All things end it is said. I suppose it could be better that way. But I'm not the type to give up. I looked for any sign that I could save us, that I could do something to change the way we were drying up. I reasoned that I must feel it so much more deeply than he did. In retrospect I know he felt it too but maybe was even less able to produce evidence of emotion... I think too that the fighting had worn on him more than me. He made me stop trying in the end. He didn't want to but Im glad he did. If he hadn't made me stop I would have kept on and on and worn the skin off my hands and knees from crawling after him. I was sick.
I rolled out of bed half panicked that I was late... I'd fallen asleep in my clothes again. There were violet half circles under my eyes from typing a study guide last night and writing two new lesson plans for the kids at the academy. I had forgotten too about the Parker class too. Uff. Dr Parker was this inexorably tall thin man who looked like he was made of twigs. I squeezed the bridge of my nose and there was a dull ache from drinking. My closet at grampa's house was my stash box. The floor in there was littered with bottles. Vodka and beer mostly. I was still working 30 plus hours at starbucks and was part time grad schooling say 8-12 credits a semester. I felt like I rallied rather well though.
It was a 30 minute drive to school and I threw on some things from the floor that seemed cleanish and tried to quietly leave, not wanting to wake grandma or papa though in retrospect I think they had been awake for hours. It was foggy on the drive and I sped through the back roads trying to take the quick and dirty route I hated being late slightly more than sobriety those days and was pushing the white 4 door escort to the limits of it's cheap Michigan manufacture. When I got closer into town I ran up over a curb. "Shit!" I yelled not slowing down. 8:47 and I had hope to make it before the bell. I skidded to a park and tossed gravel in the townie lot. There should be a shuttle seeing as the lot is nearly the next town over. I hiked up my book bag over my shoulder like a mustang on a mail run and ran to the music building, ignoring looks of righteous indignation. It's easier to do that when you're running full tilt.
The bell rang when I sat down and I could feel their looks on me... I was the most white trash Christian in the room. Hail trailer park Jesus on your chicken wire cross.
Anyways... I hangover squinted at Parker the whole lecture. To keep from falling asleep I kept imagining what his mornings must have been like for the last 30 years... but..... in my mind it was cut into violent "Requiem for Dream" style sequences. You remember? But like with the same old coffee pot... or pen stains on his oxford shirt... or notes left on the refrigerator.
"Mr. Medlin?"
"Oh huh?" I say glassy eyed and rubbing crust from the corner of my right eye.
"I was asking what you thought about your reading assignment in a 'Christian Approach to Music..? Can you share with the class?"
Shit.
"I uh." Looked around the room at people who had books open on their desks and I suddenly hated them all. I realized in the crystallized moment of terror. I could bull shit him, or.... just be honest and tell him I had decided no to read what Jesus thought about the Backstreet Boys; opting instead to get blackout drunk wo hooo!..... So... I began speaking with the earnestness of prayer.
"I thought the author raised very important arguments for a more traditional approach to worship... I mean it's fairly clear that the contemporary influences musically boost attendance...but I found his attempts to link his arguments to scripture were tenuous...The Bible doesn't say enough about music for us to rule that it's inappropriate to allow pop influences in sacred music. I mean I think it's tacky but... we all have opinions. "
Shit.... Why do I do these things? Like why did I choose hang over day to jump up on the desk and do a little theological strip tease? I must have sounded like I had just come from Bonaroo.
"I see." He said with one of those 'poor thing' looks on his face. " Will you make sure you come to class in dress code next period please."
"Sure."
And that was that. I think some things are just funnier when there's a little alcohol left in your blood from the night before. I didn't open a note book for the rest of the period... Just kept my chin in my hand and kept imagining Parkers life. So pedantic I could only imagine getting school shooter crazy about it. But everyones different. Humans are incredibly adaptive. Its incalculable what people are able to live with and live through... Its unbelievable the amount that we can endure. The amount of toxin; emotional, physical or otherwise that we can add to our own psychological ecosystems. Parker and I were alike in that. He also colluded. His toxins were just cheaper.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Writers
I watch you blink. In the quiet.
I watch and do not realize.
The blade of morning light sings and yells and skips on your wooden floor.
We did what came as nature to us.
Writing.
Tracing out new words.
Letters. Stories.
We began to fill each others pages. Did we think of our penmanship?
At times perhaps.
Sometimes even now.
Im sitting at a stoplight.
Im washing dishes.
Im making dinner.
And maybe...
I could have left a window open or something.
A little wind will blow back some of those pages to the chapters I didn't remember.
Im cleaning maybe. Dusting. And there it is again.
Spills to the floor opening right back up to where I left it.
I never meant to always keep the book with me.
In fact I remember... I remember choosing not to.
I am the book it seems.
I don't know if you remember the same way that I remember.
But I know you remember some.
There were other writers, with different pens.
Some told happy stories.
Some could only write in panic and fear.
They wrote all the same as long as I would let them.
You write a different story now.
Different pages.
Different book.
I watch you blink. In the quiet.
I watch and do not realize.
The blade of morning light sings and yells and skips on your wooden floor.
I watch and do not realize.
The blade of morning light sings and yells and skips on your wooden floor.
We did what came as nature to us.
Writing.
Tracing out new words.
Letters. Stories.
We began to fill each others pages. Did we think of our penmanship?
At times perhaps.
Sometimes even now.
Im sitting at a stoplight.
Im washing dishes.
Im making dinner.
And maybe...
I could have left a window open or something.
A little wind will blow back some of those pages to the chapters I didn't remember.
Im cleaning maybe. Dusting. And there it is again.
Spills to the floor opening right back up to where I left it.
I never meant to always keep the book with me.
In fact I remember... I remember choosing not to.
I am the book it seems.
I don't know if you remember the same way that I remember.
But I know you remember some.
There were other writers, with different pens.
Some told happy stories.
Some could only write in panic and fear.
They wrote all the same as long as I would let them.
You write a different story now.
Different pages.
Different book.
I watch you blink. In the quiet.
I watch and do not realize.
The blade of morning light sings and yells and skips on your wooden floor.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Collusion: Part XXXIV
You know I don't think I minded being left alone. I didn't. Maybe you're one of those people who just wants you to walk past and not say anything. You know... like when you stub a toe... and that hot wave of endorphin rich pain washes over you? I'm one of those people. Id much prefer not to be noticed. If you tried to help me now I would bite your arm off at the elbow and then spit it at your mother.
I've heard from people from back then... the Senators. They've contacted me since... apologizing. Offering 'sorrys' for being 'immature'. Some sent long long emails, some through Facebook. And days after a house fire... they would likely bring me water-balloons and salt water taffy. We went from spending hours in a big group laughing in the big empty dinning common to nothing. I couldn't speak to them. I couldn't look at them. Don't get me wrong I was mad at them for me... but ever so much worse. I was shocked stupid. I was shocked silent because they brought danger to us. Some consolation all those late dinners together were now...our jokes and snickering catching the attention of the hostess staff in the building, who on occasion would waddle over to make sure we weren't actually enjoying ourselves. Things change. Let's just say if they ran for an office now, I might do some campaigning against them. Not just because they were selfish.... it was because of what they nearly did. They nearly took my family.
Do you know though... I hit upon a little stroke of luck in those nasty times. A gift you might say. I discovered something. The fatal flaw that saved us in the end. Or at least saved us for the time being.
Work was a fuckery. I had a headache that was bearing patiently into the back of my eyes. My eyes were watery from it and I could feel the edges of them burn when I closed my eyes. I didnt have any advil, and there was none at the store. I wasnt shifting that day. Drive through had been steady. It may have been a thursay. It feels like it was that or a Tuesday. As the memory of it simmers in my mind. Either way much lunch break finally lumbered around. I had thirty precious minutes to get to publix, and buy some pain killers. Maybe something to eat and then storm back into work in time to mop the lobby. That was plan anyways.
I had located the pills I needed and was looking for something in a jar, or maybe some soup... ah that was it. I hit on a sub. That'll be fine. Someone was calling. The name on the phone was Laura Thompson. It was rare that she called. I mean she and I were friends, but we only hung out tangentially... whenever I ran into her or saw her at church. She was a very pale skinned girl with big watery blue eyes. Dark wet looking brown hair that always had just too tight of a curl to it. Or perhaps rather a shade too tangled. Some call it the natural look. I do not. She was most notable to me because she was emotionally sanguine and chiefly concerned herself with every lost cause that was just so lost as to be time wasted. She prayed a lot from what I can tell. Im sure she meant it a lot too. She dressed like an English teacher who desperately wanted to be an English person. Alac.
I picked up the phone.
"Hi."
"Josh! Where are you right now...."
"Im at publix... I cant get rid of this headache... Im getting lunch what's up?" I was baffled as to why she would have called me at that hour.
"Josh... we need to talk like right; right now." There was something itchy in her voice it sounded like panic.
"Oh... well we are talking... aren't we? Whats wrong?" I prompted. I had 30 minutes. I could eat or then not eat. I was going to eat.
"Sooo.... Ive been talking with Chris and Ray..."
My pupils narrowed.
"And Josh I cant believe it! You're totally gay... Like you're a homosexual!" She spat into the phone. Her words were making the same sounds children make when they're eating pudding.
"Huh?..." I stood still on aisle 5 at the publix on pelham rd.
" Where are you right now?"
"I just... like I said Im at publix. Ive got thirty minutes to my meal break. I dont know what you're talking about. I have to go."
"OK ok... WAIT... Josh hear me out. Im on the way to where you are stay there. Im coming."
"I uh. Ok..... "
She hung up. Undoubtedly she and her clan of other natural looking people had simply been riding around... guessing where I may be. I mercifully made it to the end of the line at check out and was on my way to the car... Maybe I'd luck out maybe she wouldnt be there.
She was. She called me in the parking lot. I saw the name on the phone but just slid the bar to ignore. She stalked up behind me in the parking lot. Eyes so much the more than watering.
"Josh! I cant believe this!... Why didn't you tell me?" She squared her shoulders at me. This other girl that was with her hung back like back up. Perhaps its a HAZMAT thing... 2nd stage protocol, in case I escaped.
"Why are you here right now?" The pain in my head was melting away, and I could feel a strange black coldness growing in me. Swelling quickly like a summer thunderstorm. I could feel that behind my eyes now quickly wiping out what was apparently just an imagined headache.
"I have thirty minutes to eat and try to get this headache under control and go back to work. What were you hoping to accomplish here."
"Josh! You're not listening. Ray and Chris... they told me everything. They told me how you and x were together! I'm here because I don't know what to do. I mean I cant just not tell people...You have to know it's wrong right?"
You know those scenes from action films. The ones where a protagonist watches as a large structure falls. The camera pans around and the score drops out... no sound at all. In some cases just a single high pitch is audible in the back ground. This happened then. And just as quickly I knew what must be done.
"What exactly, in as few words as possible did Ray and Chris tell you?" I said quietly, hawk-like.
"Well um.... " She started forming tears. "They said that you two were like together... that you had been for a while, and nobody knew about it. They said that they couldn't be involved with it anymore because... because Ray said that he knew that it was wrong. It's true isnt it!? I mean... It has to be right? Does Amanda know about it? I want to help you!... But i dont know how....Let me help you!"
I stared at her. Remorseless. Feeling out the play. Like I was playing a game of pool. This must strike that. This angle must strike that. A little chalk... a little luck. Go.
"Laura. Im not sure what all people have been saying about me. But to be honest I don't really have time to chat with you. I don't know why Ray or Chris would have said any of that. I have to go to work now. Your concern is appreciable. I have to go now."
All of the was delivered with a succinctness nearly absent in my other talks with anyone.
I got into my car and drove the less than a mile back to work. I wasn't hungry anymore. I wasnt anything anymore.
I carbon copied three people to a text and pressed 'send.'
Something has happened. Dont speak with anyone. We need to meet tonight. 10:30 I'll come to you.
I've heard from people from back then... the Senators. They've contacted me since... apologizing. Offering 'sorrys' for being 'immature'. Some sent long long emails, some through Facebook. And days after a house fire... they would likely bring me water-balloons and salt water taffy. We went from spending hours in a big group laughing in the big empty dinning common to nothing. I couldn't speak to them. I couldn't look at them. Don't get me wrong I was mad at them for me... but ever so much worse. I was shocked stupid. I was shocked silent because they brought danger to us. Some consolation all those late dinners together were now...our jokes and snickering catching the attention of the hostess staff in the building, who on occasion would waddle over to make sure we weren't actually enjoying ourselves. Things change. Let's just say if they ran for an office now, I might do some campaigning against them. Not just because they were selfish.... it was because of what they nearly did. They nearly took my family.
Do you know though... I hit upon a little stroke of luck in those nasty times. A gift you might say. I discovered something. The fatal flaw that saved us in the end. Or at least saved us for the time being.
