"The Name Game," said Paris watching me gobble down a chicken parm
grinder. "Sounds interesting." I bounced the idea around between bites of the
grinder and swallows of soda.
"My name isn't on this list is it? I can't imagine there are too many women
named Paris out there." She crossed her legs under the table. I could hear the
sleek black skirt enjoying its duty covering her toned thighs.
"No, no, no that's not how it works." I swallowing a little fizz.
"I have to find a six women who's first name begins with a letter of the alphabet
that I haven't been with yet."
Her phone rang. Without looking at the caller I.D. she said, "I'm eating, you
asshole. I'll call you back when I'm done!"
"Who was that?" I asked attempting to fish my orange lollipop out of the
soda bottle.
"Who cares. They'll call back. They always do."
"You fucking kill me."
"So what letters are left?" Her blue eyes sparkled as they caught a slight
ray of sunshine.
"Z, x, y, u, f, and ... shit. I can't remember the last one. But I'm done. I
didn't know how impossible this was going to be until I really thought about it. I may
as well declare another year of celibacy and call it a day."
I always declared celibacy if there was no interest/intimacy/action. With the
"tank" tops and various other slim pickin's celibacy was becoming the norm.
"Keep your panties on. Zoe, Xena, Yolanda, Ursula and Fran. That's it. You
should be all set."
"And I know ooooh soooo many people with these names."
"Don't be an asshole."
"I haven't even started this quest yet and I'm starting to hate it."
"I like it. I wonder how I would do if I went through my list." She
stared off into the afternoon and her eyes melted with the sunny blue sky.
Paris had a list but she was very quiet about it. She had a quality that all of my
females friends had, she was quick. She was always on her toes. She realized at a young
age that you got more done on your toes than on your back.
"I didn't even know where to start looking for some of these names so I bought
a baby names book."
"You are so pathetic." She said laughing out loud. "I'll tell you
were to start. Lose ten pounds."
"What the f.."
"Maybe twenty. Lose twenty. It's all in your face. You look good but I've seen you look
better. I'm just telling you how it is. We're getting older and it's harder to keep in
shape. Look at me though I don't have to work really hard for this now one day I
will." I looked. I didn't hear her black skirt complaining about her waistline.
Her sleeveless blue blouse didn't have much to say either.
"I want you to play the name game not the shame game. The name game," she
said again finishing her water. "I like it."
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, January 31, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
38 - Goals
"There has to be something more to it than this," I said standing
on Stotler's back porch. "I need some new goals."
"Maybe that's something telling you to settle down," he said
taking a swig of his beer.
"Who are you now, Dr. Phil?" The machines hissed and sputtered.
Things had just been slow lately. I hadn't hooked up in a while
and I really didn't have any interest in anyone new.
I still was chasing in Terry but she had found someone who had sparked
her interest. Paris was never really an option there is so much there
but there is also so much missing that would make the relationship
work. She's like a cross between Traci Lords and a young hot Martha Stewart.
I was just so tired of the bar scene. The last time I even felt
the "urge to merge" was at the wedding I attended in Maine. She was
married and I had a seven hour drive home and no money for a hotel
room.
I let the smoke roll out of my mouth and stared up at the stars.
"You must be on crack. I mean that this whole hooking up this has gotten
old. I need to find a new way to approach it."
"Maybe he's right," chimed in his younger brother. It could be
time for you to settle down. Look at me I've been with the same girl
for almost two years and I'm still happy."
"Candy ass." I said taking a deep drag of the American Spirit
red. "Ignorance is bliss, kid. Don't take this the wrong way but the
reason I'm not married or in a long term relationship is because I'm
not going to make some poor woman put up with the torture of being with my
ignorant ass. Besides I keep telling you should experiment more."
"Yeah but if he's happy why crush it for him," said Stotler
swatting at a moth.
"How many girls have you been with?" I said pointing at the
younger Stotler.
"Dude," said the older Stotler almost laughing, "this is my
younger brother!"
"No listen to me. I'm not saying that you have to bang every girl you can.
Not to say I haven't tried. What I am saying by being with more than one person
... intimately ... you get a chance to find out what you like and don't like in
a relationship. By being with more than say three or four people," I said
blowing smoke toward the younger Stotler, "you get to recognize things you don't
like sooner. To me dating is like practice for marriage. The more practice I
get the better I'll be at the real thing!"
"Here we go," said the older Stotler.
"I can give you the name and birthday of almost all of the women
I've slept with and what I do and don't like about them."
"Almost all?"
"There's a list." Said the older Stotler opening a second beer.
The moth was still flying between him and the light.
"How big of a list?"
"He won't say." said Stotler.
"It's not as bad as everyone thinks." I said trying to find
something interesting to look at on the porch.
"How big?"
"I'm missing five letters of the alphabet."
"Dude," he said sounding like his older brother, "You've slept with
twenty-one people?!?"
"There've been a few repeats." I said under my breath. "That's not the
point. I even admitted that it's getting old."
"So why don't you try to complete the alphabet and the try setting down?"
The three of us just looked at each other. I had found my new goal.
"I'll call it the name game." I said flicking my cigarette into the
darkness.
That Beautiful Black Man
on Stotler's back porch. "I need some new goals."
"Maybe that's something telling you to settle down," he said
taking a swig of his beer.
"Who are you now, Dr. Phil?" The machines hissed and sputtered.
Things had just been slow lately. I hadn't hooked up in a while
and I really didn't have any interest in anyone new.
I still was chasing in Terry but she had found someone who had sparked
her interest. Paris was never really an option there is so much there
but there is also so much missing that would make the relationship
work. She's like a cross between Traci Lords and a young hot Martha Stewart.
I was just so tired of the bar scene. The last time I even felt
the "urge to merge" was at the wedding I attended in Maine. She was
married and I had a seven hour drive home and no money for a hotel
room.
I let the smoke roll out of my mouth and stared up at the stars.
"You must be on crack. I mean that this whole hooking up this has gotten
old. I need to find a new way to approach it."
"Maybe he's right," chimed in his younger brother. It could be
time for you to settle down. Look at me I've been with the same girl
for almost two years and I'm still happy."
"Candy ass." I said taking a deep drag of the American Spirit
red. "Ignorance is bliss, kid. Don't take this the wrong way but the
reason I'm not married or in a long term relationship is because I'm
not going to make some poor woman put up with the torture of being with my
ignorant ass. Besides I keep telling you should experiment more."
"Yeah but if he's happy why crush it for him," said Stotler
swatting at a moth.
"How many girls have you been with?" I said pointing at the
younger Stotler.
"Dude," said the older Stotler almost laughing, "this is my
younger brother!"
"No listen to me. I'm not saying that you have to bang every girl you can.
Not to say I haven't tried. What I am saying by being with more than one person
... intimately ... you get a chance to find out what you like and don't like in
a relationship. By being with more than say three or four people," I said
blowing smoke toward the younger Stotler, "you get to recognize things you don't
like sooner. To me dating is like practice for marriage. The more practice I
get the better I'll be at the real thing!"
"Here we go," said the older Stotler.
"I can give you the name and birthday of almost all of the women
I've slept with and what I do and don't like about them."
"Almost all?"
"There's a list." Said the older Stotler opening a second beer.
The moth was still flying between him and the light.
"How big of a list?"
"He won't say." said Stotler.
"It's not as bad as everyone thinks." I said trying to find
something interesting to look at on the porch.
"How big?"
"I'm missing five letters of the alphabet."
"Dude," he said sounding like his older brother, "You've slept with
twenty-one people?!?"
"There've been a few repeats." I said under my breath. "That's not the
point. I even admitted that it's getting old."
"So why don't you try to complete the alphabet and the try setting down?"
The three of us just looked at each other. I had found my new goal.
"I'll call it the name game." I said flicking my cigarette into the
darkness.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
37 - Just a Thought
"Just a thought," I said slowly drinking my pineapple juice.
"Oh Christ," sighed Stotler. Friday nights were becoming a bit slower for us. We were now the older guys out at the bar and it seemed like the selection of younger women just wasn't what it was. For the most part we saw these pudgy little twenty-one year olds in tank tops. To me the term "tank" top had taken on new meaning.
He's still married and I hunt like a married guy so there wasn't really anything interesting for us to do except talk.
"I think I'm going to have a closed funeral."
"You always bring up the weirdest sh*t at the weirdest times."
"Do you see anything in here worth talking to, married guy?"
He looked around and then looked back at his beer.
"Why are you going to have a closed funeral?" He said rolling his eyes.
"Let me rephrase that. It will be more of an invite only type of thing. The last few funerals that I've gone to no one really knows anyone else and everyone crawls out of the woodwork just to say good-bye. I've said it before, if you can't bring yourself to call, write, or shoot an e-mail while I'm alive why the fuck should you come to my funeral?"
"What about the people who stop talking to you so they don't have to go."
"I'm far too interesting not to talk to for too long," I said watching some geek attempting to buy "tank" top a drink.
"Yeah but what about the people who actually get the invite?"
"I was more into the thought that someone would show up at the door and be turned away because their name wasn't on the list. Can you imagine getting denied at a funeral like it was a club in Manhattan?"
"You're a whack job. You would turn away those people who got invites?"
"No, no, no. The people with the invites would get in no problem. I'm just thinking about the stragglers."
"The stragglers?" he asked flagging the waitress.
"You know the people who don't write or call but show up and cry like teething babies. If you can't take time for me while I'm here then don't come visit me when I'm dead."
He looked at the girl in the pink "tank" top and shook his head.
"The treadmill is your friend. Don't be afraid of it." I said just loud enough for him to hear.
"Dude you kill me."
"Anyway the only thing that pisses me off is that I won't be there to see the faces of the people who get turned away."
"You already have this list don't you."
"Treadmill," I coughed as the "tank" top walked by again. "You won't know until I'm dead now will you."
