Chapter 1
It’s amazing how fast you can run when there’s a fucking rottweiler chasing you. Few domesticated animals can instill such fear in someone as a rottweiler can. Why anyone would ever want to house such a monster is a mystery to me. They’re not lovable, they’re not cute and they’re not beautiful. They slobber on everything, shit everywhere, and could easily eat the face off a child. Lovely. Sign me up for one. Make that two, actually.
But there I was, running like a mongoose chased by a lion on the dry plains of Namibia. I should probably also mention that the devil dog had only had three good legs, one eye, and a terrible bladder problem. He was spraying everywhere as he ran. His fourth gimp leg wasn’t functional–it didn’t have a knee joint and was a peg leg dragged along by the three good ones. I always imagined that the other legs had to be resentful of the one bad one. It just coasted along on the energy of the others, not contributing anything, like a child living at home with his parents after college. Yet somehow, by the will of some loving god, he could run. Fast. All I could think about as I ran was how I could first kill the damn thing and make it look like an accident. Run through traffic and hope he gets hit? Feasible, but also likely that I’d be struck by a car, which has never been on my to-do list. I’ve never even broken a toe. Call me adventurous.
So I did what any respectable, scared 20-something male would do–I turned around, squared my position, looked around to see if there was anyone watching and I kicked the thing smack in the face. It was a spectacular performance. Any soccer player would have agreed that I was blessed in that moment with perfect technique–a divine gift delivered to the steel toe King David of my boot. My foot landed just under the jowls of the beast and raised him head first until he made a flip and landed right on his back. I wish that someone had caught it on video. I’d be an overnight star on YouTube. Who wouldn’t want to watch an averagely attractive guy kick a three legged, one eyed dog in the face as it urinates all over itself? The correct answer is no one.
For a moment I started to feel sorry for him. He whimpered in a high-pitched whine and panted so heavily that I thought I pushed his ribs halfway into his throat. But then I saw it–still in his mouth, the reason for this whole ridiculousness, now covered in blood. In a moment of self-confidence after my victory, I rolled up my sleeves, took a deep breath and reached a hand in there. Wrapped around one of those nasty teeth was a ring. Not just any ring–the ring.
Eight days, thirteen hours and ten minutes ago I asked my girl to marry me. The ring that I had carefully picked out for her was now wrapped like a lace bow around a beast’s tooth. Anyone would wonder why there was such expensive wrapping on a dirty, slobbery present.
I rotated the ring back and forth trying to jog it loose, hoping that the bastard wouldn’t suddenly get a boost of energy and bite my hand off.
I put the slime-and blood-covered six-thousand-dollar ring into my pocket and wondered what to do next. People had started to gather around and I had to have a story to get out of this in the clear. Time to turn on the old charm, I thought. Come on high school drama class, don’t fail me now. “Help! Please,â€ﾝ I shouted, “this dog was hit by a car. Please, anyone.â€ﾝ
“Oh, dear,â€ﾝ a rotund older lady said, “can you carry him? My husband’s clinic is right down this way a few blocks.â€ﾝ
It was time to kick it up a notch.
“Thank you so much ma’am. He’s been following me for the last few minutes. I think he likes me, but the poor thing just couldn’t keep up.â€ﾝ Man, I am such a great liar! “Then he crossed the street with me at just the wrong time, and bam. His three good legs couldn’t get him across the street fast enough.â€ﾝ
When I smiled just then, I’m pretty sure one of my pearly whites had a sheen glow briefly, like in those old Pepsi commercials. Enjoy a Pepsi. Ding!
“Oh, the poor thing. Come on.â€ﾝ
I picked up Satan though it took all my remaining energy. I was surprised by my own strength. It’s amazing what your body can do after you have triumphed over the Devil himself. His body was limp in my arms and it was difficult to get a good grip on him. After a couple of awkward poses together, we finally settled into a pace that worked for both of us and we stopped stepping on each others toes.
The woman and I commiserated on our short walk to her husband’s office. I learned that her name was Darla (are you kidding me?) and her husband was Herbert. Herbert and Darla Tanis. What year is this and where am I again? They’d been married for 20 years and have many pets. No rottweilers, though, of course. If you pictured a 45-year-old nice fat woman, she fits that image to a ‘t’. Big eyes, short, stubby arms just long enough to wrap a huge hug around a large child or small man. Dark brown hair and a dated half dress/half muumuu graced her with surprising dignity, much like I’ve pictured Mother Goose to look. The only other stereotype that I’ve seen fit someone so perfectly was my Italian roommate in college. Every time he was offered food, he yelled, “L’appetito vien mangiando,â€ﾝ as any good Italian does apparently.
We rounded the corner and the Tanis Animal Clinic was a few doors down from there. It was a handsome establishment in the middle of a somewhat dumpy street. I wondered how I had never noticed the clinic before. When we walked in the doors I was transported back to the 50s. I might as well have walked into a soda bar, with girls in beehive, and boys with pompadours. A young couple sipping from a milkshake from a glass with two straws, gazing at each other, wondering when and how they might get to lover’s lane for some hanky panky without their parents finding out.
A thick, stately man paraded out from the back who I could only assume was the big man himself. He was balding and pretty short–just big enough for Darla to wrap her arms around, I thought chuckling silently and shaking my head. Herbert was one of the few men that looked right bald. Some bald men you see and think, eeeehhhhh, that’s unfortunate, and try your best not to stare. With Herbert, though, it worked. I bet that if he made the exclusive guest list to heaven, he’d still be bald (because, well, it’s Herbert Tanis–bald man extraordinaire) and God would parade him around as a trophy of the aging male.