Work was a fuckery. I had a headache that was bearing patiently into the back of my eyes. My eyes were watery from it and I could feel the edges of them burn when I closed my eyes. I didnt have any advil, and there was none at the store. I wasnt shifting that day. Drive through had been steady. It may have been a thursay. It feels like it was that or a Tuesday. As the memory of it simmers in my mind. Either way much lunch break finally lumbered around. I had thirty precious minutes to get to publix, and buy some pain killers. Maybe something to eat and then storm back into work in time to mop the lobby. That was plan anyways.
I had located the pills I needed and was looking for something in a jar, or maybe some soup... ah that was it. I hit on a sub. That'll be fine. Someone was calling. The name on the phone was Laura Thompson. It was rare that she called. I mean she and I were friends, but we only hung out tangentially... whenever I ran into her or saw her at church. She was a very pale skinned girl with big watery blue eyes. Dark wet looking brown hair that always had just too tight of a curl to it. Or perhaps rather a shade too tangled. Some call it the natural look. I do not. She was most notable to me because she was emotionally sanguine and chiefly concerned herself with every lost cause that was just so lost as to be time wasted. She prayed a lot from what I can tell. Im sure she meant it a lot too. She dressed like an English teacher who desperately wanted to be an English person. Alac.
I picked up the phone.
"Hi."
"Josh! Where are you right now...."
"Im at publix... I cant get rid of this headache... Im getting lunch what's up?" I was baffled as to why she would have called me at that hour.
"Josh... we need to talk like right; right now." There was something itchy in her voice it sounded like panic.
"Oh... well we are talking... aren't we? Whats wrong?" I prompted. I had 30 minutes. I could eat or then not eat. I was going to eat.
"Sooo.... Ive been talking with Chris and Ray..."
My pupils narrowed.
"And Josh I cant believe it! You're totally gay... Like you're a homosexual!" She spat into the phone. Her words were making the same sounds children make when they're eating pudding.
"Huh?..." I stood still on aisle 5 at the publix on pelham rd.
" Where are you right now?"
"I just... like I said Im at publix. Ive got thirty minutes to my meal break. I dont know what you're talking about. I have to go."
"OK ok... WAIT... Josh hear me out. Im on the way to where you are stay there. Im coming."
"I uh. Ok..... "
She hung up. Undoubtedly she and her clan of other natural looking people had simply been riding around... guessing where I may be. I mercifully made it to the end of the line at check out and was on my way to the car... Maybe I'd luck out maybe she wouldnt be there.
She was. She called me in the parking lot. I saw the name on the phone but just slid the bar to ignore. She stalked up behind me in the parking lot. Eyes so much the more than watering.
"Josh! I cant believe this!... Why didn't you tell me?" She squared her shoulders at me. This other girl that was with her hung back like back up. Perhaps its a HAZMAT thing... 2nd stage protocol, in case I escaped.
"Why are you here right now?" The pain in my head was melting away, and I could feel a strange black coldness growing in me. Swelling quickly like a summer thunderstorm. I could feel that behind my eyes now quickly wiping out what was apparently just an imagined headache.
"I have thirty minutes to eat and try to get this headache under control and go back to work. What were you hoping to accomplish here."
"Josh! You're not listening. Ray and Chris... they told me everything. They told me how you and x were together! I'm here because I don't know what to do. I mean I cant just not tell people...You have to know it's wrong right?"
You know those scenes from action films. The ones where a protagonist watches as a large structure falls. The camera pans around and the score drops out... no sound at all. In some cases just a single high pitch is audible in the back ground. This happened then. And just as quickly I knew what must be done.
"What exactly, in as few words as possible did Ray and Chris tell you?" I said quietly, hawk-like.
"Well um.... " She started forming tears. "They said that you two were like together... that you had been for a while, and nobody knew about it. They said that they couldn't be involved with it anymore because... because Ray said that he knew that it was wrong. It's true isnt it!? I mean... It has to be right? Does Amanda know about it? I want to help you!... But i dont know how....Let me help you!"
I stared at her. Remorseless. Feeling out the play. Like I was playing a game of pool. This must strike that. This angle must strike that. A little chalk... a little luck. Go.
"Laura. Im not sure what all people have been saying about me. But to be honest I don't really have time to chat with you. I don't know why Ray or Chris would have said any of that. I have to go to work now. Your concern is appreciable. I have to go now."
All of the was delivered with a succinctness nearly absent in my other talks with anyone.
I got into my car and drove the less than a mile back to work. I wasn't hungry anymore. I wasnt anything anymore.
I carbon copied three people to a text and pressed 'send.'
Something has happened. Dont speak with anyone. We need to meet tonight. 10:30 I'll come to you.
Collusion: Part XXXVIII
"Oh but that Sarah Vogt! She's just so.... Uhn.... " I said letting my eyes roll back in my head a little. I was lazing around the dorm room on those blonde wooden chairs they leave in the rooms, as if people are supposed to enjoy sitting on them. "she's not of this world" I said shaking my head whist full. "she's.... I dunno. Some kind of perfect. "
"I know... " Said Matthew.... Also shaking his head. "I know"
"She just breathes tone... It just pours out of her and spills around. Shes not even trying. " I mentioned. We had just seen her perform and Matthew Primm and I were just giddy with it. The performance had smoke and grandeur and guts. Hell. I don't even remember what she played now. I'm damn sure it wasn't Haydn... It could have been Krystler though. The performance sparkled like a broken mirror, and danced like dune grass in the sea breeze. We were both taken a bit back by it. Like that feeling that you get when you've seen a really good sci-fi flick. You know the bit where you fall into the story nose first, like someone pushed you off a dock at the lake from behind and you didn't expect it. Just like that. You walk out of the theater all squinty eyed and imagining the world in ways that it can not be; Your mind all drenched in falsehoods.
Matthew was a sort of lanky blonde guy with a prominent nose. He was studying to be a string teacher... He and I got along very well. I think it's because we both knew school was full of silly ninny heads and we would be out sooner or later. Matthew was different from me though. He meant it when he prayed I could tell, and honestly I did it because people expected me to.
"Aaaaand she IS gorgeous! Hello!! " I proposed. Eyes wide.
" I know, I know..." he said looking lost.
"Well why don't you ask her out or something.... Buy her some coffee? " I asked. If he was so wracked with lust...then I reasoned something must be done about it.
" Well, I ran into her in the hall in the music building the other day, and I tried to chat a little after the concert." He said. An obvious reach.
Sara was the kind of good looking that happens in Klimt paintings, and had that same sort of aesthetic. All scarves and floral prints in sand colors. Tapestries. She was hung about with mystery. She was elegant. In truth she was Matthew's undoing for most of the semester. And but who could blame him.
Bells rang in the hall and it was time for prayer group. I think that was the semester that Josh Roland was our group leader. Todays lesson was about confession...
R: "The word tells us that he who confesseth and forsaketh his sin will find forgiveness. You know I know we're not the closest room and all. I mean I feel like I know you guys pretty well. But there are for sure ways that we could build room unity."
(I'm sure at this point I was pretending to read something else that had caught my attention in the Word, and typically twirling my hair which was/ is my 'go too' stress relief ritual.)
R: "Josh you look like you're thinking about something...." He said with a silly doberman smile on his face...
I really hate when people say that. It makes me feel like all the other times when they're not looking they're sure Im not thinking at all.
ME: "Oh... I've just.... had a lot of spiritual growth in my life lately.... ya know big changes"
I... I really haven't been happy with the person that I am..."
Everyone looked at me. Like it was a surprise that I could feel anything other than sadness.
The truth was I had said that without preparing any follow up whatsoever. How very impetuous.
ME: "Yes.... uh. Big big... changes" I gestured and my eyes were wide.
Matthew: "Oh really? Medlin? Change?" He was on the edge of laughing I could tell.
R: "What made you think something needed to be different...?"
I took a deep breath. Whatever my recently acquitted besetting sin was it had to merit mentioning in prayer group.... What could it be though?! ... Lust? Porn? (Oh wait those are kind of related).... Stealing? Nah too complicated... Bulimia? Guff, that ended in high school...
R: "Josh?"
ME: "Ah! yes I said surprisedly... Im sorry I must have drifted off. Well I've decided that Im a Republican now..." I said earnestly.
Matthew was laughing outright. I was aching to but didn't even smile.
Roland looked around wryly...
R: "Any other dark secrets?... Anyone?"
I jabbed at Matthew
ME: "Christ rode into Jerusalem on a donkey Matthew... show a little respect."
"I know... " Said Matthew.... Also shaking his head. "I know"
"She just breathes tone... It just pours out of her and spills around. Shes not even trying. " I mentioned. We had just seen her perform and Matthew Primm and I were just giddy with it. The performance had smoke and grandeur and guts. Hell. I don't even remember what she played now. I'm damn sure it wasn't Haydn... It could have been Krystler though. The performance sparkled like a broken mirror, and danced like dune grass in the sea breeze. We were both taken a bit back by it. Like that feeling that you get when you've seen a really good sci-fi flick. You know the bit where you fall into the story nose first, like someone pushed you off a dock at the lake from behind and you didn't expect it. Just like that. You walk out of the theater all squinty eyed and imagining the world in ways that it can not be; Your mind all drenched in falsehoods.
Matthew was a sort of lanky blonde guy with a prominent nose. He was studying to be a string teacher... He and I got along very well. I think it's because we both knew school was full of silly ninny heads and we would be out sooner or later. Matthew was different from me though. He meant it when he prayed I could tell, and honestly I did it because people expected me to.
"Aaaaand she IS gorgeous! Hello!! " I proposed. Eyes wide.
" I know, I know..." he said looking lost.
"Well why don't you ask her out or something.... Buy her some coffee? " I asked. If he was so wracked with lust...then I reasoned something must be done about it.
" Well, I ran into her in the hall in the music building the other day, and I tried to chat a little after the concert." He said. An obvious reach.
Sara was the kind of good looking that happens in Klimt paintings, and had that same sort of aesthetic. All scarves and floral prints in sand colors. Tapestries. She was hung about with mystery. She was elegant. In truth she was Matthew's undoing for most of the semester. And but who could blame him.
Bells rang in the hall and it was time for prayer group. I think that was the semester that Josh Roland was our group leader. Todays lesson was about confession...
R: "The word tells us that he who confesseth and forsaketh his sin will find forgiveness. You know I know we're not the closest room and all. I mean I feel like I know you guys pretty well. But there are for sure ways that we could build room unity."
(I'm sure at this point I was pretending to read something else that had caught my attention in the Word, and typically twirling my hair which was/ is my 'go too' stress relief ritual.)
R: "Josh you look like you're thinking about something...." He said with a silly doberman smile on his face...
I really hate when people say that. It makes me feel like all the other times when they're not looking they're sure Im not thinking at all.
ME: "Oh... I've just.... had a lot of spiritual growth in my life lately.... ya know big changes"
I... I really haven't been happy with the person that I am..."
Everyone looked at me. Like it was a surprise that I could feel anything other than sadness.
The truth was I had said that without preparing any follow up whatsoever. How very impetuous.
ME: "Yes.... uh. Big big... changes" I gestured and my eyes were wide.
Matthew: "Oh really? Medlin? Change?" He was on the edge of laughing I could tell.
R: "What made you think something needed to be different...?"
I took a deep breath. Whatever my recently acquitted besetting sin was it had to merit mentioning in prayer group.... What could it be though?! ... Lust? Porn? (Oh wait those are kind of related).... Stealing? Nah too complicated... Bulimia? Guff, that ended in high school...
R: "Josh?"
ME: "Ah! yes I said surprisedly... Im sorry I must have drifted off. Well I've decided that Im a Republican now..." I said earnestly.
Matthew was laughing outright. I was aching to but didn't even smile.
Roland looked around wryly...
R: "Any other dark secrets?... Anyone?"
I jabbed at Matthew
ME: "Christ rode into Jerusalem on a donkey Matthew... show a little respect."
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Collusion: Part XXXVII
Wickedness. Evil. Are these concepts synonyms? If one is evil, are they also wicked... or perhaps are the acts of those who are evil considered wickedness? I am consumed of these ideas. I drown in thoughts such as these. I believe religiously in the blackness, the inky murk endowed to us by our paternity. Why such a consumption you may ask? Why such a morbid fascination with ideas that stand in military opposition to goodness, kindness and beauty? It's not such a mystery. After all… Some consider me to be evil.