"I did mention you were a whack job, didn't I?"
"Just a thought." I said finishing off my pineapple juice.
That Beautiful Black Man
"Oh Christ," sighed Stotler. Friday nights were becoming a bit slower for us. We were now the older guys out at the bar and it seemed like the selection of younger women just wasn't what it was. For the most part we saw these pudgy little twenty-one year olds in tank tops. To me the term "tank" top had taken on new meaning.
He's still married and I hunt like a married guy so there wasn't really anything interesting for us to do except talk.
"I think I'm going to have a closed funeral."
"You always bring up the weirdest sh*t at the weirdest times."
"Do you see anything in here worth talking to, married guy?"
He looked around and then looked back at his beer.
"Why are you going to have a closed funeral?" He said rolling his eyes.
"Let me rephrase that. It will be more of an invite only type of thing. The last few funerals that I've gone to no one really knows anyone else and everyone crawls out of the woodwork just to say good-bye. I've said it before, if you can't bring yourself to call, write, or shoot an e-mail while I'm alive why the fuck should you come to my funeral?"
"What about the people who stop talking to you so they don't have to go."
"I'm far too interesting not to talk to for too long," I said watching some geek attempting to buy "tank" top a drink.
"Yeah but what about the people who actually get the invite?"
"I was more into the thought that someone would show up at the door and be turned away because their name wasn't on the list. Can you imagine getting denied at a funeral like it was a club in Manhattan?"
"You're a whack job. You would turn away those people who got invites?"
"No, no, no. The people with the invites would get in no problem. I'm just thinking about the stragglers."
"The stragglers?" he asked flagging the waitress.
"You know the people who don't write or call but show up and cry like teething babies. If you can't take time for me while I'm here then don't come visit me when I'm dead."
He looked at the girl in the pink "tank" top and shook his head.
"The treadmill is your friend. Don't be afraid of it." I said just loud enough for him to hear.
"Dude you kill me."
"Anyway the only thing that pisses me off is that I won't be there to see the faces of the people who get turned away."
"You already have this list don't you."
"Treadmill," I coughed as the "tank" top walked by again. "You won't know until I'm dead now will you."
"I did mention you were a whack job, didn't I?"
"Just a thought." I said finishing off my pineapple juice.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
36 - A Calmer Peace
She just laughed. I liked her laugh. It was loud and uncaring like her.
If there was really a problem you would never know it. It was that way because
that was just the way she was and because in her words "It was none of your
goddamn business anyway!"
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to laugh but are you serious?!?" asked
Paris wiping away tears from her eyes.
I just shook my head yes and let the smoke trail into the late summer
afternoon. This one of the nice days we had had in a while so I decided to
visit Paris's couch.
"Anger management classes?!? Weren't you the one who said that he
wanted to keep the edge? Didn't you say that it would take away from your
creative spark if you veered off of your 'path'?"
"I was talking about Prozac and Zyban and all that medication shit.
This is different. I was thinking about seeing a shrink but they are far more
expensive."
She suddenly sat a little straighter. Her face changed from unbridled
amusement to almost caring concern.
"What's going on with you? I thought the writing was helping."
"It is but have you ever just been angry and not been able to figure
out why?" She looked off in memory. "I mean part of it is the job
but I'm working on that. I think a lot of it is just me. My thought was to
check out these classes and see where I get. If that fails look into
rent-a-friend."
"Rent-a-friend?"
"Yeah. To me going to see a shrink is like sitting with a buddy,
telling him your problems, and then loaning him ninety bucks you know you'll
never see again."
She just shook her head and smiled. "This is just far too depressing.
Let's pack a bowl." She said walking into the kitchen.
"I can't. It'll put me right to sleep and we both know I can't get
caught here sleeping."
"I don't know why I'm saying this but maybe you need some
direction."
"Duh!!"
"No, you asshole, with your little stories. They're entertaining but
maybe if there was a long term goal, an on going series you'd have something to
look forward to."
"This isn't going to turn into to another pitch to write a book is
it?"
"No. I'm just saying if you begin with a certain end in mind maybe
you'll reach a calmer peace. Now I'm going to pack this. Do you want
some?"
"Naw," I said. "I'm gonna go to class and then work on this
'calmer peace' thing."
I crushed my cigarette in the ashtray and let the last bit of smoke roll
off into memory.
That Beautiful Black Man
If there was really a problem you would never know it. It was that way because
that was just the way she was and because in her words "It was none of your
goddamn business anyway!"
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to laugh but are you serious?!?" asked
Paris wiping away tears from her eyes.
I just shook my head yes and let the smoke trail into the late summer
afternoon. This one of the nice days we had had in a while so I decided to
visit Paris's couch.
"Anger management classes?!? Weren't you the one who said that he
wanted to keep the edge? Didn't you say that it would take away from your
creative spark if you veered off of your 'path'?"
"I was talking about Prozac and Zyban and all that medication shit.
This is different. I was thinking about seeing a shrink but they are far more
expensive."
She suddenly sat a little straighter. Her face changed from unbridled
amusement to almost caring concern.
"What's going on with you? I thought the writing was helping."
"It is but have you ever just been angry and not been able to figure
out why?" She looked off in memory. "I mean part of it is the job
but I'm working on that. I think a lot of it is just me. My thought was to
check out these classes and see where I get. If that fails look into
rent-a-friend."
"Rent-a-friend?"
"Yeah. To me going to see a shrink is like sitting with a buddy,
telling him your problems, and then loaning him ninety bucks you know you'll
never see again."
She just shook her head and smiled. "This is just far too depressing.
Let's pack a bowl." She said walking into the kitchen.
"I can't. It'll put me right to sleep and we both know I can't get
caught here sleeping."
"I don't know why I'm saying this but maybe you need some
direction."
"Duh!!"
"No, you asshole, with your little stories. They're entertaining but
maybe if there was a long term goal, an on going series you'd have something to
look forward to."
"This isn't going to turn into to another pitch to write a book is
it?"
"No. I'm just saying if you begin with a certain end in mind maybe
you'll reach a calmer peace. Now I'm going to pack this. Do you want
some?"
"Naw," I said. "I'm gonna go to class and then work on this
'calmer peace' thing."
I crushed my cigarette in the ashtray and let the last bit of smoke roll
off into memory.
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, January 27, 2014
35 - The Apartment
"I just can't get over your apartment," I said after climbing the stairs
to Terry's place. "It's beautiful and all but I just have this weird feeling that
if I were to live here there would be daily strikes of lightening."
You could see the church from her kitchen window. She went back to her huge wrap
around couch. I always seemed to stop by on a Tuesday night when she was watching her
favorite shows.
I loved Terry's apartment. These were perhaps my five favorite rooms in the state
of CT. It was tastefully furnished. There was no unnecessary clutter unlike my place.
I am the typical single male/bear with furniture. In some rooms of my house there
are actually trails to get places. I have to leave bread crumbs to get back to my
office.
The room I liked most was the bedroom. It was always hot, in the literal sense. I
don't think the room ever went below 85ยบ. Heaven. The machines were quiet here.
I served one purpose for Terry; the unending back massage. I was known to stop up
and massage her back and brush her hair for hours while she watched her soaps, smoked,
ate wings, etc.
"I fell asleep." She said stretching.
"You look stressed," I said taking a seat behind her. She looked
beautiful.
"Just another shitty day at work."
"Let me see what I can do about that." I said working on her shoulders.
Terry was my experiment in intimacy. She was one of the few people I really didn't mind
spending time with. I had been brave enough to stay over once and I think my snoring
earned me a permanent place on the couch.
I like climbing her stairs. Hanging out with her makes me want to be a better man. Maybe that's why I just can't get over that apartment.
That Beautiful Black Man
to Terry's place. "It's beautiful and all but I just have this weird feeling that
if I were to live here there would be daily strikes of lightening."
You could see the church from her kitchen window. She went back to her huge wrap
around couch. I always seemed to stop by on a Tuesday night when she was watching her
favorite shows.
I loved Terry's apartment. These were perhaps my five favorite rooms in the state
of CT. It was tastefully furnished. There was no unnecessary clutter unlike my place.
I am the typical single male/bear with furniture. In some rooms of my house there
are actually trails to get places. I have to leave bread crumbs to get back to my
office.
The room I liked most was the bedroom. It was always hot, in the literal sense. I
don't think the room ever went below 85ยบ. Heaven. The machines were quiet here.
I served one purpose for Terry; the unending back massage. I was known to stop up
and massage her back and brush her hair for hours while she watched her soaps, smoked,
ate wings, etc.
"I fell asleep." She said stretching.
"You look stressed," I said taking a seat behind her. She looked
beautiful.
"Just another shitty day at work."
"Let me see what I can do about that." I said working on her shoulders.
Terry was my experiment in intimacy. She was one of the few people I really didn't mind
spending time with. I had been brave enough to stay over once and I think my snoring
earned me a permanent place on the couch.
I like climbing her stairs. Hanging out with her makes me want to be a better man. Maybe that's why I just can't get over that apartment.
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, January 24, 2014
34 - Hog-Tied
"Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, no siree!" Said Marrianne over the scratchy cell phone. "That's just not going to happen." I could see her shaking her long brunette curls back and forth. I pictured her eyes closed and her lips pursed. "What am I going to do with you?!?"
"Wait, wait. What you're saying is that you don't trust me?" I asked trying to look innocent even though she was almost two hundred miles away.
"Let me get this straight. You want to go out in the city, drink Jagermeister all night, come back to my apartment, and 'just sleep' in my bed?"
"Yeah. That's it. That's the plan." I could feel the slick smile cut across my face before I finished the first sentence.
"Do I sound like I'm from planet 'College Girl'? Don't even try that slick bullshit with me mister. I'm not one of your little chicks on the side." I could just picture her sitting on her bed in her blue tie-dyed T-shirt and gray sweat shorts.
