend doses. We are evolved creatures who have made structures with electricity and running water. I don't understand the appeal of camping. Most of the time you end up dragging half of civilization along with you on your back or loaded in your vehicle: cooking supplies, extra this and that, and even stuff like radios and televisions.
I say, if you're really going to rough it, you should be dropped off deep in the woods totally naked without anything and then fend for yourself. Anything less is just faking it.
Page 87
The day before my most recent band’s last show went like this: We all met at the singer’s apartment to talk. She said that the show would be her last, that she was moving back home to be with her mom and dad. She said she was really sorry.
The bass player asked about the songs.
“The songs that I wrote are mine. If you guys carry on, I’m sorry, but you don’t have my permission to perform them. You can keep the band name, though.”
The drummer was looking at his feet. The bass player asked about the demo, to which I replied “We’re still going to use the demo. It only has one song on it that is hers.”
“I’m not sure if I want to stay in the band to tell you the truth.” The drummer said.
“That’s a later discussion. The main thing now is that we focus on having a good show. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I invited a lot of people.”
The bass player said this and pushed one of the singer’s music magazines from the top of the coffee table onto the floor where we were all sitting.
“I invited everybody from my job. They know I’m going home, so it will be a kind of goodbye work party for me.”
“Well La Dee Dah.” I said.
“Why do you have to be so hostile?” The bass player yelled at me.
“Me? You’re the one throwing magazines!”
The drummer spoke.
“Shut up! Both of you! She’s right, the main thing we need to focus on is having a good show. I’ve invited a lot of friends as well.”
“Me too.” I said.
“Okay, so let’s put all this craziness aside.”
The show was excellent. I asked a friend of mine who had a movie camera to film us. He said we were great. The bartender said we were great as well. There was a glowing curly haired woman wearing devil horns at the bar, and she also said we were great.
We only made one change to our set.
We closed with the sacred song.
When the singer sang the chorus I actually got chills. It was like we were all wired to the same electrical current, flying through the air with the greatest of ease.
The bass player asked about the songs.
“The songs that I wrote are mine. If you guys carry on, I’m sorry, but you don’t have my permission to perform them. You can keep the band name, though.”
The drummer was looking at his feet. The bass player asked about the demo, to which I replied “We’re still going to use the demo. It only has one song on it that is hers.”
“I’m not sure if I want to stay in the band to tell you the truth.” The drummer said.
“That’s a later discussion. The main thing now is that we focus on having a good show. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I invited a lot of people.”
The bass player said this and pushed one of the singer’s music magazines from the top of the coffee table onto the floor where we were all sitting.
“I invited everybody from my job. They know I’m going home, so it will be a kind of goodbye work party for me.”
“Well La Dee Dah.” I said.
“Why do you have to be so hostile?” The bass player yelled at me.
“Me? You’re the one throwing magazines!”
The drummer spoke.
“Shut up! Both of you! She’s right, the main thing we need to focus on is having a good show. I’ve invited a lot of friends as well.”
“Me too.” I said.
“Okay, so let’s put all this craziness aside.”
The show was excellent. I asked a friend of mine who had a movie camera to film us. He said we were great. The bartender said we were great as well. There was a glowing curly haired woman wearing devil horns at the bar, and she also said we were great.
We only made one change to our set.
We closed with the sacred song.
When the singer sang the chorus I actually got chills. It was like we were all wired to the same electrical current, flying through the air with the greatest of ease.
Page 88
The day after I called E and wished her well, I was sitting in the club next to the freeway with my head resting on top of the bar. I was totally beat and I had both my hands clasped over my neck, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
I looked up and saw it was E. She asked if I minded her being there and I said no. I pulled out a stool and told her to have a seat.
My friend who was performing must have invited my ex, because I saw her enter with a girlfriend of hers. Suddenly I was glad that E had shown. It reaffirmed the one thing I've learned: life is messy. It's not tidy. It's not something you can put in rows or arrange in nice little piles. Life spills all over the place and the best you can do is wipe it up and move along.
I told E to check out the beautiful woman at the end of the bar, and when she asked if she was someone I knew, I told her she was my ex.