I was late back from work at Express again. This day had been more than a little unsettling... Nothing eventful had been happening with X in a few days. Summer plowed ahead. I had barely touched a piano and had given myself fully over to drinking away what little of my funds that weren't already poured into school debt or car expenses. Over the summer I was rooming with Justin and Eric in Johnson. The largest dormitory, and I think the most cheaply constructed. The school needed the housing fast due to an influx of students some time ago, and had cut corners to get the thing up and moderately functional in time for a term. The walls were sort of a slate-algae industrial grade paint color. The carpet in the halls a patchwork of much the same colored carpet that had holes gauged in it here and there from students moving their furniture in and out as quickly as they could, disregarding the consequences of property damage. As far as I could tell, there weren’t a lot of consequences for that kind of property damage. I texted Eric.
:: I'm coming in late. Prop the side door open?::
He did. Or someone had. There was part of a cinder block wedged in the side door. All the doors were big brown metal and plate glass things with key card access. They locked on timers, and I had arrived past curfew. Summer rules were different though. I wasn't exactly a student over the summer…I was an employee. The rules were a smidge different. Everyone was sleeping or playing games on their computers. The air was wet from a rain, earlier and the building took on a wet smell. It always did after weather of any sort. It just made the human smells stronger. Skin. Laundry. And very peculiar cologne choices.
I slid in through the gap in the door... kicking out the cinder block as I did. The door clicked and locked. The little red lock light snapped on in the door and a security breach was eliminated. I'd been folding clothes for hours. I felt a little numb. The thud of the sound system at the clothing store I worked at had left my cochlea worse for the wear. There's nothing sexy about folding t-shirts even if they're over priced and sold in an environment strung about with night club like sub woofers and overly embroidered jeans. Express clothing. Club clothes. Taste for people who have none of their own.
I had fun working there. Melanie and I used to hang back after work and order hamburger quesadillas and we would gossip about the management. Who was sleeping with who. Melanie was as black as pitch. Still is. She was Haitian. An orphan. And French parents adopted her when they moved to the states. She had no accent. Black or other wise. Her mom is a tiny little French woman who to this day believes that my name is 'Jeffery'... I think that may have something to do with my eating all of the tiny pickles in her refrigerator while quite drunk. I can’t be sure.
I shrugged off my bag. Eric was wondering around the building. Justin was gone for the weekend. He lived in Sumpter I think and maybe was visiting family there. The room smelled like sulfur. Like someone had been playing with matches. I threw my things on the floor slid off my pants. I scrounged around for one of my missing flip flops and grabbed a towel. Squeaked my way down the hall towards the showers. Which was something like a giant ceramic box. The kind of place you may imagine prison rape scenes for crime dramas may be shot. Residue from harsh cleaning chemicals was thick on the ceramic tile. Cold green and yellow tiles in asymmetrical patterns coated the floor, walls and ceiling. Poetically only half the icy blue fluorescent lights flickered on when I switched the light. In the half-light you could hear the thoink of one of the shower heads dripping.
There was a hiss a I slid back the curtain and stepped into piping hot water. I leaned my head against the cold tiles and let the heat drip down my face. Down my back and water pooled slowly towards one of the central drains in the floor. I let a glassy look come over my face. I could feel the water pooling in the cracks. The holes that had been worn into me. The water filled those spaces back up and spilled out everywhere. I thought of nothing, and just let the indomitable tanks of scalding water from the building slowly drain out over me. Just me.
There was a noise in the bathroom... Scuffling. I snapped out of my reverie.
"Medlin? That you in here?"
I leaned out of the shower.
It was Morrisey. Scruffy theater arts student I had met my first week at school. He was the first person who had attempted to learn my name. He was my height with whispy-curly ginger hair. He was always working on these projects. He made things out of paper mache. He'd been in school for years and never went home for the summer.
"What's up?" I pulled back the curtain.
He was standing there with a mask in his hand. The kind that you can get from a party store. White plastic thing that he had begun altering by adding bits of copper mesh and rhine stones. Black feathers made brow lines.
"What's that?" I asked nodding to the device.
"It's fall" He gestured grandly. Throwing a presentational gesture towards the mask. "I've been working on one for all the seasons. Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter. It's part of this project I've been working on over the break." Michael always seemed like he should have had a drug problem. Always with that cast away at sea look in his eye, and always with those white blue eyes of his glazed over. Maybe he was.
"Oh. That's cool..." I said unconcernedly allowing the shower curtain to gape open. I propped myself up against the shower wall. I wasn't all that concerned with how hygienic that was. Maybe I should have been. He was telling me more about this project. It's inspiration and origins. How he had always been inspired by nature. As he was talking I half noticed his eyes followed the lines of my shoulders, tracing a way, slowly... shyly... down my arm and then the line of my hip to my knee.
He was still talking about that damn mask. He was rambling about how he thought about displaying the masks in shadow boxes... blither blither.
"Are you happy here?" I cut in. Shooting him a black look. I'd had nearly enough of this chatter; this empty prattle about masks.
"I uh. What do you mean?" His fishy eyes locked mine.
"You know. Why are you here. With me. Why are you in school? Here?”
He fidgeted with his hair. Pushed it around and looked bashful. I could hear his pulse over the hiss from the shower. I could feel the hot shame wash over him. He was gobsmacked I had caught him looking.
"Oh... I mean it’s a good school ya know... Im… not exactly on good terms with my family. My dad and I don’t talk." He let his eyes follow the water as it made it's way to one of the drains in the floor.
"Why not? He doesn’t like you or something?" I softened. He had at that moment stopped being annoying. Strange how such simple statement can render a man a boy, or a boy a man. In that moment Michael was no longer an eccentric grown up. He was just a child. A silly one at that. With masks and... complications.
"Yeah. He's ashamed of me." He said shifting his weight.
"Oh I'm sorry."
Steam and water sounds filled the empty silence.
“My dad and my mom aren’t together any more. The last time I saw him was at a family reunion. He had a couple drinks and called me a ‘pathetic faggot’.” He smiled hauntingly as he said this and hung little quotations in the air.
I was taken a back. No one had ever used that word in my house. There were plenty of words that weren’t used, and I hadn’t even learned the meaning of that one until I had been in school for a few months. My mother would have slapped the teeth out of my head if I had used a word like that, and I would have deserved it.
“Why would he say that to you?”
The question bounced around the room until steam pushed it out the door and into the hallway.
“I just think he doesn’t like all the stuff I’m into. Doesn’t understand art. Why I wanna work in theater.” He shrugged about it. Like we were talking about paper weights. “He doesn’t love me.”
And then he did something so… kind. He walked straight across the room, and stood in front of me. He grabbed my right hand while I was just standing there in the shower. And he shook it and said.
“I’ve already decided I’m going to be just fine. And I’m going to do what I want.”
Then he smiled and nodded, and slogged back to his room where no doubt his roommates hated him for the amount of art debris there was thrown all over. I leaned back in the shower. I thought about X. I tried to think if I was like Michael. I tried to decide if Michael was a child or a man… If I was a child or a man. I couldn’t tell.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Collusion: Part XXXVI
What is the human condition? Lately that's all I think about. I don't mean to sound like a stoner. I promise. But the more I think about it, the more I have to say... everything's relative. I'm not talking fringe science or family trees. I'm talking about trajectory. The likelihood that person 'A' will achieve wealth, progeny or perhaps dare I even suggest... popularity. Or to what degree a person would consider said person 'A' would consider a certain amount of pain 'excruciating' and how that's different for every person. I'm only thinking about these things because I was training for a marathon in February. I've been tricked into it by my run partner. She did the NYC a month ago or so. I wonder if I'm capable of those distances. I mean... It has to be like everything else right? You can do it... it just depends how much of yourself you're willing to give away to do that.
I've always thought that the amount of yourself that you're willing to throw into something is the driving factor in the trajectory of our achievements. And it is the degree of cost that we find outlandish that differs person to person. There are other tangents to consider. But let's be honest... Most people earn what they get and the people that haven't should be shot in public. Or maybe lynched. Maybe I could head an advisory board for lynchings. For worthless people. I digress.
I was signed up for it. Tom Grimble didn't even ask me if it was ok. He said I should do it, and that it would give me a chance to debut the Tan Dun pieces. I dragged a bag of books into his office. His office that always smelled like melted vanilla wax and carpet cleaner. All around the room was little decorative trinkets that previous students had gotten for him. Tacky cursivy things. Thank you for this. We love you for that. I judged him for those trinkets.
"How are you today Josh?" He asked as I came in and plunked my bag on one of the chairs by the wall. "You look... tired."
I wanted to thank him for his observation. How between working full time, and part time grad work, and living thirty minutes from school I hadn't quite had the luxury of waking each morning at 9 am to the paper and a soft boiled egg.
"I'm..... alright." I said rather disinterestedly. "It's... my schedule is tight. Ya know."
"How are things?... With work?" He asked. Tom is such a curious man to describe. He had grown one of those Italian mustaches long ago in the 90's and for whatever reason allowed it to reside on his face. He's one of those larger people, that have an odd grace and fluidity to their movements about a room. So much so that I often thought to myself, that Tom Grimble moved about like the a cloud... Like the Holy Spirit who led the Children of Israel by day through the desert to the promised land.
He was desperately interested in my personal life. Who was I dating. How my job was going. You know, I can't really knock him for that. He was trying to do his job well. He was trying to be a nice guy. He's one of the few people from school that I think wanted me to be happy. Who had thought through what it may be like for me not to be happy.
"I want you to perform for Mrs Gingery. She's doing a work shop this weekend. Are you working Saturday?"
"I.... " thought through my obligations. I was in the middle of memorizing. I would spend an hour on a page. Close the book and try to play through the page without looking. One page at a time. One piece at a time. Performance time was close to an hour. That meant six months of memorization for me. 2 Hours a day with the piano. Me. The piano and a book.
"I think I'm not working until later that after noon? Tell me about Mrs. Gingery..."
"Well" He was checking his email with his back to me. "She's retired from the music faculty here. I want you to play Tan Dun for her. The pieces haven't premiered at this school, and I think she could be very interested to hear them." Tom always spoke with a kind a lethargy. Due in part to acute back pain from a horrible fall some time ago, and also... That's just how musicians are. They speak as if they are imparting the divine secrets of the universe. It's something that happens as a result of whispering to one another during performances.
"I guess I can do it.."
"Well of course you can do it."
"I'm... just not so sure about some of the rhythms on this page..." I pointed to a folio I pulled out of my book sack. "I've been listening to the recordings for days... and I still don't think I'm getting it right. Can we look at it?" I wouldn't have been happy half-assing it. Workshop or no. Music school is like a quiet pageant. We each take our turns performing at different venues. There are those who get nods from teachers... and there are those who don't.
"Listen. I can't be there either. I'd like to go to introduce you to Mrs. Gingery, but there will be two others from the studio there. She's a lovely woman."
We spent the rest of the hour after praying briefly re-working the rhythm of the first page of the Tan Dun. 8 Memories in water color. Delicate and precise little wood cuts of pieces. Dun had said enough, but not too much. The works were sharp, and they turned quickly from one idea to another. They rushed about spilling money in the street and ending quietly... stealthily even. Reworking the piece was tant-amount to pulling the stitching out of a garment because a line wasn't correct... and re-stitching by hand. Think about teaching yourself to type all over again if the letters swam around and re-organized themselves at will. That's it.
The day was at hand. I was going to be late as well. I tripped up the steps to Stratton Hall and nearly ran around the corner into David Landon who was skittering off on his lanky legs heading towards the Dinning Common.
"Hey Med-head! Just you watch where you're going!" Nasal tall person voice.
"Shut up Landon. Im late for a show."
I was trying to do some sort of controlled panting as I closed the door to the Orchestra Room. There was a echoing 'chunk' from my closing the door and the sound bounced around the room. Eight students sat in chairs around the piano and Mrs Gingery stood one small white hand rested on the piano. She looked exactly like Mrs. Doubtfire. Every last hair. The voice was different though. She was of course a musician. She breathed sunlight from the mountains.
"Mr. Medlin. Will you please come sit down? We're just going to go around the room. And discuss each piece as we come to it." She said this quietly and here eyes sparkled in a watery old-person kind of way.
Each of my associated took there turns. Chin held high. Elbows up. Perfect. Perfect.
As my turn came, I slunk to the piano and announced my piece. Gave a brief description of the artist and genre. Sat down and began. Clipped through the piece like a pony at the state fair.
There was a little stretch where I was applauded. Just a little one.
Then Mrs Ginger began to speak.
"Well... There's certainly some explaining to do here!" She chuckled a little.
"Oh?" I said... I could feel 16 eyes on me. The room was hot. Suddenly.
"Did you perhaps notice... " she began again... "That here and here," She pointed with a red pen... "you botched the triplet patterns."
"Oh?" I felt like I was getting smaller. Like I was shrinking into the leather bench. My eyes widened and my vision glossed. This was gonna be bad.
I was right. It was bad.