I knew her ice blues were cutting across the room looking for something to throw at me. She is statuesque. A beautiful woman with looks that could be appreciated now or in the Victorian Age.
"The only one who sleeps in my bed with me is me."
"Well see now were on the same page. I agree. The only person who should sleep in your bed with you is me. You see I'm all about me, too." Even though I couldn't see it I could feel the ice in her gaze freezing the phone in my hands.
"The only way you will sleep in my bed with me, mister, is hog-tied, duck taped, and blindfolded."
"This is supposed to be a deterrent?!?"
"Here's how it goes. You come up to visit, we walk around the city, eat dinner, have a few drinks, catch up, and then you sleep on the couch with the cat."
I loved Marrianne. She was one of the women I know who could probably kick my ass sideways and then slap me back into shape. There was something striking yet very subtle about her. Men loved her but never knew they couldn't handle her free spirit until it was too late and she was bored to tears with them.
It had been almost two years since I'd seen her, but I felt like we just talked yesterday.
"Sounds like a plan." I said pretending to be disappointed.
"But could you explain how that hog-tying thing works?"
"Ahhhhh," she said in disgust. "What am I going to do with you?"
That Beautiful Black Man
"Wait, wait. What you're saying is that you don't trust me?" I asked trying to look innocent even though she was almost two hundred miles away.
"Let me get this straight. You want to go out in the city, drink Jagermeister all night, come back to my apartment, and 'just sleep' in my bed?"
"Yeah. That's it. That's the plan." I could feel the slick smile cut across my face before I finished the first sentence.
"Do I sound like I'm from planet 'College Girl'? Don't even try that slick bullshit with me mister. I'm not one of your little chicks on the side." I could just picture her sitting on her bed in her blue tie-dyed T-shirt and gray sweat shorts.
I knew her ice blues were cutting across the room looking for something to throw at me. She is statuesque. A beautiful woman with looks that could be appreciated now or in the Victorian Age.
"The only one who sleeps in my bed with me is me."
"Well see now were on the same page. I agree. The only person who should sleep in your bed with you is me. You see I'm all about me, too." Even though I couldn't see it I could feel the ice in her gaze freezing the phone in my hands.
"The only way you will sleep in my bed with me, mister, is hog-tied, duck taped, and blindfolded."
"This is supposed to be a deterrent?!?"
"Here's how it goes. You come up to visit, we walk around the city, eat dinner, have a few drinks, catch up, and then you sleep on the couch with the cat."
I loved Marrianne. She was one of the women I know who could probably kick my ass sideways and then slap me back into shape. There was something striking yet very subtle about her. Men loved her but never knew they couldn't handle her free spirit until it was too late and she was bored to tears with them.
It had been almost two years since I'd seen her, but I felt like we just talked yesterday.
"Sounds like a plan." I said pretending to be disappointed.
"But could you explain how that hog-tying thing works?"
"Ahhhhh," she said in disgust. "What am I going to do with you?"
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, January 23, 2014
33 - Secrets
"I can't believe it." I said looking wildly around the yard. "Well you kind of had to expect it." I shook an American Spirit Red free from its resting place and slowly took a drag. The drag was as deep as the secret he had just shared with me.
"You know I have to write about this, right?"
"Fuck that! No way! I am going to keep this under wraps as long as I can!" He shook his head forcefully from side to side. "This does not go on that short story/blog or whatever-the-fuck you call it."
"Are you kidding me?!? This is great shit! It'll be like watching someone rebuild from the ashes. Do you know how many people are in the exact same boat you're in? Worst case scenario we catch a little flak. Best case we help someone out who is in the same boat."
"No." he said. His statement was simple and direct. "This is something I have to handle. Putting it out there will just make it worse."
"How?!? I'll change your name! Switch cities, make you older or younger ... this could work!" I felt like a scum bag trying to get his girlfriend to take her clothes off for his buddies but at the same time I knew this would make a good story.
"It's not like you killed somebody, this is just everyday stuff. You fucked up. We all do."
I wondered how Stotler would handle this. I'm not really good at being the moral barometer. As long as it feels good, no one gets hurt, and it's not too illegal, I'm all for it.
I took another deep drag and watched the smoke dance in the wind as I exhaled. He just stood there with his head hung low and his hands on his hips. He was defeated and there was nothing he could do about it. As the smoke disappeared I thought I saw the fire in his eyes dim. I just couldn't believe it.
That Beautiful Black Man
"You know I have to write about this, right?"
"Fuck that! No way! I am going to keep this under wraps as long as I can!" He shook his head forcefully from side to side. "This does not go on that short story/blog or whatever-the-fuck you call it."
"Are you kidding me?!? This is great shit! It'll be like watching someone rebuild from the ashes. Do you know how many people are in the exact same boat you're in? Worst case scenario we catch a little flak. Best case we help someone out who is in the same boat."
"No." he said. His statement was simple and direct. "This is something I have to handle. Putting it out there will just make it worse."
"How?!? I'll change your name! Switch cities, make you older or younger ... this could work!" I felt like a scum bag trying to get his girlfriend to take her clothes off for his buddies but at the same time I knew this would make a good story.
"It's not like you killed somebody, this is just everyday stuff. You fucked up. We all do."
I wondered how Stotler would handle this. I'm not really good at being the moral barometer. As long as it feels good, no one gets hurt, and it's not too illegal, I'm all for it.
I took another deep drag and watched the smoke dance in the wind as I exhaled. He just stood there with his head hung low and his hands on his hips. He was defeated and there was nothing he could do about it. As the smoke disappeared I thought I saw the fire in his eyes dim. I just couldn't believe it.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
32 - Paris Getaway
"This, you asshole," said Paris. "This is what I am talking about!" She looked good sitting on her porch. She was wearing a baby blue sweat suit, white baseball cap, glasses, and white sneakers with no socks.
"You write maybe two or three of these short stories and then you disappear for two or three months. You could be dead and no one would know about it for weeks."
"Good to see you t.."
"Asshole!"
"I brought you coffee and cigarettes. Lite and sweet, and a pack of Marlboro lights, correct?"
I set the coffee and cigarettes on her little table and sat down on the seat next to it. I have a love hate relationship with Paris's apartment. I love the fact that no one knows I'm there. I like the leather couch in the living room but I don't like the overall space. I told her that once and her response was typical Paris "You don't live here so don't worry about it."
I liked hanging out with Paris because we had come to the quiet realization a long time ago that there would be no sex. The topic never came up. Never will. No reason to. The closest we would come would be a one sided massage (I hate getting massages).
"I may as well be dead. No one calls except for you, Terry, and Marrianne. Terry lives above a church, and Marrianne lives in Boston so you know I never see them."
I took a slow deep drag of my freshly lit American Spirit and let the smoke cascade out of my mouth like the clouds from the heavens gates.
"So if no one calls then you have more time to write, right?" She said slowly sipping her coffee.
"It's just that I...I..." Another deep drag. "It's...There's so much to write about I don't know where to start. Between the house, getting transferred back to this shitty CT office, and the music I can't organize enough to know where to start.
"And this is important to me how?" She took off her hat and shook some life into her newly freed hair.
"That means you get more free cigarettes, free coffee, and the pleasure of my company." The slick smile cut across my face like a hot knife through butter.
"Asshole!"
That Beautiful Black Man
"You write maybe two or three of these short stories and then you disappear for two or three months. You could be dead and no one would know about it for weeks."
"Good to see you t.."
"Asshole!"
"I brought you coffee and cigarettes. Lite and sweet, and a pack of Marlboro lights, correct?"
I set the coffee and cigarettes on her little table and sat down on the seat next to it. I have a love hate relationship with Paris's apartment. I love the fact that no one knows I'm there. I like the leather couch in the living room but I don't like the overall space. I told her that once and her response was typical Paris "You don't live here so don't worry about it."
I liked hanging out with Paris because we had come to the quiet realization a long time ago that there would be no sex. The topic never came up. Never will. No reason to. The closest we would come would be a one sided massage (I hate getting massages).
"I may as well be dead. No one calls except for you, Terry, and Marrianne. Terry lives above a church, and Marrianne lives in Boston so you know I never see them."
I took a slow deep drag of my freshly lit American Spirit and let the smoke cascade out of my mouth like the clouds from the heavens gates.
"So if no one calls then you have more time to write, right?" She said slowly sipping her coffee.
"It's just that I...I..." Another deep drag. "It's...There's so much to write about I don't know where to start. Between the house, getting transferred back to this shitty CT office, and the music I can't organize enough to know where to start.
"And this is important to me how?" She took off her hat and shook some life into her newly freed hair.
"That means you get more free cigarettes, free coffee, and the pleasure of my company." The slick smile cut across my face like a hot knife through butter.
"Asshole!"
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
31 - Wedding Betting
"You are a complete wack job. Please tell me you're kidding," said
Stotler rubbing his eyes with his hands.
"About the fact that I quit smoking again or that I bet on weddings?" I
asked. I still wanted a cigarette even though it had been 35 days. I've had 12 drags of
various cigarettes since early April but I haven't bought a pack.
"I can't believe you f*cking bet on weddings." Stotler is the church guy.
He's been married for five years, I think. I was beyond hammered at the wedding, tried
to bang one of the bridesmaids, slept on the floor of another bridesmaids suite, and
almost got kicked out of the room for drunken snoring. He tends to have a certain view
on things.
"Look man," I said taking a swig of Smirnoff ice, "the divorce rate
is through the roof in these great United States. I figure if I have to be subjected to
a day or night of torture I may as well let the business man in me out. There is nothing
more painful than having to sit in the fucking pews of some church and choke through a
long drawn out ceremony..."
"You were in my goddamned wedding party."