E looked me straight in the eyes for a long time without saying anything, and then said for me to buy her a drink. I asked her what she wanted, and she said she wanted a beer. I got her a beer and we sat in silence.
A guy I used to work with showed up and sat down next to me. He had a white woman about half his age with him. He introduced her, and then the white woman excused herself to use the bathroom.
The guy I used to work with makes a great deal of money. He had just bought a new motorcycle. I asked him about his bike, and he pointed to where it was parked, just outside the front window.
The white woman returned. I told the guy I used to work with that a friend of mine was playing, and he said we should move into the main room and get a good seat for the show.
E and I followed him and his date, and I saw that there was plenty of room at the table where my ex was sitting. I asked him what he thought about sitting there and he said it was cool.
I said hello to my ex, and asked if it was okay for us to join her and her friend. She seemed rather nervous about seeing me. But due to the size of the party, she couldn't really decline. We all sat. I let E scoot next to my ex. I slid in, and then the guy I used to work with and his date filled up the booth.
E started talking to my ex right away, showing some jewelry I bought her. My ex smiled and nodded her head. I didn't say much and mostly talked to the guy I used to work with about his bike.
My friend that was performing showed up and sat down at the table. He carried the conversation until he took the stage.
His performance was good, and after the show, everybody cleared out right away except for E and me. She leaned against me, stroking my thigh and we drank a few more beers. She said there was something she wanted to give me, and took her purse and stood to go. I followed her outside, and she gave me back all the letters I had written her, and then punched me in the mouth. I could tell that she split open my lip. I tasted blood as I saw her walk away and get into her car.
I watched her taillights disappear, and then I tore the letters in half and tossed them into a garbage can. I looked at myself in the club's window and saw that my lip wasn't that bad, so I went inside.
The End
I looked up and saw it was E. She asked if I minded her being there and I said no. I pulled out a stool and told her to have a seat.
My friend who was performing must have invited my ex, because I saw her enter with a girlfriend of hers. Suddenly I was glad that E had shown. It reaffirmed the one thing I've learned: life is messy. It's not tidy. It's not something you can put in rows or arrange in nice little piles. Life spills all over the place and the best you can do is wipe it up and move along.
I told E to check out the beautiful woman at the end of the bar, and when she asked if she was someone I knew, I told her she was my ex.
E looked me straight in the eyes for a long time without saying anything, and then said for me to buy her a drink. I asked her what she wanted, and she said she wanted a beer. I got her a beer and we sat in silence.
A guy I used to work with showed up and sat down next to me. He had a white woman about half his age with him. He introduced her, and then the white woman excused herself to use the bathroom.
The guy I used to work with makes a great deal of money. He had just bought a new motorcycle. I asked him about his bike, and he pointed to where it was parked, just outside the front window.
The white woman returned. I told the guy I used to work with that a friend of mine was playing, and he said we should move into the main room and get a good seat for the show.
E and I followed him and his date, and I saw that there was plenty of room at the table where my ex was sitting. I asked him what he thought about sitting there and he said it was cool.
I said hello to my ex, and asked if it was okay for us to join her and her friend. She seemed rather nervous about seeing me. But due to the size of the party, she couldn't really decline. We all sat. I let E scoot next to my ex. I slid in, and then the guy I used to work with and his date filled up the booth.
E started talking to my ex right away, showing some jewelry I bought her. My ex smiled and nodded her head. I didn't say much and mostly talked to the guy I used to work with about his bike.
My friend that was performing showed up and sat down at the table. He carried the conversation until he took the stage.
His performance was good, and after the show, everybody cleared out right away except for E and me. She leaned against me, stroking my thigh and we drank a few more beers. She said there was something she wanted to give me, and took her purse and stood to go. I followed her outside, and she gave me back all the letters I had written her, and then punched me in the mouth. I could tell that she split open my lip. I tasted blood as I saw her walk away and get into her car.
I watched her taillights disappear, and then I tore the letters in half and tossed them into a garbage can. I looked at myself in the club's window and saw that my lip wasn't that bad, so I went inside.
The End
End Note
Dirty Red Kiss is a work of fiction based on personal experience. Names were changed, descriptions altered, and incidents reshaped to protect privacy and enhance the story.Copyright 2001-2009 Derek Henkel
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