She kept on talking. About how my tone was too dry. How my articulation could have been tighter. How if I had been an adequate student I might have performed well. How one day I would ascend to the great heights that she had. As she spoke in my mind she walked up steps... up a high mountain of judgement. And.. I guess I deserved it.
I hadn't prepared like I wanted to. I hadn't checked my performance against a metronome. I wasn't a serious artist. I was a hack. I was a hack in front of 8 of my peers.
Later that week I consulted with Tom. We talked about how I got lynched. And why.
He and I worked it over again. Cut the stitches. Pulled out the thread. Re-stitched the entire piece. Sewed it back together like it should have been.
Later that week, I wrote a piece myself. I learned what it meant to place a tempo as you intended it. Rests where you wanted them to be. And pitches exactly perfect. And then it made sense.
Composers weren't doing this because they wanted to be assholes. They didn't write things because they wanted you to be gap faced at their magnificence. (I'm talking about everyone but Franz Liszt. He was an attention whore. ) They wanted you to feel what they felt about a sound. They wanted you to be convinced that a sound was just as beautiful as they thought it was. They wanted you to believe I think that for a moment, you weren't listing to music. You were listening as an Artist called down sunlight from the mountains, and imparted the divine secrets of the universe.
I've always thought that the amount of yourself that you're willing to throw into something is the driving factor in the trajectory of our achievements. And it is the degree of cost that we find outlandish that differs person to person. There are other tangents to consider. But let's be honest... Most people earn what they get and the people that haven't should be shot in public. Or maybe lynched. Maybe I could head an advisory board for lynchings. For worthless people. I digress.
I was signed up for it. Tom Grimble didn't even ask me if it was ok. He said I should do it, and that it would give me a chance to debut the Tan Dun pieces. I dragged a bag of books into his office. His office that always smelled like melted vanilla wax and carpet cleaner. All around the room was little decorative trinkets that previous students had gotten for him. Tacky cursivy things. Thank you for this. We love you for that. I judged him for those trinkets.
"How are you today Josh?" He asked as I came in and plunked my bag on one of the chairs by the wall. "You look... tired."
I wanted to thank him for his observation. How between working full time, and part time grad work, and living thirty minutes from school I hadn't quite had the luxury of waking each morning at 9 am to the paper and a soft boiled egg.
"I'm..... alright." I said rather disinterestedly. "It's... my schedule is tight. Ya know."
"How are things?... With work?" He asked. Tom is such a curious man to describe. He had grown one of those Italian mustaches long ago in the 90's and for whatever reason allowed it to reside on his face. He's one of those larger people, that have an odd grace and fluidity to their movements about a room. So much so that I often thought to myself, that Tom Grimble moved about like the a cloud... Like the Holy Spirit who led the Children of Israel by day through the desert to the promised land.
He was desperately interested in my personal life. Who was I dating. How my job was going. You know, I can't really knock him for that. He was trying to do his job well. He was trying to be a nice guy. He's one of the few people from school that I think wanted me to be happy. Who had thought through what it may be like for me not to be happy.
"I want you to perform for Mrs Gingery. She's doing a work shop this weekend. Are you working Saturday?"
"I.... " thought through my obligations. I was in the middle of memorizing. I would spend an hour on a page. Close the book and try to play through the page without looking. One page at a time. One piece at a time. Performance time was close to an hour. That meant six months of memorization for me. 2 Hours a day with the piano. Me. The piano and a book.
"I think I'm not working until later that after noon? Tell me about Mrs. Gingery..."
"Well" He was checking his email with his back to me. "She's retired from the music faculty here. I want you to play Tan Dun for her. The pieces haven't premiered at this school, and I think she could be very interested to hear them." Tom always spoke with a kind a lethargy. Due in part to acute back pain from a horrible fall some time ago, and also... That's just how musicians are. They speak as if they are imparting the divine secrets of the universe. It's something that happens as a result of whispering to one another during performances.
"I guess I can do it.."
"Well of course you can do it."
"I'm... just not so sure about some of the rhythms on this page..." I pointed to a folio I pulled out of my book sack. "I've been listening to the recordings for days... and I still don't think I'm getting it right. Can we look at it?" I wouldn't have been happy half-assing it. Workshop or no. Music school is like a quiet pageant. We each take our turns performing at different venues. There are those who get nods from teachers... and there are those who don't.
"Listen. I can't be there either. I'd like to go to introduce you to Mrs. Gingery, but there will be two others from the studio there. She's a lovely woman."
We spent the rest of the hour after praying briefly re-working the rhythm of the first page of the Tan Dun. 8 Memories in water color. Delicate and precise little wood cuts of pieces. Dun had said enough, but not too much. The works were sharp, and they turned quickly from one idea to another. They rushed about spilling money in the street and ending quietly... stealthily even. Reworking the piece was tant-amount to pulling the stitching out of a garment because a line wasn't correct... and re-stitching by hand. Think about teaching yourself to type all over again if the letters swam around and re-organized themselves at will. That's it.
The day was at hand. I was going to be late as well. I tripped up the steps to Stratton Hall and nearly ran around the corner into David Landon who was skittering off on his lanky legs heading towards the Dinning Common.
"Hey Med-head! Just you watch where you're going!" Nasal tall person voice.
"Shut up Landon. Im late for a show."
I was trying to do some sort of controlled panting as I closed the door to the Orchestra Room. There was a echoing 'chunk' from my closing the door and the sound bounced around the room. Eight students sat in chairs around the piano and Mrs Gingery stood one small white hand rested on the piano. She looked exactly like Mrs. Doubtfire. Every last hair. The voice was different though. She was of course a musician. She breathed sunlight from the mountains.
"Mr. Medlin. Will you please come sit down? We're just going to go around the room. And discuss each piece as we come to it." She said this quietly and here eyes sparkled in a watery old-person kind of way.
Each of my associated took there turns. Chin held high. Elbows up. Perfect. Perfect.
As my turn came, I slunk to the piano and announced my piece. Gave a brief description of the artist and genre. Sat down and began. Clipped through the piece like a pony at the state fair.
There was a little stretch where I was applauded. Just a little one.
Then Mrs Ginger began to speak.
"Well... There's certainly some explaining to do here!" She chuckled a little.
"Oh?" I said... I could feel 16 eyes on me. The room was hot. Suddenly.
"Did you perhaps notice... " she began again... "That here and here," She pointed with a red pen... "you botched the triplet patterns."
"Oh?" I felt like I was getting smaller. Like I was shrinking into the leather bench. My eyes widened and my vision glossed. This was gonna be bad.
I was right. It was bad.
She kept on talking. About how my tone was too dry. How my articulation could have been tighter. How if I had been an adequate student I might have performed well. How one day I would ascend to the great heights that she had. As she spoke in my mind she walked up steps... up a high mountain of judgement. And.. I guess I deserved it.
I hadn't prepared like I wanted to. I hadn't checked my performance against a metronome. I wasn't a serious artist. I was a hack. I was a hack in front of 8 of my peers.
Later that week I consulted with Tom. We talked about how I got lynched. And why.
He and I worked it over again. Cut the stitches. Pulled out the thread. Re-stitched the entire piece. Sewed it back together like it should have been.
Later that week, I wrote a piece myself. I learned what it meant to place a tempo as you intended it. Rests where you wanted them to be. And pitches exactly perfect. And then it made sense.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Collusion: Part XXXV
The room stunk. It smelled like years and years worth of male sex hormones, plus no ones mom doing laundry for them. There was something else though too… cumin? Coriander? Egg rolls?.... Perplexing. That was the first thing I noticed. And then, Eric. He turned his thin vaguely Asian face away from the origami cranes he was hanging around the room. Hanging them here and there… wherever I suppose he thought one might walk into them.
“Hello.” He said.
“Hi.” I was dragging a duffle and shouldering a pile of clothes on hangers. It never crossed my mind back in those days to throw away clothes that didn’t fit properly or looked jarring. Consequently I nearly always dressed like I was going to clown school… For all intents and purposes… I suppose I was.
“Hi, “ I heard as well. This time from the chair by the desk. Justin was reading something… a small paper back. He had a round face and tightly curled blond/brown hair. You know, the kind that sometimes bi-racial children have. Or baby Jews.
“How’s it going?” I grunted. I’d take the top of the double I guessed. There were no paper cranes there.
I dragged my things in. Sweating. The room was stuffy. I would have suggested opening a window. But it was hot outside too. “Jesus, God,” I thought… “Why is it 1,002 degrees?… it’s May.”
I had signed on for a work stay over the summer. Mostly cause I was a stupid a-hole, who believed that there was such a thing as true love… and it could last through college and beyond. Even college at “Praise Yaweh University.”
I smirk as I write. Because 1. Nobody should be that stupid…. And 2…. Just see #1.
And also because I knew things had happened over the semester that I was ashamed of. I was… a kind of *gross* now. And I didn’t want to have to hide that from my family. I knew that they would be able to smell it on me… That going back would be crazy talk and that no amount restitutionary painting for 7 hours in the blazing sunlight would hide those facts from those people. My people. All the residents of crazy town.
I chatted with Eric and Justin. “Oh… yeah, looks like we’re going to be rooming together over the summer… oh… and looks like we’re chatting about it… “ Yawn.
I’d been fighting with X again. Yet another facet of my fantastical stupidity was that I had assumed that staying in Greenville over the summer would be seen as a kind of romantic gesture and that X would be shocked, amazed, and appreciative. Erp. NO! ROFL ROFL! No fucking way!
Another thing that I was stupid about in those days… Having tense conversations via SMS.
DON’T DO THAT IDIOTS! PICK UP THE PHONE AND HAVE AN ACTUAL CONVERSATION LIKE YOU’RE A GROWN UP!!
Sorry. Just… needed to yell.
I wish present me could flash back in time and just sort of float over ‘past me’s head in a small cloud with a gavel. I would plunk past me on the head and yell. “Gotcha Bitch!”
On second thought… Past me would have just gone in for psychiatric testing.
“Where are you working?” Eric had asked… I looked up from my phone, from yet another disappointing text message from X.
“Uh… Museum & Gallery”… I said vacantly.
Eric glided over to one of his drawers. One that had been meticulously arranged and was filled with folding papers, saved discarded trinkets from Christ knows where… and I think cumin. At least that’s where it smelled like it was coming from.
Eric Inafuku is such a curious little man. He is so thin to the point that we must assume he has only ever eaten three grains of rice at each meal and he has a willowy tendency to move about a room with an uncommon fluidity. I would learn later that this was due in part to his belief that he was in fact, a geisha… and partly because that’s just how Asians are.
“And you’re working….? Where?” I asked… for a moment distracted by his stealthy movement…
“At the press. I read things… Edit things…” I was mystified. And presently distracted from my worries over X.
“Things like?”
“Oh you know… Just things… This and that. Books. Text books.” He replied with a raised eyebrow as if to suggest that he could possibly be editing anything though…. Like perhaps even more risqué books… novels perhaps... or picture books perhaps…
I would grow to find that Eric was like this about a lot of things. Elusive. Evasive. It was going to be an interesting summer.
I was distracted again by my phone…
X: “All of this is just making me crazy…”
X: “I just don’t think we should be together anymore.”
ME: “Are you joking? I mean I know maybe we’ve been spending too much time together… don’t you think that could be it?”
X: “Yeah I dunno I’m just tired of fighting.”
“Soooo… didn’t wanna go home over the summer?” The curly haired one asked. There was a lump in my throat.
“Yeah… I mean. No.” My voice was thick and wet and I was walking out of the room. I walked down the hall heading to the back of the building. Johnson was the largest of the dormitory buildings and two of it’s four story wings stretched backwards towards parking lots and the field house. There was a loading dock back there that I just sat down on the dock. I was dripping with sweat and I felt… so so empty.
Apparently I had just given up the next three months to live in a stinky box with Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, and Curly Fries.
My phone was ringing… It was Dad.
D: “Hey my little fat buddy!”
Dad always called me this. I attribute two years of anorexia to it.
ME: “Hey…” My voice was flat and wet sounding.
D: “How ya doing?!”
ME: “Oh… well…. I’m alright….”
D: “What’s wrong bud?”
ME: “Oh… I just have this feeling that I may be here for the wrong reasons… Can I just…. (Swallow) Call you back?”
D: “Yeah sure ok…”
I hung up and stared out at the heat waves rising up out of the asphalt parking lot. Cocked my head to the side as water slid out of my eyes and splashed onto the loading dock. I was quiet out there. I stayed there for an hour.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
FACTion
Ok readers. You've heard great big gobs of what I've had to say for months and months. It's been my pleasure to invite you into my story and with any luck, you guys have been able to take away some laughs and some lessons.
We here at Salt, are excited to introduce another source of inspiration with a series we like to call... "FACTion."