"Oh yeah...that's right...ha ha..." Did I mention that I was drunk at his
wedding?
"I'm guessing you don't want to hear how this works then do you?" The
great thing about curiosity is that it gets people every time.
"Why the hell not." He said releasing a deep breath. Curiosity, baby.
"It's real easy. I find the most gung ho marriage buff @ either the wedding or
the reception and I bet a tiered $100 that the marriage won't last five years."
"Tiered?!?" his curiosity was poking through the disgust.
"Yeah, tiered. It's actually a ten year bet but after five years instead of
paying me $100 I get $20 less each year." He looked puzzled.
"Let's say you last 6 years I get $80, 7 years I get $60 etc."
"OK, OK, OK. I get it. You realize that you're an asshole, right?"
"Here's the best part, the couple makes it ten years I give who ever I bet with
$100 bucks. Nice, huh?"
"You do this every time?"
"Not every time," I answered.
"Good because I was beginning to think..."
"Sometimes I go double or nothing for twenty years."
"Jesus! Seriously?!?"
"If I'm at a wedding son, there's money on the line. What the hell are you
worried about? You're in my $80 category. Oh yeah if there's a trial separation or a
move out I get an instant $50. I haven't made any money on this one yet cause it's a new
clause."
I heard the gears turning ever so slowly as the machine started up again. It was a
subtle whirring.
"Think about it. The next time someone tries too hard to end an argument or
make sure a couple stays together they might not really be worried about you. They might
have some money on the line."
"Did I mention that you are a complete wack job?"
That Beautiful Black Man
Stotler rubbing his eyes with his hands.
"About the fact that I quit smoking again or that I bet on weddings?" I
asked. I still wanted a cigarette even though it had been 35 days. I've had 12 drags of
various cigarettes since early April but I haven't bought a pack.
"I can't believe you f*cking bet on weddings." Stotler is the church guy.
He's been married for five years, I think. I was beyond hammered at the wedding, tried
to bang one of the bridesmaids, slept on the floor of another bridesmaids suite, and
almost got kicked out of the room for drunken snoring. He tends to have a certain view
on things.
"Look man," I said taking a swig of Smirnoff ice, "the divorce rate
is through the roof in these great United States. I figure if I have to be subjected to
a day or night of torture I may as well let the business man in me out. There is nothing
more painful than having to sit in the fucking pews of some church and choke through a
long drawn out ceremony..."
"You were in my goddamned wedding party."
"Oh yeah...that's right...ha ha..." Did I mention that I was drunk at his
wedding?
"I'm guessing you don't want to hear how this works then do you?" The
great thing about curiosity is that it gets people every time.
"Why the hell not." He said releasing a deep breath. Curiosity, baby.
"It's real easy. I find the most gung ho marriage buff @ either the wedding or
the reception and I bet a tiered $100 that the marriage won't last five years."
"Tiered?!?" his curiosity was poking through the disgust.
"Yeah, tiered. It's actually a ten year bet but after five years instead of
paying me $100 I get $20 less each year." He looked puzzled.
"Let's say you last 6 years I get $80, 7 years I get $60 etc."
"OK, OK, OK. I get it. You realize that you're an asshole, right?"
"Here's the best part, the couple makes it ten years I give who ever I bet with
$100 bucks. Nice, huh?"
"You do this every time?"
"Not every time," I answered.
"Good because I was beginning to think..."
"Sometimes I go double or nothing for twenty years."
"Jesus! Seriously?!?"
"If I'm at a wedding son, there's money on the line. What the hell are you
worried about? You're in my $80 category. Oh yeah if there's a trial separation or a
move out I get an instant $50. I haven't made any money on this one yet cause it's a new
clause."
I heard the gears turning ever so slowly as the machine started up again. It was a
subtle whirring.
"Think about it. The next time someone tries too hard to end an argument or
make sure a couple stays together they might not really be worried about you. They might
have some money on the line."
"Did I mention that you are a complete wack job?"
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, January 20, 2014
30- Spell Check
"Spell check!" Paris said sliding into the booth directly across
from me. My blank expression must have been obvious.
"I'm guessing I'm not the only one who gets these little stories,
right?" She asked taking a sip of the black coffee I had waiting for her.
"Right," I said.
"Well then hit the spell check button. I see you on an almost weekly
basis so I know you are not a complete idiot. If you are just writing sending
these stories to people you don't know that well, well you might come off as an
idiot."
"Really, I'm fine and how are y.."
"Plus they're getting too long again." She interrupted. "I
can't get caught up reading you at work."
"Then read me at home ... naked on your couch ... with soft music
playing." I could feel the slick smile cut across my face. Her face, on
the other hand, pinched up like she just caught the smell of sweaty feet.
"Asshole."
"So what do you do? Where do you read them?" I asked finishing
off my white chocolate chai.
"I print you out and read you in the bathroom when I get free
time." I could feel the slick smile again.
"You're not that lucky," she said catching the smile.
"Writers should know how to write and how to keep the audience interested.
Understand? Plus there's too much fucking profanity!"
"Yes, ma'am."
"At least it's not as dark as it's been over the past few months. I
was really worried about you." She started to light up a Marlboro light.
I was tempted to join her but luckily you can't smoke in the restaurants in CT
anymore. I pointed out the no smoking sign to her.
"Don't these fucking people understand my needs?" She jammed the
cigarette back into the pack. "At least you get it. So who's the girl
from this weekend?"
"Come on, Paris, you're like the tenth person to ask me today. You
know I can't tell you."
"Whatever. Just keep your stories like a good quickie; short,
interesting, and no boring parts. Spell Check!"
That Beautiful Black Man
from me. My blank expression must have been obvious.
"I'm guessing I'm not the only one who gets these little stories,
right?" She asked taking a sip of the black coffee I had waiting for her.
"Right," I said.
"Well then hit the spell check button. I see you on an almost weekly
basis so I know you are not a complete idiot. If you are just writing sending
these stories to people you don't know that well, well you might come off as an
idiot."
"Really, I'm fine and how are y.."
"Plus they're getting too long again." She interrupted. "I
can't get caught up reading you at work."
"Then read me at home ... naked on your couch ... with soft music
playing." I could feel the slick smile cut across my face. Her face, on
the other hand, pinched up like she just caught the smell of sweaty feet.
"Asshole."
"So what do you do? Where do you read them?" I asked finishing
off my white chocolate chai.
"I print you out and read you in the bathroom when I get free
time." I could feel the slick smile again.
"You're not that lucky," she said catching the smile.
"Writers should know how to write and how to keep the audience interested.
Understand? Plus there's too much fucking profanity!"
"Yes, ma'am."
"At least it's not as dark as it's been over the past few months. I
was really worried about you." She started to light up a Marlboro light.
I was tempted to join her but luckily you can't smoke in the restaurants in CT
anymore. I pointed out the no smoking sign to her.
"Don't these fucking people understand my needs?" She jammed the
cigarette back into the pack. "At least you get it. So who's the girl
from this weekend?"
"Come on, Paris, you're like the tenth person to ask me today. You
know I can't tell you."
"Whatever. Just keep your stories like a good quickie; short,
interesting, and no boring parts. Spell Check!"
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, January 17, 2014
29 - Train Wreck
"You are an absolute train wreck!" she said to me. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"First things first. I'm just a moderate train wreck. Things aren't as bad as they seem. Haven't you been reading the diary entries?" I asked knowing that I had been slacking.
"That's what I mean you selfish bastard, I don't hear from you anymore, I read about you in some e-mail you send. I can't tell if these are things that really happen to you or this is just some wild fantasy you are dragging me through."
"Maybe it's both." I knew before I said it that it was the wrong answer. She looked beautiful, but she always looked just a little better when she was pissed off.
"Just answer a few questions for me. Why can't you be more consistent? I get like six or seven of these little stories in a row and then nothing for six months. Why don't you just write a book?"
"Life is inconsistent." I thought about having a cigarette but it's been almost a month. She hates it when I smoke anyway. "I write when the urge hits me. A book would take far too fucking long. I've only written 43 entries and it's been almost three years! Can you imagine if I tried to write a two or three hundred page book?"
"The bear accident, the bomb scare, the latest car accident how much of that shit is true?" She was twirling her hair with the index finger of her left hand. She doen't even know she does it. I love that shit.
"All true. I don't have any scars from the latest accident to show you but I do have this headache that won't go away."
"That's what I mean. You are a train wreck."
"I'm more of a 'change oil soon'/'maintainence required' type of light. I'm there just to remind you that things are ok but they could be better."
"Who the hell is this Stotler you spend so much time with?" She said, almost jealous.
"I've known Stotler for almost thirty years. He used to be my moral barometer. Let's say that I was thinking about doing something or someone I shouldn't, I'd run the idea past him. If he thought the idea was crazy or out of line I knew I was ok to do it.
"Speaking of which, is your back ok?" I cracking my knuckles.
"That's evil," she said positioning herself in front of me. "You know you are the only one who gives me a good massage."
"You know the rates have gone up, right?
"How much?"
"This time it's going to cost you a kiss."
"You're not going to write about this are you?
"You won't know til you check your e-mail on Monday now will you."
That Beautiful Black Man
"First things first. I'm just a moderate train wreck. Things aren't as bad as they seem. Haven't you been reading the diary entries?" I asked knowing that I had been slacking.
"That's what I mean you selfish bastard, I don't hear from you anymore, I read about you in some e-mail you send. I can't tell if these are things that really happen to you or this is just some wild fantasy you are dragging me through."
"Maybe it's both." I knew before I said it that it was the wrong answer. She looked beautiful, but she always looked just a little better when she was pissed off.
"Just answer a few questions for me. Why can't you be more consistent? I get like six or seven of these little stories in a row and then nothing for six months. Why don't you just write a book?"