Plenty of you have already heard about some of the things that I had to hide at school, what they costed me and why I did them... But lets be honest... I'm not alone. Truth is, if you've enjoyed reading about Collusion, it's probably because you have something to hide yourself.
That's the beauty of the new set of articles. "FACTion" sets out to demonstrate that there's a big difference from what's supposed to happen at school, and what actually does. Think of FACTion as a sort of Post Secret for BJU students. Only... cooler.
Hopefully some of you are already getting ideas :}
So here's how it works readers... I wanna hear from you. I want to interview you. Anonymously of course. The identities of all the applicants will be sworn to secrecy... names and places will be changed to protect the innocent... but all the same, your story gets told. I wanna hear about the things you've given up that you believed in. Lies you've told to protect your hard earned investment in your education...and of course which faculty members are closet alcoholics, and who's seducing who.
Gotya! You're smiling now! And you should be. This is gonna be fun.
If you or someone you know would like to be a part of FACTion, you can contact me...
at jmedl600@gmail.com Again, your privacy is of extreme importance to us, and you stories can make a difference. Catch me on twitter @SaltNSmoke #FACTion
We here at Salt, are excited to introduce another source of inspiration with a series we like to call... "FACTion."
Plenty of you have already heard about some of the things that I had to hide at school, what they costed me and why I did them... But lets be honest... I'm not alone. Truth is, if you've enjoyed reading about Collusion, it's probably because you have something to hide yourself.
That's the beauty of the new set of articles. "FACTion" sets out to demonstrate that there's a big difference from what's supposed to happen at school, and what actually does. Think of FACTion as a sort of Post Secret for BJU students. Only... cooler.
Hopefully some of you are already getting ideas :}
So here's how it works readers... I wanna hear from you. I want to interview you. Anonymously of course. The identities of all the applicants will be sworn to secrecy... names and places will be changed to protect the innocent... but all the same, your story gets told. I wanna hear about the things you've given up that you believed in. Lies you've told to protect your hard earned investment in your education...and of course which faculty members are closet alcoholics, and who's seducing who.
Gotya! You're smiling now! And you should be. This is gonna be fun.
If you or someone you know would like to be a part of FACTion, you can contact me...
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Sunday, October 2, 2011
Collusion: Part XXXIII
It was raining. Those slow... ridiculously mournful rains. The kinds in films about suicide, or genocide. Some sort of 'icide.' I had taken to being the consummate recluse. I had completely devoted myself to my studies, and piano. And to be honest, I was convinced that any day I was going to be called into the Dean of Men's office at school and explain to a perfectly awful stranger, how I wasn't a homosexual.
There was an alcove at the back of the museum that I was fond of. A wooden statue of the virgin Mary stood at the end of a very long very dark hall way. Rooms twisted and split off from it here and there. Here a place to sit... there an ancient set of panels from a church long sunken beneath the grass in eastern Germany. Rooms on and on forever. All half lit, and bruised with the deep reds and purples of thick thick carpet that ate up all the stray sound. I loved this place. I got paid to sit and study note cards for hours. Days on end. There were quite a bit of really great art too. There had already been that falling out with the rest of the members of the Senate, and as a result I had pulled back and cut off all contact with these malicious people. I reasoned that if I had been their friend for this long... and now they were after me... what next? Would they slap a jew? Would they eat their young? I couldnt tell.
So... I stayed away. I read things. I journaled ferociously. In various colors of metallic inks. Angry words. Bitter words. Wounded words. I should have felt sorry for Hannibal. Pressing and jabbing into his spine everything that made me uncomfortable. It wasn't a fair fight that's for sure.
I was terrified. What if... the worst came to the worst? What if... I was expelled? I'd be out a job. Out of an education... and ya know, with the gun slingers in my family ... out in the street.
There was a window that ran from floor to ceiling behind Mary. Double pained plate glass. The rain had caused most of the window to fog. The window was dressed in lengths of wine colored satin that dropped from the ceiling on either sides of the glass. The whole bit was impressive. Serene, I thought. I stood there staring up at Mary. She'd been cut from wood some time ago, and was beginning to split down the back. No doubt the temperature and humidity had been something of a challenge throughout her life. A fight she wasn't really winning. She was painted. In dark night-black blues. Her face a pearl and varnish color. She looked so very removed. I wished I could have followed her down whatever paths she had taken...
I stood there for some minutes. My expression blank as I thought about all the things that had come to, in the past few weeks. How X and I needed back up plans. And plans to back up those back up plans... Weighing my options with numerous outcomes. At each turn of an idea, there would be another possibility that I hadn't thought of. A new piece of data to add to the algorithm. All of it... had left me... blank. I looked out at all of the limitations of my abilities. My finances and my emotional fortuity. Against it all I felt so very much like a sand castle. No one is just sure when it's going to get swept out. But... It's going to either way.
"Medhead."
I breathed in quick and deep as I heard her voice.
"What are you looking at?"
I didn't reply for a moment. "I was watching the water. It's beading up.... on the window..." I said. Still very much inundated with my own thoughts.
"I haven't heard much from you for a little bit... tell me. How have you been?"
I turned around to face her. Tall. Thin to distraction. Large oval eyes, with heavy lashes... doe-like and inquisitive. A pert face with perfect ivory skin and a tiny little mouth. She was beautiful. Everyone said so. Everyone. And no one could argue. It's just what she was. She always kept a ratty little hair cut that you couldnt decide was more mod, or more lesbian. And she dressed like a gypsy.
Today though she was all in black as dress code required. Her name is Louretta.
"I've... just." I was terrified of this girl. This girl with her mind and her wit. He attention to detail and the sorts of questions she asked. In truth there was a time when I had felt such a kind-ship with her. I loved how painstakingly intelligent she was... How actively her mind begged her to create and how easily she slid from one social group to the next. But as I would learn later, that is precisely what a moth feels before it scuffs a flame and becomes a cinder.
"I've been trying to keep up with my practice regiment." I pushed out. Putting all of my secret thoughts away... far far back on the shelves in case she could read minds as well as she could read a face.
There was an alcove at the back of the museum that I was fond of. A wooden statue of the virgin Mary stood at the end of a very long very dark hall way. Rooms twisted and split off from it here and there. Here a place to sit... there an ancient set of panels from a church long sunken beneath the grass in eastern Germany. Rooms on and on forever. All half lit, and bruised with the deep reds and purples of thick thick carpet that ate up all the stray sound. I loved this place. I got paid to sit and study note cards for hours. Days on end. There were quite a bit of really great art too. There had already been that falling out with the rest of the members of the Senate, and as a result I had pulled back and cut off all contact with these malicious people. I reasoned that if I had been their friend for this long... and now they were after me... what next? Would they slap a jew? Would they eat their young? I couldnt tell.
So... I stayed away. I read things. I journaled ferociously. In various colors of metallic inks. Angry words. Bitter words. Wounded words. I should have felt sorry for Hannibal. Pressing and jabbing into his spine everything that made me uncomfortable. It wasn't a fair fight that's for sure.
I was terrified. What if... the worst came to the worst? What if... I was expelled? I'd be out a job. Out of an education... and ya know, with the gun slingers in my family ... out in the street.
There was a window that ran from floor to ceiling behind Mary. Double pained plate glass. The rain had caused most of the window to fog. The window was dressed in lengths of wine colored satin that dropped from the ceiling on either sides of the glass. The whole bit was impressive. Serene, I thought. I stood there staring up at Mary. She'd been cut from wood some time ago, and was beginning to split down the back. No doubt the temperature and humidity had been something of a challenge throughout her life. A fight she wasn't really winning. She was painted. In dark night-black blues. Her face a pearl and varnish color. She looked so very removed. I wished I could have followed her down whatever paths she had taken...
I stood there for some minutes. My expression blank as I thought about all the things that had come to, in the past few weeks. How X and I needed back up plans. And plans to back up those back up plans... Weighing my options with numerous outcomes. At each turn of an idea, there would be another possibility that I hadn't thought of. A new piece of data to add to the algorithm. All of it... had left me... blank. I looked out at all of the limitations of my abilities. My finances and my emotional fortuity. Against it all I felt so very much like a sand castle. No one is just sure when it's going to get swept out. But... It's going to either way.
"Medhead."
I breathed in quick and deep as I heard her voice.
"What are you looking at?"
I didn't reply for a moment. "I was watching the water. It's beading up.... on the window..." I said. Still very much inundated with my own thoughts.
"I haven't heard much from you for a little bit... tell me. How have you been?"
I turned around to face her. Tall. Thin to distraction. Large oval eyes, with heavy lashes... doe-like and inquisitive. A pert face with perfect ivory skin and a tiny little mouth. She was beautiful. Everyone said so. Everyone. And no one could argue. It's just what she was. She always kept a ratty little hair cut that you couldnt decide was more mod, or more lesbian. And she dressed like a gypsy.
Today though she was all in black as dress code required. Her name is Louretta.
"I've... just." I was terrified of this girl. This girl with her mind and her wit. He attention to detail and the sorts of questions she asked. In truth there was a time when I had felt such a kind-ship with her. I loved how painstakingly intelligent she was... How actively her mind begged her to create and how easily she slid from one social group to the next. But as I would learn later, that is precisely what a moth feels before it scuffs a flame and becomes a cinder.
"I've been trying to keep up with my practice regiment." I pushed out. Putting all of my secret thoughts away... far far back on the shelves in case she could read minds as well as she could read a face.
Louretta reminded me of the girl that I had seen in my dreams the other night. They were both thin with razor sharp chin bones.
There were many afternoons since she and I had the fortune to become gallery guards here in meandering halls of the museum, that we would chat pleasantries. We had made a game of things. Surrounded by so much opulence, we had imagined ourselves to be courtesans. The gentility of our conversation was as tedious and as thick as the tapestries that hung mute from the walls and passed silent judgment over the modern era.
We talked about poetry. About what she was working on in her creative writing classes. About her boyfriend Ronny. About whatever. But not so today. Today words had reached her. Today the pleasantries had a different bent. And… what was that new scent that she was wearing? It smelled like…. Malice.
“You’ve seemed different lately…” She said. Leaning gracefully on a door jam. The cocked her head a bit to the side and pouted a little bit. “You’ve been quiet. It’s not like you.”
Louretta had grown up in Britain. A missionaries child, and every now and then to add salt to her conversation, she allowed a bit of this accent to peak out from behind her vowels. She thought, I believed that it added an aristocratic edge to her presence. And you know, at the time it was a bit intimidating. Whenever she was around I felt too small for my clothes. And I fidgeted ever so slightly with my hair.
“I’ve been thinking about things. Ya know, and practicing an awful lot. I have deadlines… and I’m worried about not meeting them.” I offered fingering the flash cards that I had brought along.
“Well that’s a very wise of you to devote so much time to your studies. I wish I could boast such fortitude.” She said. She always spoke this way. As if an encyclopedia had slipped on ballet flats and started menstruating.
“Don’t you think you should be investing in a small group of friends? You know, people that you may stay in touch with after school is over?” She asked as she began walking heel-to-toe in a pattern on the thick carpet. She had let those British vowel sounds peek out when she said “you know…” I sighed.
“I would if I found there was anyone worth putting any time into. I would if I felt… certain liberties that do not exist in this… penitentiary.” I offered back to this bleak little fish… swimming in circles in the hall.
“Ah…” “Oh I see,” She said. She stopped her walking for a moment and raised one eye and looked at me. Then she went back to walking.
I had no idea who she’d been speaking to. And like I said. The Senate had wasted no time in speaking their minds about my relationships. Why is everyone so interested in penetration? Who’s getting it. Who’s doing it. So very carnal. People are crass. Especially college kids. Especially college kids who haven’t gotten any in a while.
“Something just seems changed in you… Something’s different.” She continued. Half to herself. I was begging to be a bit tried of her. “Something’s gone.” And with this she looked dead at me. Oh Louretta. Always with the flair for drama.
I have to say, If it was anyone else with these vague concerns. These ominous observances that seem like the types of things you might say to a stranger after you had tossed a bunch of chicken bones and read their fortune, I wouldn’t have minded. Mostly I wouldn’t have listened. But this was someone different. Someone I felt I could… trust.
“It’s your eyes.”
“What?” I asked…
“You’re eyes.” She said. “They’re all black now… They used to be green…. There used to be light in them, and now… there’s nothing.”
“Oh…” I guess I hadn’t noticed.
There was a sound of a group coming in the hall. We moved back into the positions we were expected to hold. Statues in black suit coats. Arms folded behind our backs.
I was boiling with mute anger. Someone had spoken to her.
Black eyes. What did she know. There was nothing wrong with me. Nothing.
And if there was… I didn’t want to fix it.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
March 13. 2007
Six black crosses all in a row.
Steal two glances, I can feel my skin glow.