"Life is inconsistent." I thought about having a cigarette but it's been almost a month. She hates it when I smoke anyway. "I write when the urge hits me. A book would take far too fucking long. I've only written 43 entries and it's been almost three years! Can you imagine if I tried to write a two or three hundred page book?"
"The bear accident, the bomb scare, the latest car accident how much of that shit is true?" She was twirling her hair with the index finger of her left hand. She doen't even know she does it. I love that shit.
"All true. I don't have any scars from the latest accident to show you but I do have this headache that won't go away."
"That's what I mean. You are a train wreck."
"I'm more of a 'change oil soon'/'maintainence required' type of light. I'm there just to remind you that things are ok but they could be better."
"Who the hell is this Stotler you spend so much time with?" She said, almost jealous.
"I've known Stotler for almost thirty years. He used to be my moral barometer. Let's say that I was thinking about doing something or someone I shouldn't, I'd run the idea past him. If he thought the idea was crazy or out of line I knew I was ok to do it.
"Speaking of which, is your back ok?" I cracking my knuckles.
"That's evil," she said positioning herself in front of me. "You know you are the only one who gives me a good massage."
"You know the rates have gone up, right?
"How much?"
"This time it's going to cost you a kiss."
"You're not going to write about this are you?
"You won't know til you check your e-mail on Monday now will you."
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, January 16, 2014
28 - Nine Lives Part 2
6:04 pm
Standing next to the guard rail. I can't stop coughing. I realize the dust from the
airbag has coated the inside of my mouth. My senses are still a bit overloaded. Over
hear the couple talk about the license plate of the car who cut them off. Apparently they
were trying to write it down when the accident happened.
A good samaritan is directing traffic around the accident. I call the police from my
cell phone.
6:10 pm
West Springfield police arrive and start to access the situation. My car prep arrives as
a ride back and marvels @ the fact that I am not in some way broken. The police request
lic & registration. The passenger's side door is jammed shut and won't open. We go in
thru the driver's side.
6:15 pm
Assistant manager arrives. She is on her way to pick up the customer. She stops to make
sure I'm alright comments on how the car looks "squished". The police and my
car prep pull the back bumper away from the back tires of the SUV and they can
drive it.
The couple is relieved didn't want to pay for a tow and the police didn't have the
patience to wait for AAA to arrive on the scene. The fact that they are able to drive
the car is a big plus. I realize that my ins company is not responsible for this. Since
it is an company car and I was on an company pick up, their insurance covers this.
By 6:55 all was said and done. I refused the hospital trek. The necessary info had been
exchanged and I was back in the office. The customer was never picked up. The service
guy "Dave" informed us that she just couldn't wait any longer. When the
assistant manager explained about the car accident he said S-H-I-T happpens.
I'm still here. I hear someone started a pool to see if I make it to 35. I'm in.
That Beautiful Black Man
Standing next to the guard rail. I can't stop coughing. I realize the dust from the
airbag has coated the inside of my mouth. My senses are still a bit overloaded. Over
hear the couple talk about the license plate of the car who cut them off. Apparently they
were trying to write it down when the accident happened.
A good samaritan is directing traffic around the accident. I call the police from my
cell phone.
6:10 pm
West Springfield police arrive and start to access the situation. My car prep arrives as
a ride back and marvels @ the fact that I am not in some way broken. The police request
lic & registration. The passenger's side door is jammed shut and won't open. We go in
thru the driver's side.
6:15 pm
Assistant manager arrives. She is on her way to pick up the customer. She stops to make
sure I'm alright comments on how the car looks "squished". The police and my
car prep pull the back bumper away from the back tires of the SUV and they can
drive it.
The couple is relieved didn't want to pay for a tow and the police didn't have the
patience to wait for AAA to arrive on the scene. The fact that they are able to drive
the car is a big plus. I realize that my ins company is not responsible for this. Since
it is an company car and I was on an company pick up, their insurance covers this.
By 6:55 all was said and done. I refused the hospital trek. The necessary info had been
exchanged and I was back in the office. The customer was never picked up. The service
guy "Dave" informed us that she just couldn't wait any longer. When the
assistant manager explained about the car accident he said S-H-I-T happpens.
I'm still here. I hear someone started a pool to see if I make it to 35. I'm in.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
27 - Nine Lives
April 22, 2004
5:55 pm
"By the way, Jamal, we forgot there was a customer waiting at the dealership. Could you
go pick them up in the Ford Focus?"
I look at my watch. 5:55 pm. I'm supposed to go home @ 6:00 pm. Hour & a half drive
home. I noticed that the manager and assistant manager have been in the office for a few
minutes closing things down.
"You guys fucking kill me," I said in my always pleasant manner. "I'm
not taking your walkie and my phone will be off. How long has this person been
waiting?"
"About 45 minutes."
"Nice nothing like taking care of the unhappy customers. Love getting the shit
deals." I am a joy to work with, really.
6:00 pm
Traveling north on Rte 5 in West Springfield, MA a car quickly cuts from the passing lane
to the driving lane and cuts off a small SUV. The offending driver then comes to
a stop trying to decide if they are going to jump onto the on ramp for the main highway
or continue on rte 5. The pathfinder is forced to come to a complete emergency stop.
Being one car length behind the SUV traveling about 35/40 mph the puddle jumper I am
driving is unable to come to a complete stop. I don't remember the airbag exploding in
my face or the windshield stress cracking. It was more of a realization that I had just
been in a car accident. The back bumper of the SUV was crushed and the front end
of the puddle jumper was destroyed. The offending vehicle sees that it has caused an accident
by stopping short and takes off on to the on ramp.
6:01 pm
I realize that I have lost track of time because the couple in the SUV have
magically appeared at my driver & passenger side windows. I am inhaling airbag dust. My
chest is on fire. The passenger side door won't open. The woman is convinced she sees
gasoline coming from one of the cars.
6:02 pm
I am coming to my senses. Nothing seems broken. The dust is still coming from the
airbags. My ears are still ringing from the explosion.
I check to see if I'm bleeding. I am thinking of the song Airbag from "OK
Computer". Woman keeps asking me if I'm ok. I keep wondering if I'm dead. Fight
not to black out. I notice the windshield is smashed. Call office from inside car to
report accident. I ask if she and her husband are ok. They seems fine.
6:03 pm
I realize gas may be pouring from one of the cars and attempt to get out of my car. Open
the drivers side door and step into oncoming traffic. Head is still spinning. My
lungs feel like they are on fire. Legs are weak. Hit by the sudden calm. Not shock but
calm. Start wondering why I'm not dead but realize that it's closing in on me.
That Beautiful Black Man
5:55 pm
"By the way, Jamal, we forgot there was a customer waiting at the dealership. Could you
go pick them up in the Ford Focus?"
I look at my watch. 5:55 pm. I'm supposed to go home @ 6:00 pm. Hour & a half drive
home. I noticed that the manager and assistant manager have been in the office for a few
minutes closing things down.
"You guys fucking kill me," I said in my always pleasant manner. "I'm
not taking your walkie and my phone will be off. How long has this person been
waiting?"
"About 45 minutes."
"Nice nothing like taking care of the unhappy customers. Love getting the shit
deals." I am a joy to work with, really.
6:00 pm
Traveling north on Rte 5 in West Springfield, MA a car quickly cuts from the passing lane
to the driving lane and cuts off a small SUV. The offending driver then comes to
a stop trying to decide if they are going to jump onto the on ramp for the main highway
or continue on rte 5. The pathfinder is forced to come to a complete emergency stop.
Being one car length behind the SUV traveling about 35/40 mph the puddle jumper I am
driving is unable to come to a complete stop. I don't remember the airbag exploding in
my face or the windshield stress cracking. It was more of a realization that I had just
been in a car accident. The back bumper of the SUV was crushed and the front end
of the puddle jumper was destroyed. The offending vehicle sees that it has caused an accident
by stopping short and takes off on to the on ramp.
6:01 pm
I realize that I have lost track of time because the couple in the SUV have
magically appeared at my driver & passenger side windows. I am inhaling airbag dust. My
chest is on fire. The passenger side door won't open. The woman is convinced she sees
gasoline coming from one of the cars.
6:02 pm
I am coming to my senses. Nothing seems broken. The dust is still coming from the
airbags. My ears are still ringing from the explosion.
I check to see if I'm bleeding. I am thinking of the song Airbag from "OK
Computer". Woman keeps asking me if I'm ok. I keep wondering if I'm dead. Fight
not to black out. I notice the windshield is smashed. Call office from inside car to
report accident. I ask if she and her husband are ok. They seems fine.
6:03 pm
I realize gas may be pouring from one of the cars and attempt to get out of my car. Open
the drivers side door and step into oncoming traffic. Head is still spinning. My
lungs feel like they are on fire. Legs are weak. Hit by the sudden calm. Not shock but
calm. Start wondering why I'm not dead but realize that it's closing in on me.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
26 - Off Kilter
"A bear?!?" He said as I sat down at the little table.
"A bear."
"Jesus. You know that there are people in this area that have never even seen bears and you hit one."
"Yep." It was early evening. We had been playing phone tag all day. Through a series of messages decided to meet at the usual spot for some drinks. The warm November wind was somewhat deceiving. I usually avoided going out this late in the season but the beautiful weather was still callin' me. The machines were quietly humming away processing the events of the past day.
"Pineapple juice, no ice, right?" asked the older yet attractive brunette waitress. I just smiled and nodded.
"It's warm as all hell you know?"
"I know." She walked away shaking her head. I lit an American Spirit and took a deep drag.
"You couldn't hit a deer or a skunk or a rabbit or something like that, you had to hit a bear?!? And to think you hid that car behind your house so nothing would happen to it Halloween night."
"How's my ass feel? Oh well the guys from Sharon Auto Body are going to take care of me so I'm not worried about it."