All those promises that we made to the moon,
My heart got caught in my chest.
A kiss is loves most ancient rune.
Those eyes were true... black blue in blue.
All those locks broke inside.
My seconds ticked past. Mute in passing.
I send Hannibal drunken telegraphs.
The walker chooses the path.
Steal two glances, I can feel my skin glow.
All those promises that we made to the moon,
My heart got caught in my chest.
A kiss is loves most ancient rune.
Those eyes were true... black blue in blue.
All those locks broke inside.
My seconds ticked past. Mute in passing.
I send Hannibal drunken telegraphs.
The walker chooses the path.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Collusion: Part XXXII
She was trying to stay calm I think. To slip past them... That's what she had been trained for... But in the deadness and the silence... in that black tension, now we would see what would come of the training. She was hiding in the thick evergreens. The trees had begun to clear as she had made her way out of the deeper woods... I felt the fear with her. I sensed instinctively she was being followed.
The moonlight was weak. The clouds above, skeletal and fickle. I had no idea how long she had been running, but she wasn't breathing very hard. I caught a little glimpse at her, pale and thin in the blue light from the sky. She had a decidedly angular face. A thin nose that turned up ever so little at the end... and her eyes were a kind of black that ate in all the light around them.
Black hair hung to her shoulders and she was dressed for running and hiding.
Then before I knew what to think about it... they were around her. The smallest of rustlings back towards the woods and my glance darted towards it with her. Then two of them shot across the clearing towards her.
Dogs... no wolves. They bolted forward. Quick and silent like fish. The woman made no sound herself but dashed from her hiding place and began running. I followed them... Trying to hide myself... I was terrified of the wolves. I had to help this girl though. I ran after the group.
We ran for some minutes... the trees got more and more sparse... And then I stopped quickly, noticing that they had as well. Because there was no longer any land to run on. We had come to the edge of a cliff.
The woman was being yanked around by the two hounds. It was no where as clear an image as I would have liked. The shapes became vague in the half light. They were as big as I was and bent with all sorta of blood lust on killing this girl. I looked on horrified... I looked around for some way to help her. A stick. A stone. Something. But I was forced to look back as I heard a scream. From her. This girl. She had pulled out a little short knife from a boot and stuck one of the dogs in the neck. And kicked the other off of her. But there were more of them... I felt the breath of one of them on the back of my neck and yelled out as it brushed past me into the clearing towards the girl. It didn't hear me. It didn't stop. It made no sign it had noticed me at all. Now it was five of them darting her way. Swift and silent as shadows across the white sand of the clearing. This time I ran out with them. There were too many. She couldn't get them all.
As I looked on though she had kicked the first two approaching in the face. Kicked them down flat. They struggled to get up. But then as if frightened... the others began to back away from her.
They whimpered and growled and backed away back towards the woods.
I stopped running towards them... and watched the cowering back, wondering at this odd and fortunate chain of events. The growled low... and sat down on their haunches menacing. The stricken ones staggered to their feet and joined the others in a wide circle around the girl... Who... oddly was smiling.
Ha ha ha! She laughed a laugh that sounded as careless as a teenagers. "I saw you running with them... Always sending out the boys after me... How many of them have I killed?'
Her smile was galvanized by the blue black moonlight.
I couldn't see who she was talking to until a moment later. A small thin man... barely as tall as me and much thinner stepped out of the shadow of the woods. He could have been a child for all that I knew... but he was dressed so perfectly as to be unrealistic of his jaunt through the woods just now. A tiny black suit. White french cuffs and a stiff white collar.
"Well this time you took it... Congratulations..." The man said. His voice was cracked and deep and completely disturbing for such a small child like person. "We'll have it back now though, thankyou."
He said this with absolutely no emotion. No inflection. And his voice sounded so familiar. Like someones that I had always known.
The woman did not respond to this except to spit on the ground in contempt. "Ill do what I came here for she said... and with that she flung her little boot knife at the boy... flink. As it nearly struck him in the face he flicked it to the ground....
The wolves grew vocal and angry at this... As if it were an affront to the entirety of their religion and made for the girl once again... And this time they were not alone. The little man rushed the distance between him and the cliff and quickly caught the girls neck making it there before the dogs. Jumping up on her knees to make the distance and then pulling her down with him to accommodate his shortness at the ground.
"What now girl?" Impish boy called to her sweetly as he was crushing her neck... "Give me back what's mine? Ill let you go?" The intensity with which the boy was crushing her neck was devastating to watch... The once gloating smile and taunting look dropped from her face leaving a blank white knowledge in her eye. She had chanced too much. She hadn't run fast enough.
Then there was something else. Something foreign that I'd never seen a human express.
A fastness. A calmness.
A quick snatch and now she had him by his throat as well... She pounced and pushed him onto his back using her height as an advantage. The wolves stood around taught as a drawn bow, but would not apparently challenge the contestants...
"And what of your family? You sister? What of them?" The little man asked his face rigid with the struggle...
The girl pulled out of his grasp and looked down on his as struggled wildly. "I know where they've gone."
"Then you must arrange to see them again! You must arrange freedom for them!" The little squealed at her.
The girl smiled at this, to my surprise, and said..." I'd much rather you visit them for me."
Little man snapped his finger and the wolves shot forward. Just then, though, my mouth fell open as slick black wings opened from the girls back and beat down once and quickly, just diving over the heads of the charging dogs, and over to her little knife in the sand...
She quickly pulled little man by the hair of his head and beat those wings three or so times more to hover over the dogs who were below her now yapping and whining for the leader to be returned.
"Remember this!" She screamed at the dogs. "Remember how there was nothing you could do!" Remember ... remember when you begin to feel safe again!" She laughed a little... I couldn't tell who was evil any more... I couldn't tell who I should help.
She fingered the tiny knife in her right hand and then quickly pulled it across little mans throat...
He en-hailed with a slight chug as she dropped him to the ground and made the smallest of thuds in the dusty sand.
The wolves looked up angrily and she flew off.
I bolted up sweating as my alarm rolled pleated out its tell tale fog horn sound.
Blink. Blink.
"DAMMIT!" Churned through my head like a track on a CD skipping as I jumped down from my top bunk to look for clothing and shoes. It can not be 7:50... It just can NOT BE! Kakis. Check. Ok. Teeth... NO! no. You have 10 minutes! It takes you 6 to make it across from your room! Shirt. Books. .... Tie.
Grrraaaaah! I was mad as hell. How could I have hit snooze that many times! I was stepping out of the room as I noticed and odd sensation... "The carpet is very short here... i thought." Gah! Shoes... I slipped some on and snatched at a very large, very ugly scarf on my way out the door.
:slam!: I passed boys in various stages of un-dress through the hall as I dashed madly for the side door of the dormatory.
"Hi josh!" My hall leader called out brightly. He'd obviously been slowly sipping Turkish coffee for hours.
"GrumN pEeh. Rah." I said as I zipped past him. Tucking my shirt in in the mean time.
I skipped down the stairs to the first floor exit two at a time glancing at my MOTOrazor the whole While. 7:54.
"OK. Alright Mr. Medlin. You're gonne be just fine.... just fine!" I heard in my head.
I shot out of the building forgetting all social graces and a bumped past two senior 'handsome soccer players.'
"Sorry! Sorry!" I offered as they shot me looks of disgust.
"Late... I'm Sorry!"
And then as the fates must have decided. There was Amanda. Even now as I type the name, it brings an utter revolt. So much so that I was required to look away from my typing and stare at a dark corner of the room.
Amanda Huss. Be mindful reader, it was not so then. 'Then' it hardly made a difference when I saw her. But.... the time would come... let it be known.
She wandered past with a group of acads.
"Josh!" She called out from the fray of them.... "Josh! Hi!"
I turned and greeted her happily.
"Hey Manda! Hey nice to see you." I said... Walking backwards away from her towards my classroom.
"Hey... you commin to church tonight?" She asked smiling at me all red haired and jolly.
"Yeah!... yeah... Ill see ya. I've gotta run. Late for Doctrines..." I turned and jogged towards lecture B.
I made it at the sound of the bell. The kids in the seats next to me all seemed rather perturbed at the size of my book bag; but it couldnt be helped. I didn't have time to stroll back to my room to change and fraternize with my friends on the hall between classes. I would be going till 1PM. And then work. So I squeezed in between peoples twice my size. I must have looked like a pack mule.
"Alright students" said the withered old man at the head of gray room.. "Would you please all take out a pencil and some notebook paper... and write for me todays quiz. Word perfect... John 4:24. You will have ten minutes to complete this....
Ok. Ok. I don't have to worry about this... but I did. Amongst all the things that Id gathered from my room on the way out, none of them were either pencil, nor paper. I whispered and annoyingly borrowed them from other students in my row... and began to write.
"John 4:24"
"God is spirit, and they that worship him should worship him in spirit and in truth."
I signed my name, and passed my paper to the end of the row for grading and then promptly fell asleep. I wandered if I could find out where that girl had flown off to... I wondered if I should follow her.
The moonlight was weak. The clouds above, skeletal and fickle. I had no idea how long she had been running, but she wasn't breathing very hard. I caught a little glimpse at her, pale and thin in the blue light from the sky. She had a decidedly angular face. A thin nose that turned up ever so little at the end... and her eyes were a kind of black that ate in all the light around them.
Black hair hung to her shoulders and she was dressed for running and hiding.
Then before I knew what to think about it... they were around her. The smallest of rustlings back towards the woods and my glance darted towards it with her. Then two of them shot across the clearing towards her.
Dogs... no wolves. They bolted forward. Quick and silent like fish. The woman made no sound herself but dashed from her hiding place and began running. I followed them... Trying to hide myself... I was terrified of the wolves. I had to help this girl though. I ran after the group.
We ran for some minutes... the trees got more and more sparse... And then I stopped quickly, noticing that they had as well. Because there was no longer any land to run on. We had come to the edge of a cliff.
The woman was being yanked around by the two hounds. It was no where as clear an image as I would have liked. The shapes became vague in the half light. They were as big as I was and bent with all sorta of blood lust on killing this girl. I looked on horrified... I looked around for some way to help her. A stick. A stone. Something. But I was forced to look back as I heard a scream. From her. This girl. She had pulled out a little short knife from a boot and stuck one of the dogs in the neck. And kicked the other off of her. But there were more of them... I felt the breath of one of them on the back of my neck and yelled out as it brushed past me into the clearing towards the girl. It didn't hear me. It didn't stop. It made no sign it had noticed me at all. Now it was five of them darting her way. Swift and silent as shadows across the white sand of the clearing. This time I ran out with them. There were too many. She couldn't get them all.
As I looked on though she had kicked the first two approaching in the face. Kicked them down flat. They struggled to get up. But then as if frightened... the others began to back away from her.
They whimpered and growled and backed away back towards the woods.
I stopped running towards them... and watched the cowering back, wondering at this odd and fortunate chain of events. The growled low... and sat down on their haunches menacing. The stricken ones staggered to their feet and joined the others in a wide circle around the girl... Who... oddly was smiling.
Ha ha ha! She laughed a laugh that sounded as careless as a teenagers. "I saw you running with them... Always sending out the boys after me... How many of them have I killed?'
Her smile was galvanized by the blue black moonlight.
I couldn't see who she was talking to until a moment later. A small thin man... barely as tall as me and much thinner stepped out of the shadow of the woods. He could have been a child for all that I knew... but he was dressed so perfectly as to be unrealistic of his jaunt through the woods just now. A tiny black suit. White french cuffs and a stiff white collar.
"Well this time you took it... Congratulations..." The man said. His voice was cracked and deep and completely disturbing for such a small child like person. "We'll have it back now though, thankyou."
He said this with absolutely no emotion. No inflection. And his voice sounded so familiar. Like someones that I had always known.
The woman did not respond to this except to spit on the ground in contempt. "Ill do what I came here for she said... and with that she flung her little boot knife at the boy... flink. As it nearly struck him in the face he flicked it to the ground....
The wolves grew vocal and angry at this... As if it were an affront to the entirety of their religion and made for the girl once again... And this time they were not alone. The little man rushed the distance between him and the cliff and quickly caught the girls neck making it there before the dogs. Jumping up on her knees to make the distance and then pulling her down with him to accommodate his shortness at the ground.
"What now girl?" Impish boy called to her sweetly as he was crushing her neck... "Give me back what's mine? Ill let you go?" The intensity with which the boy was crushing her neck was devastating to watch... The once gloating smile and taunting look dropped from her face leaving a blank white knowledge in her eye. She had chanced too much. She hadn't run fast enough.
Then there was something else. Something foreign that I'd never seen a human express.
A fastness. A calmness.
A quick snatch and now she had him by his throat as well... She pounced and pushed him onto his back using her height as an advantage. The wolves stood around taught as a drawn bow, but would not apparently challenge the contestants...