For those of you who don't know I've known Stotler for about 30 years. We're like polar opposites. He's the tall, thin, white guy. I'm the short, stocky, black guy. He's married to a wonderfully forgiving wife (hey she let's him hang out with me) and I'm the ultimate single guy. He teaches and influences Americas youth. I'm interested in the over 21 aspect of Americas female youth.
"I figure that's the way that my life goes. If things weren't just a bit off kilter how much fun would that be?" I took another deep drag of the spirit and slowly let a piece of my soul out with the escaping smoke.
We had a silent pact. Through him I would live vicariously as the married guy and he would live through whatever mishaps I happened to live through. It seemed to be working out good so far. Never a dull moment.
"Maybe I should just chill out, get a real job, find a nice girl, get married, buy a house and have my two little daughters. Think about it," I said inhaling another deep drag while the machines began to work into a steady whir, "let's say my life weren't off kilter and everything were dead on, I may have hit that bear dead on and COMPLETELY destroyed my car! Better yet I could have been killed"
"Understandable," he said taking a good swig of of his beer. "But if you take the point of view that everything would was dead on isn't it possible that you might not even be here? Maybe you would have been married, or maybe you would be in a different area? Maybe being off kilter is what's holding you back."
Sometimes the answer is so simple. This is what long time friends are for, getting straight to the point. If they are good friends they make no bones about the truth and they don't let you hide behind yourself. My friend Heather Anne is like that too. They both keep it simple. They stick with the bare necessities.
"Who knows maybe I'm wrong," he said rethinking his answer. "I can't really picture you without that edge. A bear?!?"
"A bear," I said letting another piece of my soul escape.
That Beautiful Black Man
"A bear."
"Jesus. You know that there are people in this area that have never even seen bears and you hit one."
"Yep." It was early evening. We had been playing phone tag all day. Through a series of messages decided to meet at the usual spot for some drinks. The warm November wind was somewhat deceiving. I usually avoided going out this late in the season but the beautiful weather was still callin' me. The machines were quietly humming away processing the events of the past day.
"Pineapple juice, no ice, right?" asked the older yet attractive brunette waitress. I just smiled and nodded.
"It's warm as all hell you know?"
"I know." She walked away shaking her head. I lit an American Spirit and took a deep drag.
"You couldn't hit a deer or a skunk or a rabbit or something like that, you had to hit a bear?!? And to think you hid that car behind your house so nothing would happen to it Halloween night."
"How's my ass feel? Oh well the guys from Sharon Auto Body are going to take care of me so I'm not worried about it."
For those of you who don't know I've known Stotler for about 30 years. We're like polar opposites. He's the tall, thin, white guy. I'm the short, stocky, black guy. He's married to a wonderfully forgiving wife (hey she let's him hang out with me) and I'm the ultimate single guy. He teaches and influences Americas youth. I'm interested in the over 21 aspect of Americas female youth.
"I figure that's the way that my life goes. If things weren't just a bit off kilter how much fun would that be?" I took another deep drag of the spirit and slowly let a piece of my soul out with the escaping smoke.
We had a silent pact. Through him I would live vicariously as the married guy and he would live through whatever mishaps I happened to live through. It seemed to be working out good so far. Never a dull moment.
"Maybe I should just chill out, get a real job, find a nice girl, get married, buy a house and have my two little daughters. Think about it," I said inhaling another deep drag while the machines began to work into a steady whir, "let's say my life weren't off kilter and everything were dead on, I may have hit that bear dead on and COMPLETELY destroyed my car! Better yet I could have been killed"
"Understandable," he said taking a good swig of of his beer. "But if you take the point of view that everything would was dead on isn't it possible that you might not even be here? Maybe you would have been married, or maybe you would be in a different area? Maybe being off kilter is what's holding you back."
Sometimes the answer is so simple. This is what long time friends are for, getting straight to the point. If they are good friends they make no bones about the truth and they don't let you hide behind yourself. My friend Heather Anne is like that too. They both keep it simple. They stick with the bare necessities.
"Who knows maybe I'm wrong," he said rethinking his answer. "I can't really picture you without that edge. A bear?!?"
"A bear," I said letting another piece of my soul escape.
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, January 13, 2014
25 - One of Those Years
Sometimes you just have shitty years. 2003 was one of those years.
You tell me.
In February my job was thrown in jeopardy because of my mouth, as usual. I stayed
with the job because they had no basis to fire me other than they didn't like me. I
had gained 30 pounds due to stress.
In February my dad was diagnosed with cancer so each day now had an
immeasurable value.
By May of that year I had almost been killed in two car accidents.
In November the fatal car accident brought everything to a head. My new Saab
was destroyed. I was fine. I opted not to go to the hospital. The 250
pound black Bear was a different story. The bear ran out in front of my car
as I was headed to meet my sister.
The impact destroyed the front driver's side fender and headlights. The front
bumper was pushed into the drivers side tire. The radiator was leaking like a
stuck pig, fluid was spewing everywhere. The hood needed to be replaced.
Had I been traveling a bit faster I would have hit the bear head on and it
would have rolled up the hood onto the windshield.
I had two choices; go through the guard rails and drop off into the dry
dam (forty to fifty foot below) or hit the bear. According to the police the
bear died once it got to the other side of the road.
For some reason I couldn't figure out I was still here, eight beautiful car
accidents an accidental drug over dose in Germany and I was still here.
"There's always a plan," whispered a voice in the wind while the machines
whirred gently in the distance.
You tell me.
In February my job was thrown in jeopardy because of my mouth, as usual. I stayed
with the job because they had no basis to fire me other than they didn't like me. I
had gained 30 pounds due to stress.
In February my dad was diagnosed with cancer so each day now had an
immeasurable value.
By May of that year I had almost been killed in two car accidents.
In November the fatal car accident brought everything to a head. My new Saab
was destroyed. I was fine. I opted not to go to the hospital. The 250
pound black Bear was a different story. The bear ran out in front of my car
as I was headed to meet my sister.
The impact destroyed the front driver's side fender and headlights. The front
bumper was pushed into the drivers side tire. The radiator was leaking like a
stuck pig, fluid was spewing everywhere. The hood needed to be replaced.
Had I been traveling a bit faster I would have hit the bear head on and it
would have rolled up the hood onto the windshield.
I had two choices; go through the guard rails and drop off into the dry
dam (forty to fifty foot below) or hit the bear. According to the police the
bear died once it got to the other side of the road.
For some reason I couldn't figure out I was still here, eight beautiful car
accidents an accidental drug over dose in Germany and I was still here.
"There's always a plan," whispered a voice in the wind while the machines
whirred gently in the distance.
Friday, January 10, 2014
24 - Memory Lane
"You look completely different," she said after she hugged me. "There just
something that's just ...wow." She stood back and looked me head to toe like
she was satisfied with the finishing touches on a remodeled kitchen.
"It's been almost six and a half years," I said shaking out the last
cigarette of this pack with my one free hand. Soft packs are good for
something.
"I've gained thirty pounds, shaved my head bald, and cut off the beard and
mustache. I'm like a tall, fat two year old with a bad attitude and a
vocabulary like a sailor."
She laughed and stared at the pavement beneath her feet. It was still wet
from the rains and the mist it left was comforting. She was wearing a blue
workout outfit, no socks, and red sneakers. She must have lost forty pounds in
the six almost seven years I had seen her last.
I was amazed I said hello when we were in line. I usually play the
"Hide-In-Aisle 5" game but today I was in the mood to talk to someone.
"So what are you up to now? Married, single, or confused? Weren't you with
whatthefuck's his name for like eight years."
"Are you still on that married life kick? Jesus," she said smiling. "I'm
back for the week to see my mom. He & I didn't work out so I'm off to
California."
"Shit. I'm sorry," I said. Like every guy I know, who sees a girl that
looks good they haven't seen for a while, I was wondering if she was up for a
trip down Get Naked lane. Men are scum. Deal with it.
"I'm not sorry. He turned out to be an asshole." We all knew that from day
one I thought to myself. A few us of even let her know but there's just some
things friends have to find out for themselves.
"Plus they need nurses all over and this place in California is paying my rent
for me."
"More power to you. I've got to roll. I was just snagging candy for the
crew cause we ain't paying movie prices. If you're at your mom's for the week
and she still has the same number I'll give you a call, if that's cool. She's
not still mad at me?" I asked wincing.
"Yes the number is the same. I think as long as you don't try crawling
through the bedroom window this time, we'll be fine."
"She caught me crawling out," I smiled.
"I just can't get over how different you look with out the goatee." She
said over her roof as we got into our cars.
"I can't have one at work," I snorted. "The bosses feel it leads to less
effective ass kissing; with all the tickling."
"You will never change will you?"
"Well if you're going to look like a tall, fat two year old sometime you
just gotta act like one."
That Beautiful Black Man
something that's just ...wow." She stood back and looked me head to toe like
she was satisfied with the finishing touches on a remodeled kitchen.
"It's been almost six and a half years," I said shaking out the last
cigarette of this pack with my one free hand. Soft packs are good for
something.
"I've gained thirty pounds, shaved my head bald, and cut off the beard and
mustache. I'm like a tall, fat two year old with a bad attitude and a
vocabulary like a sailor."
She laughed and stared at the pavement beneath her feet. It was still wet
from the rains and the mist it left was comforting. She was wearing a blue
workout outfit, no socks, and red sneakers. She must have lost forty pounds in
the six almost seven years I had seen her last.
I was amazed I said hello when we were in line. I usually play the
"Hide-In-Aisle 5" game but today I was in the mood to talk to someone.
"So what are you up to now? Married, single, or confused? Weren't you with
whatthefuck's his name for like eight years."
"Are you still on that married life kick? Jesus," she said smiling. "I'm
back for the week to see my mom. He & I didn't work out so I'm off to
California."