"And what of your family? You sister? What of them?" The little man asked his face rigid with the struggle...
The girl pulled out of his grasp and looked down on his as struggled wildly. "I know where they've gone."
"Then you must arrange to see them again! You must arrange freedom for them!" The little squealed at her.
The girl smiled at this, to my surprise, and said..." I'd much rather you visit them for me."
Little man snapped his finger and the wolves shot forward. Just then, though, my mouth fell open as slick black wings opened from the girls back and beat down once and quickly, just diving over the heads of the charging dogs, and over to her little knife in the sand...
She quickly pulled little man by the hair of his head and beat those wings three or so times more to hover over the dogs who were below her now yapping and whining for the leader to be returned.
"Remember this!" She screamed at the dogs. "Remember how there was nothing you could do!" Remember ... remember when you begin to feel safe again!" She laughed a little... I couldn't tell who was evil any more... I couldn't tell who I should help.
She fingered the tiny knife in her right hand and then quickly pulled it across little mans throat...
He en-hailed with a slight chug as she dropped him to the ground and made the smallest of thuds in the dusty sand.
The wolves looked up angrily and she flew off.
I bolted up sweating as my alarm rolled pleated out its tell tale fog horn sound.
Blink. Blink.
"DAMMIT!" Churned through my head like a track on a CD skipping as I jumped down from my top bunk to look for clothing and shoes. It can not be 7:50... It just can NOT BE! Kakis. Check. Ok. Teeth... NO! no. You have 10 minutes! It takes you 6 to make it across from your room! Shirt. Books. .... Tie.
Grrraaaaah! I was mad as hell. How could I have hit snooze that many times! I was stepping out of the room as I noticed and odd sensation... "The carpet is very short here... i thought." Gah! Shoes... I slipped some on and snatched at a very large, very ugly scarf on my way out the door.
:slam!: I passed boys in various stages of un-dress through the hall as I dashed madly for the side door of the dormatory.
"Hi josh!" My hall leader called out brightly. He'd obviously been slowly sipping Turkish coffee for hours.
"GrumN pEeh. Rah." I said as I zipped past him. Tucking my shirt in in the mean time.
I skipped down the stairs to the first floor exit two at a time glancing at my MOTOrazor the whole While. 7:54.
"OK. Alright Mr. Medlin. You're gonne be just fine.... just fine!" I heard in my head.
I shot out of the building forgetting all social graces and a bumped past two senior 'handsome soccer players.'
"Sorry! Sorry!" I offered as they shot me looks of disgust.
"Late... I'm Sorry!"
And then as the fates must have decided. There was Amanda. Even now as I type the name, it brings an utter revolt. So much so that I was required to look away from my typing and stare at a dark corner of the room.
Amanda Huss. Be mindful reader, it was not so then. 'Then' it hardly made a difference when I saw her. But.... the time would come... let it be known.
She wandered past with a group of acads.
"Josh!" She called out from the fray of them.... "Josh! Hi!"
I turned and greeted her happily.
"Hey Manda! Hey nice to see you." I said... Walking backwards away from her towards my classroom.
"Hey... you commin to church tonight?" She asked smiling at me all red haired and jolly.
"Yeah!... yeah... Ill see ya. I've gotta run. Late for Doctrines..." I turned and jogged towards lecture B.
I made it at the sound of the bell. The kids in the seats next to me all seemed rather perturbed at the size of my book bag; but it couldnt be helped. I didn't have time to stroll back to my room to change and fraternize with my friends on the hall between classes. I would be going till 1PM. And then work. So I squeezed in between peoples twice my size. I must have looked like a pack mule.
"Alright students" said the withered old man at the head of gray room.. "Would you please all take out a pencil and some notebook paper... and write for me todays quiz. Word perfect... John 4:24. You will have ten minutes to complete this....
Ok. Ok. I don't have to worry about this... but I did. Amongst all the things that Id gathered from my room on the way out, none of them were either pencil, nor paper. I whispered and annoyingly borrowed them from other students in my row... and began to write.
"John 4:24"
"God is spirit, and they that worship him should worship him in spirit and in truth."
I signed my name, and passed my paper to the end of the row for grading and then promptly fell asleep. I wandered if I could find out where that girl had flown off to... I wondered if I should follow her.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Delete
Then as now we are surrounded by waste. How often do people eat off of porcelain anymore. Paper. Plastic. Cheap and irrelevant. And so is our communication. A swipe or a button gets rid of days worth of conversation with your closest friend... Traceless. Painless. There are so very few rituals anymore.
I've kept letters from those first 6 months with X. God but weren't we ridiculous. I remember glass eyed, how little scraps of paper became offerings. Sacrifices... to each other. It was something arcane, and X felt as well as I that whatever we had thought about the world had been wrong. That nothing before that other simpler minds had thought true, necessarily was. That this was true. And that should we forget... should we grow old or be forced back from one another... we would have these artifacts. We would have bits and pieces of the way that were and that those ruins would lead us back to our own Mesopotamia.
I have all of those things. And even in the fall out of it all I couldn't throw them out. Something about the way each piece of paper and little bit of stolen stationary.... notebook pages, there was a translucent smoke that slowly seeped out of them. It was the very smell of justice. Of wholesome and honest affection... I know you're judging me for these remembrances. And you're more than welcome. But mark me this one thing... I still won't throw those letters away.
I can't imagine a time in my life were I will not want to remember the grit and the sweat and the reckless self abandon that came with first love. How the presence of that person. How holding those simplest of gift in my hands even to this day makes me feel like I alone watched creation. Like I, a dark specter... know the secrets of life.
I hate this fickle devotion to speed in our culture. There's nothing wrong with sitting down and having a conversation with someone without checking your phone every eight seconds. We are intended to interface and build memories of real breathing flesh and blood.
I'm not the best at it for sure. Lets be honest, sometimes it's easier to play angry birds or pay attention to who's checking in where on foursquare than it is to deal with that annoyingly nasal consonance of our acquaintances. Brothers I understand apathy. But we are the ones who miss out. We don't get to see life as nature gave it to us... We're watching the special on a flatscreen as Oprah narrates.
This was made all to painfully clear to me on the way home from Alabama. I had been out of contact with nearly every one for a week and sort of missed sharing pictures and video. Why not? I mean I missed the emoticons and the comradeship of sorts. But our electronic personalities are oh so very different than our real ones. Our real breathing persons.
I was Texting:
Gary> So how was the trip? Did you have fun?
ME< It was super fun! I'm so relaxed! If I was any more relaxed I would shit myself!
Gary> Mmmm. Mature.
ME<Shut up. How's your week going?
Gary> It's ok. Hey. So. Have you heard anything from David?
ME<Which one... Skinny tweeker David? Fat Dave Who Smells Like A Bird Cage?
Gary> Skinny tweeker one... He used to work with me...
ME<Oh no... I mean I saw him around before Mexico. He looks aweful.
Gary> Yeah. I was... he's not...
ME< He's dead?
:Minutes Pass:
Gary>Yeah.
Me<OD?
Gary> Suicide. I think. The obituary wasn't all that specific. I didn't want to be the one to tell you... I thought you might have known already.
Me<It's not exactly un-expected.He kept wanting to hang out and stuff... I just didn't have the time. I told him he needed to go to rehab.
Gary>Yeah. Well...
Me<Hey can we talk later?
Gary>Yeah cool.
I fiddled with the phone for a moment thinking it over. David. Wow. I felt guilty. I hadn't done anything. I rationalized.
The I flicked back to the conversation thread... and slid my thumb left to right across the polished glass surface.
I clicked delete.
I've kept letters from those first 6 months with X. God but weren't we ridiculous. I remember glass eyed, how little scraps of paper became offerings. Sacrifices... to each other. It was something arcane, and X felt as well as I that whatever we had thought about the world had been wrong. That nothing before that other simpler minds had thought true, necessarily was. That this was true. And that should we forget... should we grow old or be forced back from one another... we would have these artifacts. We would have bits and pieces of the way that were and that those ruins would lead us back to our own Mesopotamia.
I have all of those things. And even in the fall out of it all I couldn't throw them out. Something about the way each piece of paper and little bit of stolen stationary.... notebook pages, there was a translucent smoke that slowly seeped out of them. It was the very smell of justice. Of wholesome and honest affection... I know you're judging me for these remembrances. And you're more than welcome. But mark me this one thing... I still won't throw those letters away.
I can't imagine a time in my life were I will not want to remember the grit and the sweat and the reckless self abandon that came with first love. How the presence of that person. How holding those simplest of gift in my hands even to this day makes me feel like I alone watched creation. Like I, a dark specter... know the secrets of life.
I hate this fickle devotion to speed in our culture. There's nothing wrong with sitting down and having a conversation with someone without checking your phone every eight seconds. We are intended to interface and build memories of real breathing flesh and blood.
I'm not the best at it for sure. Lets be honest, sometimes it's easier to play angry birds or pay attention to who's checking in where on foursquare than it is to deal with that annoyingly nasal consonance of our acquaintances. Brothers I understand apathy. But we are the ones who miss out. We don't get to see life as nature gave it to us... We're watching the special on a flatscreen as Oprah narrates.
This was made all to painfully clear to me on the way home from Alabama. I had been out of contact with nearly every one for a week and sort of missed sharing pictures and video. Why not? I mean I missed the emoticons and the comradeship of sorts. But our electronic personalities are oh so very different than our real ones. Our real breathing persons.
I was Texting:
Gary> So how was the trip? Did you have fun?
ME< It was super fun! I'm so relaxed! If I was any more relaxed I would shit myself!
Gary> Mmmm. Mature.
ME<Shut up. How's your week going?
Gary> It's ok. Hey. So. Have you heard anything from David?
ME<Which one... Skinny tweeker David? Fat Dave Who Smells Like A Bird Cage?
Gary> Skinny tweeker one... He used to work with me...
ME<Oh no... I mean I saw him around before Mexico. He looks aweful.
Gary> Yeah. I was... he's not...
ME< He's dead?
:Minutes Pass:
Gary>Yeah.
Me<OD?
Gary> Suicide. I think. The obituary wasn't all that specific. I didn't want to be the one to tell you... I thought you might have known already.
Me<It's not exactly un-expected.He kept wanting to hang out and stuff... I just didn't have the time. I told him he needed to go to rehab.
Gary>Yeah. Well...
Me<Hey can we talk later?
Gary>Yeah cool.
I fiddled with the phone for a moment thinking it over. David. Wow. I felt guilty. I hadn't done anything. I rationalized.
The I flicked back to the conversation thread... and slid my thumb left to right across the polished glass surface.
I clicked delete.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Not Collusion. Really. Not at all.
How shall I speak of vacation? Where shall I begin? Exhaustion. Completion. Insight. Confirmation. Delight. Speculation. Excess Excess Excess. Sun of the kind that you can be certain will turn you a brown had only in the Mayan Riviera. I mean… Ive been wearing 45 since the beginning, and am now the color of some old grand-mamma biddy’s piano. We’ve spent 5 days on a ship called elation. It’s inexorably efficient. In a way that makes analogue time pieces other than Tag Hauer look shoddy. Two days ago I hadn’t touched my lunch. Got up for a moment to find a fork. When I returned my place setting completely evaporated… leaving me with a surprised look staring at two forlorn little blond children eating jelly. Not Jello. Jelly. Oh… I don’t know what special amalgam of happy pills they have these little brown worker bees on… but it’s working. And I’m envious. I think it’s a combination of a work ethic that has been imprinted on them by their society, and the knowledge that they will be able to by each of their 12 children a new iPad 2 for Christmas.
I started running 5 miles a day in preparation for what I knew was going to an influx of caloric in-take. Sad, I thought that the first taste of the road my new addidas FORMOTIONs would get would be the treadmill of a c-list hotel. Oh well. I broke ‘em the fuck in. I realized then after that first five miles, that I wasn’t quite sure at all how far I had been running every day. I mean during the usual run, I have a start point and an end point, and I just sort of vacillate between them. But now I was working with a machine that was made how far I went rather painfully obvious. Delighted. Absolutely delighted. For the following days on the ship, regardless of land excursions, I consistently ran 5 miles. If not all at once, a 5k, and then after the pool 2 more miles. The culmination of this was yesterday, when after completing my first 5k in the morning before breakfast and Calica, I returned to the ship for another somewhat surprising 5k… that I strongly believe was brought on by a 30 minute stint in the sauna and lots and lots of water. As you can imagine, I’m a bit pleased with myself. Not the kind of pleased with myself that turns you into a douchebag. The kind the lets you sit down quietly to a nice hot mug of green tea and smile complacently at strangers.