"Shit. I'm sorry," I said. Like every guy I know, who sees a girl that
looks good they haven't seen for a while, I was wondering if she was up for a
trip down Get Naked lane. Men are scum. Deal with it.
"I'm not sorry. He turned out to be an asshole." We all knew that from day
one I thought to myself. A few us of even let her know but there's just some
things friends have to find out for themselves.
"Plus they need nurses all over and this place in California is paying my rent
for me."
"More power to you. I've got to roll. I was just snagging candy for the
crew cause we ain't paying movie prices. If you're at your mom's for the week
and she still has the same number I'll give you a call, if that's cool. She's
not still mad at me?" I asked wincing.
"Yes the number is the same. I think as long as you don't try crawling
through the bedroom window this time, we'll be fine."
"She caught me crawling out," I smiled.
"I just can't get over how different you look with out the goatee." She
said over her roof as we got into our cars.
"I can't have one at work," I snorted. "The bosses feel it leads to less
effective ass kissing; with all the tickling."
"You will never change will you?"
"Well if you're going to look like a tall, fat two year old sometime you
just gotta act like one."
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, January 9, 2014
23 - Option B
"I have just realized something." I said to Stotler exhaling
slowly. "I have never offered the people on the roster an option B."
The music was quieter and we finally had a chance to talk with out yelling.
The evening had a dull feeling to it. There was nothing special in the air
and the machines had been oddly quiet for quite some time.
"I almost hate to ask but what is an option B?" He fumbled for a
second while trying to push the lime into his sixth or seventh Corona. I
couldn't remember how many we had by this point because I was becoming
increasingly fond of my fifth Sam Adams Spring ale.
"Option B. This is the - Jesus, she's georgous!" The way my
head spun looking at the beautiful women in the bar I felt like a hungry owl at
midnight. "Where was I?" I said just about to start the nights second
pack of cigarettes.
"Oh yeah, Option B is where I give people a chance to opt off the
mailing list. I just went through my collection of writings and realized that
I've sent out some dark shit."
As the lime dropped into the beer, the bubbles made it seem like it would
evaporate back through the neck of the bottle.
"I've heard some people find them long winded, some people find them
disturbing, and some people just delete them. I would rather not send
something to someone if they don't like it."
I knew he had a lot going on in his world but I just needed a bit of
advice. There was a slight clank from the machines but they were still oddly
quiet.
"Hell I've known you for 25 years so I get it, most of the time. If I
didn't know you and you sent me some of this stuff I'd think you were a
lunatic. Option B is a good idea."
"Good because I sent it out last night." I leaned back on the
bar stool and let blew the smoke towards the ceiling. The smoke eater snagged
most of it before it could bother anyone else.
That Beautiful Black Man
slowly. "I have never offered the people on the roster an option B."
The music was quieter and we finally had a chance to talk with out yelling.
The evening had a dull feeling to it. There was nothing special in the air
and the machines had been oddly quiet for quite some time.
"I almost hate to ask but what is an option B?" He fumbled for a
second while trying to push the lime into his sixth or seventh Corona. I
couldn't remember how many we had by this point because I was becoming
increasingly fond of my fifth Sam Adams Spring ale.
"Option B. This is the - Jesus, she's georgous!" The way my
head spun looking at the beautiful women in the bar I felt like a hungry owl at
midnight. "Where was I?" I said just about to start the nights second
pack of cigarettes.
"Oh yeah, Option B is where I give people a chance to opt off the
mailing list. I just went through my collection of writings and realized that
I've sent out some dark shit."
As the lime dropped into the beer, the bubbles made it seem like it would
evaporate back through the neck of the bottle.
"I've heard some people find them long winded, some people find them
disturbing, and some people just delete them. I would rather not send
something to someone if they don't like it."
I knew he had a lot going on in his world but I just needed a bit of
advice. There was a slight clank from the machines but they were still oddly
quiet.
"Hell I've known you for 25 years so I get it, most of the time. If I
didn't know you and you sent me some of this stuff I'd think you were a
lunatic. Option B is a good idea."
"Good because I sent it out last night." I leaned back on the
bar stool and let blew the smoke towards the ceiling. The smoke eater snagged
most of it before it could bother anyone else.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
22 - I Am Words
I do not truly exist. I am the figment of the writers imagination. I
am a character that the writer expresses. I am a collection of events
with a single voice. The darkest moments of despair and the greatest
moments of personal triumph are here before you on display.
I am words. I am simply multiple arrangements of the twenty-six letter
alphabet designed to generate such an array of emotions that the mind
is left to filter through the cacophany of sensations and come to it's
own conclusion.
You are the one who shapes your perception of what is and what might
be. The amazing thing is that this is not a thought. It is simply an
observation on what you may be thinking. Words can't think.
I must go. The machines are once again clouding my vision.
That Beautiful Black Man
am a character that the writer expresses. I am a collection of events
with a single voice. The darkest moments of despair and the greatest
moments of personal triumph are here before you on display.
I am words. I am simply multiple arrangements of the twenty-six letter
alphabet designed to generate such an array of emotions that the mind
is left to filter through the cacophany of sensations and come to it's
own conclusion.
You are the one who shapes your perception of what is and what might
be. The amazing thing is that this is not a thought. It is simply an
observation on what you may be thinking. Words can't think.
I must go. The machines are once again clouding my vision.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
21 - Angels & Demons
The relentless hammering of machines has returned. The rock that I
have structured my architecture began to crumble.
When I was younger I would sit quietly in my room and dream of this
dense creation and wonder if one day I would achieve it's resolve to
survive; it's ability to stand it's ground no matter what the circumstances.
As I grew older I started to notice how time had made almost as much of
an impression on the rock as it had made on me.
The machines keep hammering. My eyes are burning and the blood is
running through my head like hungry lions swarming on the days first
kill. To cover my ears would do nothing but only further internalize the
pain and push everything even further away.
I am watching the rock slowly turn to dust. The power that it once
held is now but a memory. The broken pieces still maintain the integrity
of the of the whole but there is something missing; the whole is so
much greater than the sum of it's parts and now the parts must learn to
survive with out it.
The machines have clouded my vision with blood tears. It's too hard to
tell the angels from the demons so I will dance with both until I sleep
too long and the beast does not hesitate.
Plans change. It has begun.
have structured my architecture began to crumble.
When I was younger I would sit quietly in my room and dream of this
dense creation and wonder if one day I would achieve it's resolve to
survive; it's ability to stand it's ground no matter what the circumstances.
As I grew older I started to notice how time had made almost as much of
an impression on the rock as it had made on me.
The machines keep hammering. My eyes are burning and the blood is
running through my head like hungry lions swarming on the days first
kill. To cover my ears would do nothing but only further internalize the
pain and push everything even further away.
I am watching the rock slowly turn to dust. The power that it once
held is now but a memory. The broken pieces still maintain the integrity
of the of the whole but there is something missing; the whole is so
much greater than the sum of it's parts and now the parts must learn to
survive with out it.
The machines have clouded my vision with blood tears. It's too hard to
tell the angels from the demons so I will dance with both until I sleep
too long and the beast does not hesitate.
Plans change. It has begun.
Monday, January 6, 2014
20 - Plans Change
There is always a plan. I was sick of renting cars. I was sick of kissing
ass. I decided that this was the day. I was going to quit and move to NYC.
I couldn't take the politics of the job anymore. I couldn't take the back-stabbing.
New York City is where it's at, baby. Who are you to treat me as a nobody
in this little piece of shit town? If I'm going to be treated like a nobody I want
to at least be surrounded by nobodies who are still trying to be somebody.
Here people were grabbing a pair of knee pads and some chap stick just to
get noticed. There was a firm belief that you could only rise up as far as the
company wanted you to.
My parents were older. Their mobility wasn't quite what it used to be but
they would get along without me. If they needed me I would be two and a half
hours away. It was a quick train ride/bus ride from door to door.
"You have a plan," I yelled at God on the drive home, "but plans change! It's
my turn to decide what I want to do. You hear me?!? My turn! This is the new plan!"
I marched into my parents house determined to tell them the new plan. I was
going to be in New York City struggling. I wasn't going to be able to help out as
much as I wanted but as soon as I got on my feet in the next year things would be
easier.
My father was on the phone when I got home. He hadn't quite been feeling himself
and finally went to see a doctor a few days before. Today was results day. I figured
I would lay out my plan on our way to pick up his prescription.
"What's up?" I asked as he hung up the phone, excited to share my news.
"I have cancer." He said quietly. I felt the air leave the room. I had to
concentrate to keep my balance while the machines hammered my soul into the floor.
"Plans change," whispered a voice from the air. "Plans change."
That Beautiful Black Man
ass. I decided that this was the day. I was going to quit and move to NYC.
I couldn't take the politics of the job anymore. I couldn't take the back-stabbing.
New York City is where it's at, baby. Who are you to treat me as a nobody
in this little piece of shit town? If I'm going to be treated like a nobody I want
to at least be surrounded by nobodies who are still trying to be somebody.
Here people were grabbing a pair of knee pads and some chap stick just to
get noticed. There was a firm belief that you could only rise up as far as the
company wanted you to.
My parents were older. Their mobility wasn't quite what it used to be but
they would get along without me. If they needed me I would be two and a half
hours away. It was a quick train ride/bus ride from door to door.
"You have a plan," I yelled at God on the drive home, "but plans change! It's
my turn to decide what I want to do. You hear me?!? My turn! This is the new plan!"
I marched into my parents house determined to tell them the new plan. I was
going to be in New York City struggling. I wasn't going to be able to help out as
much as I wanted but as soon as I got on my feet in the next year things would be
easier.
My father was on the phone when I got home. He hadn't quite been feeling himself
and finally went to see a doctor a few days before. Today was results day. I figured
I would lay out my plan on our way to pick up his prescription.
"What's up?" I asked as he hung up the phone, excited to share my news.
"I have cancer." He said quietly. I felt the air leave the room. I had to
concentrate to keep my balance while the machines hammered my soul into the floor.
"Plans change," whispered a voice from the air. "Plans change."
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, January 3, 2014
19 - Five
"Before this goes any further," she said pulling back just far enough to
tease, "I need you to answer one question."
"What ever you need," I replied blindly. There was a lack of blood
flowing to my brain and my wrist were deftly secured with her favorite
necktie.
"How many people have you slept with?" The light from the garage came
through the second story window of her apartment and danced gently across
her face.
"Five," I said keeping a straight face.
She arched her left eye brow, stopped playing with my belly button, and
rested her cheek in her left hand.
"Ooooooh. You mean sex?" I said, smiling.
That Beautiful Black Man
tease, "I need you to answer one question."
"What ever you need," I replied blindly. There was a lack of blood
flowing to my brain and my wrist were deftly secured with her favorite
necktie.
"How many people have you slept with?" The light from the garage came
through the second story window of her apartment and danced gently across
her face.
"Five," I said keeping a straight face.
She arched her left eye brow, stopped playing with my belly button, and
rested her cheek in her left hand.
"Ooooooh. You mean sex?" I said, smiling.
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, January 2, 2014
18 - A Long Cold Winter
"I can't believe you're smoking again," she said with a look of
disgust on her face. "Why are you doing this to yourself? You were
doing so well."
"Some days I hate my job renting cars to people. I was doing ok and
then it just got f*cked up. Ice pumps through my veins when I think of
the you're-fired-if-you-don't-kiss-ass speech I got. They took me to
lunch hoping I wouldn't explode in public. I did a pretty good job." I
said watching the smoke curl into little circles.
"Didn't they ask you to leave the restaurant?" she asked shaking her
head.
"Yes, but that was a little bit later. Completely different
circumstances."
"Sure it was. You are nothing but drama. Pure drama."
I laughed a quiet laugh. It almost felt good to sit and relax with
her; almost. I had been pulling back slowly, cutting ties with people
who didn't return phone calls or e-mails and limiting my time out to
people who were interested in hanging out.
The winter was coming. You never realize how cold it is until
you're alone. I wanted to see just how cold it would get this year.
Quiet little nights out like this were my way of finding out who I would spend time
with and who would just get the occasional hello at the grocery store.
I inhaled deeply. I served no true purpose for her. I realized
that the last time we went out. I was her excuse to leave the house
when her boyfriend wasn't around. I had learned to filter out his name
each time she mentioned it. I always felt like she was reminding me
that I wasn't him. She wasn't really too happy with him either. He was
just there to cure her loneliness but he wasn't smart enough to realize
it.
"The September 11th incident started to put things into perspective
for me, too." I tried to get my mind back on track. "It's time for
some serious decisions."
"Like what, marriage?"
"Woman, do I look like I'm high on crack?!? Why would I wanna to
ruin a perfectly good relationship by getting married?!?"
"You are such an asshole. You know _____ doesn't think that way
about marriage and love." she said crossing her arms defiantly.
"He's still getting blown, that's why."
Dead silence is such a beautiful thing.
"Oh come on. You know I'm kidding." I wasn't f*ckin'
kidding.
"I was talking about the terrorist attacks! I'm talking about being
taken out at any minute by some freaking psycho; either that Osama prick
or that wacko unibomber wannabee, who's sending that shit out just to
kill people. I'm worried about the militia groups and the KKK. You're
going to see a rise in all kinds of shit. Think about the Arab
Americans who've gotten their asses kicked or been killed so far. I
didn't see white folks killing or beating the shit out of each other
after the Oklahoma City Bombing.
"People are just lost. I felt like I was lost before, but now I
feel more focused. The machines don't hammer as hard. Nothing seems
like it matters that much. We've gone from sitting comfortably on a
nice warm sofa in front of the fire to constantly walking a tightrope.
Honestly, I haven't felt this alive in the past ten years. I want to do
it all. I want to make as music as I can. I wanna take as many
pictures as I can. I want to experiment as much as I can because you
never know. The decision to keep the safe little job and wonder what
would have happened if you had done "blank" could be the greatest regret.
The world has become just as f*cked up as I thought I was. I don't
feel so trapped, trapped like I'm living in a shell of oddity while the
normal little place around me spins.
"I still have my boundaries don't get me wrong, but the playing
field is just a little bit larger. That's why I'll say out loud 'I hate my
job' some days. That's why I'm not afraid to dance on my car in a
crowded parking lot, or ask the prettiest girl out to dinner, or lament
on why God might hate me. That's why I know it's going to be a long
cold winter."
disgust on her face. "Why are you doing this to yourself? You were
doing so well."
"Some days I hate my job renting cars to people. I was doing ok and
then it just got f*cked up. Ice pumps through my veins when I think of
the you're-fired-if-you-don't-kiss-ass speech I got. They took me to
lunch hoping I wouldn't explode in public. I did a pretty good job." I
said watching the smoke curl into little circles.
"Didn't they ask you to leave the restaurant?" she asked shaking her
head.
"Yes, but that was a little bit later. Completely different
circumstances."
"Sure it was. You are nothing but drama. Pure drama."
I laughed a quiet laugh. It almost felt good to sit and relax with
her; almost. I had been pulling back slowly, cutting ties with people
who didn't return phone calls or e-mails and limiting my time out to
people who were interested in hanging out.
The winter was coming. You never realize how cold it is until
you're alone. I wanted to see just how cold it would get this year.
Quiet little nights out like this were my way of finding out who I would spend time
with and who would just get the occasional hello at the grocery store.
I inhaled deeply. I served no true purpose for her. I realized
that the last time we went out. I was her excuse to leave the house
when her boyfriend wasn't around. I had learned to filter out his name
each time she mentioned it. I always felt like she was reminding me
that I wasn't him. She wasn't really too happy with him either. He was
just there to cure her loneliness but he wasn't smart enough to realize
it.
"The September 11th incident started to put things into perspective
for me, too." I tried to get my mind back on track. "It's time for
some serious decisions."
"Like what, marriage?"
"Woman, do I look like I'm high on crack?!? Why would I wanna to
ruin a perfectly good relationship by getting married?!?"
"You are such an asshole. You know _____ doesn't think that way
about marriage and love." she said crossing her arms defiantly.
"He's still getting blown, that's why."
Dead silence is such a beautiful thing.
"Oh come on. You know I'm kidding." I wasn't f*ckin'
kidding.
"I was talking about the terrorist attacks! I'm talking about being
taken out at any minute by some freaking psycho; either that Osama prick
or that wacko unibomber wannabee, who's sending that shit out just to
kill people. I'm worried about the militia groups and the KKK. You're
going to see a rise in all kinds of shit. Think about the Arab
Americans who've gotten their asses kicked or been killed so far. I
didn't see white folks killing or beating the shit out of each other
after the Oklahoma City Bombing.
"People are just lost. I felt like I was lost before, but now I
feel more focused. The machines don't hammer as hard. Nothing seems
like it matters that much. We've gone from sitting comfortably on a
nice warm sofa in front of the fire to constantly walking a tightrope.
Honestly, I haven't felt this alive in the past ten years. I want to do
it all. I want to make as music as I can. I wanna take as many
pictures as I can. I want to experiment as much as I can because you
never know. The decision to keep the safe little job and wonder what
would have happened if you had done "blank" could be the greatest regret.
The world has become just as f*cked up as I thought I was. I don't
feel so trapped, trapped like I'm living in a shell of oddity while the
normal little place around me spins.
"I still have my boundaries don't get me wrong, but the playing
field is just a little bit larger. That's why I'll say out loud 'I hate my
job' some days. That's why I'm not afraid to dance on my car in a
crowded parking lot, or ask the prettiest girl out to dinner, or lament
on why God might hate me. That's why I know it's going to be a long
cold winter."
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
17 - Reasons Why
"God hates me." The machines began their silent march forth. She
had stayed with me all night. I was still wearing the clothes from the
night before. She had covered me with a small blanket and I was
drenched in sweat. My kidneys hurt and my eyes were adjusting to the
room. The urge to vomit was at the forefront of my thoughts.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" she asked. The last thing I
remembered was the pillow she placed under my head. "Why can't you just
drink like everyone else?" Her words were blurry, meaningless pockets
of sound the echoed through the room.
The chill of the bathroom floor was a welcome comfort.
"Drinking doesn't numb the pain, or slow the machines, or stop the
floods. If I'm lucky this will eventually slow everything to a
controllable hum."
The pain began slowly. I could feel the darkness crawling over me
again. I tried to remember all of my reasons why. I tried to remember
only the best lies. I wondered if the angel would sleep just a little
bit longer. I wondered if the beast would hesitate. I wondered if the
machines would finally march through the center of the earth and remind
me of just why I think God hates me.
had stayed with me all night. I was still wearing the clothes from the
night before. She had covered me with a small blanket and I was
drenched in sweat. My kidneys hurt and my eyes were adjusting to the
room. The urge to vomit was at the forefront of my thoughts.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" she asked. The last thing I
remembered was the pillow she placed under my head. "Why can't you just
drink like everyone else?" Her words were blurry, meaningless pockets
of sound the echoed through the room.
The chill of the bathroom floor was a welcome comfort.
"Drinking doesn't numb the pain, or slow the machines, or stop the
floods. If I'm lucky this will eventually slow everything to a
controllable hum."
The pain began slowly. I could feel the darkness crawling over me
again. I tried to remember all of my reasons why. I tried to remember
only the best lies. I wondered if the angel would sleep just a little
bit longer. I wondered if the beast would hesitate. I wondered if the
machines would finally march through the center of the earth and remind
me of just why I think God hates me.
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