The brings up another fascinating aspect of the trip. A cruise is nearly exactly the opposite of how real life works. In life we have an un-known number of boarders and also and un-known number of people on the way out at any give time. It is without confinement and a bit bewildering. The ship on the other hand has a precisely controlled number of occupants. The same number is allowed on as is allowed off. In that sense it’s even more regulated than the heaven told about in fables about mystic Hebrew god. I can not impress upon a reader the import of this knowledge, and how this confinement forces the occupant into a sort of complacency so much like prison that the occupant is left with two options. Better yourself, or allow yourself to drift into atrophy. I chose… of course, the former. To a degree that surprised me. And I think the other members of my party.
Cozumel happened on Tuesday. Just like all the other port cities in the country that have frequent visitors from the U.S. there are ridiculously underpriced luxury liquors and antibiotics, mood-altering drugs, handbags and watches for the taking duty and tax free. Be advised Ive brought all of my friends back at least a box full of name brand Zanax. You’re going to want to chew half of one of these before having a conversation with me if your going to be closing with me at Starbucks. I promise to preface every conversation with…. ‘When I went snorkeling in Cozumel…’ or… ‘When I was in Mexico….’ And Im sure for the listener thats going to get old real quick. The boat quickly became navigate-able simply by noticing the types of herding that was happening. It can be broken down into a few archetypes. Affluence is a given. Either direct ownership or nearly immediate blood relation. Types include. ‘JCrew models. Male. Late teen and early 20’s’ Pack was nearly always 5 or 6 in number and nearly always only wearing kaki shorts with critter belts. Rainbow sandals and RayBans. Yawn. In passing them you can expect them only to be talking of the doings and thoughts of other facsimiles of themselves. There’s the ‘Nearly almost but not quite dead, and still drinking’ Those had constant froufrou drinks in their claws and many of them traveled in ones and twos being dragged around or pushed ever forward in a wheel chair provided by Carnival. Other types may include ‘Family with 3 smallish children.’ Alpha male nearly always had a Bud-light in his hands, and Alpha female paid little if no mind to the offspring, but fumbled through the spa catalogue and planned her next procedure with a glint of malice in her eyes. Mostly blond women. I hope that gives some insight into the types that I would inevitably bump into on the stair cases. I did not take elevators. Both because they were never faster than just walking where you needed to go, and because everyone else on them was either too stupid or intoxicated to realize how rude they were being in those confined spaces. Also I’d recently watched ‘Devil.’
In Cozumel, beneath the waters of one of the beaches reserved for snorkelers someone had the artistic planning to sink a 25 foot tall statue in the cove. I was surprised to find it. It was sort of a bent shape. Humanoid and unrealistically thin for a person of that height. It’s arms were outstretched and I decided that it must be a dancer. It’s not so well articulated face was turned chin-up towards the skin of the water… like it was trying to feel again what it was like to breathe and to feel the sun on its face. Some said the statue was Jesus. Some said it was Mary. I dunno. It didn’t look like either… and didn’t have any visible sex indicators. I decided it was a dancer. And so to me it will stay. It was 18 feet down to reach it to touch its long undulating arms… I managed to make the distance. Although I believe my lungs were much beleaguered at my rambling attempts. Like all real statues it was meant to be touched. And so in compliance with that compulsion… I did.
Calica was a bit different… And some in the party made note of that, complaining a bit more about it’s heat and boringness. I found it the farthest thing from boring. We made our way to one of the resorts along the beach a few short miles by buss from the port. Abject poverty hid slyly behind the glitz and glamour of architectural investment. After the buss ride, the tour guide ‘Saul’… pronounced ‘SA ooh el’ happily ushered us to a place to store our crap and then where we should begin an underground river swim. 1 mile about. Enjoy-able only for the shocking coldness of the water… I wont speak much of the other occupants of the river. Suffice it to say that it was much like riding the elevators in the boat. Perhaps a little more irritating. There were more people vacationing from France and other places around Mexico. South America even… than I had run into in Cozumel. This park had a re-creation of an Aztec village. Complete with temple and tiny industrial shacks. Most of the workers at the resort found my knowledge of Spanish a surprise and a charm. I made a point to talk to as many people as was comfortable and was interested to learn that many of them lead lives like my own. Complacent. Content. Education levels seemed rather lacking. Mostly because some of the food vendors in the little stands around the coves had a confusing time calculating the exchange rate… I suppose I can hardly blame them for the exchange rate being in the flux that it’s in… or the availability of high quality marijuana to speed their days along and make sure they don’t become overly irritated with the tourists.
Here’s the thing you should know about cruise lines. Most of them limit the amount of personal alcohol you can bring aboard. Mostly because just like prison, they would like to be the sole providers of any luxury. Also the wifi is locked and… should you decided to subscribe to the service they are going to make you mortgage your first born to pay for it. I realized I didn’t much need the internet as it could be a way to force creativity. And trust me there are ways around paying for liquor on the boat. Here are a few handy trips for getting around the cruise employees from snatching your duty/tax free alcohol and locking it up until you’re back state-side. Set up a small trafficking staff. Two will do for most trips. Buyer and Mule. Buyer needs access to a decent amount of cash, depending of course on the amount of alcohol required. Some notes on the mule… They need to be one of two things. And they should always have a large beach bag with two or three clearish plastic containers that are clearly meant for water of soft-drinks.
1. Complicit, Intelligent, and more than a little self assured of success. Bilingual is a plus. Being disarmingly good looking, and smiling easily are not necessary but sure as hell help.
2. Blithely un aware of what’s happening but being a close friend of the Provider. Provider must have constant access to Mules beach bag… also Provider needs to fill a role of leadership and companionship.
I was the former. My success rate is 100% both at American and Mexican borders. Most of you have my contact information if you would like more personal advice and attention. All told we cheated Carnival out of about 400$ in alcohol sales by my rough estimate.
A few more tips on successful for the successful mule:
1. Do not allow confidence to flag. You’ve got this, and probably in the bag. Remember the worst that can happen with legal substances is that it can be acquired by security and held. Such a situation is an acknowledged loss… but lets remember it’s not a gamble if there isn’t a possibility of loss.
2. Don’t allow Purveyor to make transfers too and from clear containers. You’re better off doing it yourself. You know your beach bag better than they do. Also… you’re responsible for convincing the guards that nothing fishy is going on. The best way to do that is to know exactly where everything is.
3. Always choose a public restroom to make transfers. Preferably during a rush of patrons. This was not a problem in a busy port and should not be for you, reader.
4. Move with purpose and think of other things as you make your way to a private restroom stall. Make the transfer and remember to flush the toilet.
5. Lastly… discard the liquor bottle packaging and shopping bag precisely as they were purchased. Optionally you can put all of that in another bag without indication of purchased product. Deposit in a waste receptacle without much concern on your face. You’re good to board. Smile.
Collusion: Part XXXI
What is the thing that hurt you first… and hurt you the deepest? I know right? Why the hell would I ask that? It’s none of my business really. But that’s the thing that I wanted to know. I was thinking the other day… how profoundly the things that had hurt me had changed me. Changed me for the better. And that should be the most powerful arbiter of change.
I was so hot you could taste it all the way back in your soft pallet. We had finished building the new place. Rough sawn cedar all the way around. We did it ourselves. As I think back on it… we almost always were building something. Repairing something. I know how to used just about everything in Home Depot. Neumatic nail gun. Roofing nailer. Hammer. Chop saw. A lot of people from where Im from are that way though. We build. We are the dreamers of dreams.
18 feet sheets of corrugated rust resistant aluminized tin. If you can shoot through that stuff, then you deserve to get where your’e going. My brother was helping too. He and I have about the same amount of differences as a seal and a sealion. The frame and the wall were in place on the building. Ever so slight breezes were making eddys and playing games with the saw dust that we hadn’t managed to sweep up. The screw gun made the most determined noises as it pushed the angry little screws through the metal and into the heavy beams. Ererererer. Eeeeek. Ap ap. Repeat. We’d gotten through with the side closest to the pine trees, and the sun was making it’s way down the sky. It was cooling a bit. Two more to go. Almost done. And good too. Im getting hungry. The next sheet of metal slipped a hair while I was putting it in position. Oww. Way oww!
I had to get down of off that roof quick. I’d cut a fleshy smile on the finger print area of my ring finger. I filled a towel up with blood and taped it up. Such a curious little scar it is. And so odd that it should be right there. I took it as a karmic message. If I ever slide a ring on the finger… it’s going to have to be fore someone who Im sure can hurt me exponentially more than a piece of corrugated tin.
Interested? I’m interesting.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Collusion: Part XXX
Circle. Moon. Earth. Symbolic of an extraterrestrial sort of intelligence. Thought patters run in them. All sustainable systems burn in cycles. Perhaps the incidents that come to have the most meaning in our lives are those moments when a tangent forces the end of a cycle… and then enacts permanently bonded change. A mother gives birth. Your dog gets hit by a truck as you look on. You remember exactly the moment when… she broke your heart.
But which patterns are healthy ones? It’s hard to tell sometimes.
I have to share reader, that I find writing be a little tangent for me. I can almost hear a bottle cap pop when I begin. Though really Im never precisely certain what Ill be pouring one day to the next. Water? Or Sweet Tea? Blackberry wine? Or Jack? Or Pepsi? To some degree or another. Who cares? I’m dumping shit out.
As I have to some degree waxed nostalgic of a late… I’ll follow this path for a time. As I have mentioned before I was quite a voracious reader as a child. The tiny dusty white library was in St. Matthews. A short drive into town would bring me within reach of the thing that I craved most. Knowledge. It felt more intimate than the sort of statistics that you rattle off when you’re trying to be impressive though. It felt like I could leave the dirt roads and wet heat and soy bean fields beneath me and I could float up and up… To every which way but back down.
The librarians were a mysterious thing to me. Most of the were nearly fallen into their tombs with age, and their accents were all something Mayberry. I had heard their names many times, but that always slipped my mind when Mom would take us by the place. I was rather a shy child. And you know, there’s nothing at all wrong with that. I suppose at the time I was uncomfortably aware of it though. I always wondered what others thought of me.
My Mother was very scrupulous of what she allowed me to check out from the library. She understood that books are just as dangerous as a loaded gun in the night stand. Perhaps more so. Books are tangents also. The books that we had laying around the house had been read and re read and I arrived at the feeling of curiosity about what other books might have to say. I had first thought that all the reading in our little white library might be only more of the same as what we had at home. Or that the books in the little white library would be a reflection of the building itself. That they would be sinless… sturdy… dusty. This was not so. I’d sooner vote republican.
I chose the books that I brought up to the counter judiciously. Weighing carefully the likely hood that Mom would read the spine, or not be over fond of the cover… and tell me to put it back. I didn’t really understand why should would find some in poorer taste than others… but who can say why, at that age mothers do what they do. Mothers are arbitrary.
Along and Along as we made more trips to and from the little white library I noticed that mom was paying less attention to the books I picked out. She would perhaps be using the computers, or talking with a librarian. And then of course there was John and Beth to be concerned about. I saw an opportunity to use less discretion in my selections… and so I decided to do just that. It was as much fun as throwing glitter.
I was a stealthy thing though. Hmmmm yes. I would pick two or so boring books that I knew Mom would find appropriate… and then slide something in between them. Whichever one I found most intriguing. The one that I would read thirstily and blithely ignore the others. Once I found a treasure trove of a read in Anne Rice’s ‘The Witching Hour.’ So adeptly sensuous. So filled with over wrought emotion. Fantastical tales about witchcraft. And… And women. And shockingly vivid vampires… and sex. There were so many things I thought I understood about the story when I read them. Rice painted. She worked for those words and that story. This little boy thought she was some sort of genius of the criminal mastermind variety.
There were other books too. There was one titled ‘speak.’ It was by some somebody that I cant remember. In it I was introduced to a 9th grade girl. Something was very wrong with her… but I couldn’t tell what. This girl didn’t pray or go to church or anything. She cried often, and hardly spoke to anyone at school. She cut herself sometimes. Turns out though it made sense by the end of the book. She had been raped by one of her peers in a broom closet at school. The closing scenes were fantastic! She fought the boy, with his wanton and filthy desires… he was chocking her… and he pushed her head hard into a mirror. It broke. As the fight moved to the floor she snatched a shard of the thing and stabbed that horrible boy in the neck. And ya know? Good for her! I wanted to give her a hug…
I drank up Tolkien. All the way to the Silmarillion. Which didn’t make a lick of sense until I read it again. It was an intoxicating story of … well a sort of retelling of the Greek myths with name changes.
Dickenson. Shakespeare. Blake. Emmerson. Shelly. Some Bible.
I replicated this process innumerable times. I longed to feel… beyond. And so I did. Each new story began something. The marks that those books left on me are permanent.
I wonder if I still have anything that’s due.
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