“Goodness!â€ﾝ he exclaimed, as a man of his time would be expected to say in that situation.
“Oh Herby.â€ﾝ Ha. Herby. “I was bringing you your lunch and I came across these two. Is there anything you can do?â€ﾝ
“He looks pretty bad, but let’s see what we can do. Bring him in here.â€ﾝ
We followed the trophy through a short hallway lined with photos of happy clients and their mended pets. I took note of how many rottweilers I saw. Precisely zero. The room looked like a typical doctor’s office except that it was actually pretty comfortable. It didn’t feel like death or sickness, but rather like a blanket of fur that you might snuggle into for a while before realizing that it is, in fact, the carcass of a dead animal and you want it off you immediately.
I laid Hades onto the metal table and he was still bleeding, panting and whimpering. For the first time, I started to feel sorry for the dog as he looked at me in pain. I put my hand into my pocket to finger the ring, making sure it was still there. Herbert took a few diagnostics and asked me questions about what happened, who’s dog it was and other background information that I utterly lied about with an air of honesty. I felt like a politician telling his people what they want to hear. Lying is ok when it’s good for the system, right?
I told him in detail about how I didn’t know who’s dog it was and how sad it was the condition he was in, what with its three good legs, one eye and bladder infection. Luckily he had peed all the liquid out of his body when I rapped him and there was none left to squirt around the sterile clinic, but the stench of the urine had stained his fur. He was wearing a tag that identified him, but I said that I didn’t know the owner or how he got so far away from home. I recounted my story as best I could. I was a true hero in this epic, stopping to help a poor animal out of my busy schedule because it’s what a good person should do. At one point Darla pushed her bottom lip out and pouted with an ‘aww’ thrown in there.
“Well, this guy’s in pretty bad shape here,â€ﾝ Herb said. “His jaw is fractured and there’s a pulled muscle and some bruising in his neck and hind legs.â€ﾝ
“Is there anything we can do?â€ﾝ asked Darla.
“We should try and get ahold of the owner–a Ms. Allison Grayson.â€ﾝ He read from the tag. “I’m sure she’ll want to know where her dog is and that this kind man may very well have saved his life. There’s nothing we can really do for him except give him some pills for the pain and wait for him to heal by himself.â€ﾝ The doctor turned to go call the number on the dog’s tag.
Interesting twist, I thought: Cold-blooded ninja warrior turned hero. It was a good plan if for no other reason than to make her feel sorry for me. Before the doctor made it out of the door I interrupted: “I’ll carry him to her house,â€ﾝ I said in a kind tone. “It’s not that far from here and it’s on my way anyways.â€ﾝ
“What a kind man you are.â€ﾝ Darla whimpered.
“You sure are, a true samaritan.â€ﾝ Echoed Herbert. “Please tell Ms. Grayson that this service is on the house because of your generosity and that if he ever gets sick again that our doors are always open.â€ﾝ
“I will tell her and sing your praises,â€ﾝ I said with conviction.
He finished cleaning up Satan and gave me a sample bottle of pain pills to give to Allison. Ms. Grayson was not a name I would ever think to call her again. Not after all this bullshit. Who knows though, for a second I thought that things could turn out differently after I bring her poor dog back home from his long, painful, and much deserved experience.
Chapter 2
I rang the doorbell and waited for a minute. The Antichrist was getting pretty heavy in my arms. I’m not made of much brawn and this 100-pound beast was getting the best of my strength. I felt like Christopher Robin holding Pooh bear up to get some honey, except there was no honey and this creature was not at all cuddly. I considered dropping him on the stoop as a final revenge, but my story would be blown if she opened the door at that moment. So I waited.
I heard footsteps come closer and closer to the door, and then silence. With wooden floors it’s hard to hide your movements and someone outside can always tell when you come to the door but don’t answer. They can even hear you walk away and know you just don’t want to see them. If she decided not to open the door and to walk away it would be like watching her deliberately not answer her cell phone if I called from 20 yards away.
I’m sure she could only see my mug and not her precious beast as she peeked through the eyehole to see who it was. She suddenly swung the door open in a huff as if she were about to scream and slap me across the face–but then she gasped. “Oh my God!â€ﾝ she yelled. “What the hell happened?â€ﾝ The yelling turned to sobs as she began to pet her dog. Well I couldn’t very well tell her the truth and I sure wasn’t going to tell her why he started to chase me to begin with, so I retold the story as Darla remembered it. Her version was rife with emotional torment, like a made for TV movie. Mine was CNN. Telling the story for the third time was much easier and the facts starting to feel like truth to me, and thus they would to everyone else.
She invited me in and I laid Satan onto the sofa. Allison stroked his head as I recounted every false detail. She was eating up every word like fine soft cheese, savoring each bite. I was a true wordsmith pulling out words I didn’t know I knew and metaphors even Billy Collins would approve of. I told her all about Darla and Herbert who was the ‘true’ hero in this story. I had to fight myself not to wink and give a thumbs up as I said it. When I got to the part where I carried the dog home, she threw her arms around me and showered me in thank yous.
Unsure of what to do next, I said I was in a hurry and just wanted to make sure she heard what happened. I gave her the pills, repeated the dosage info Herbert had told me, and stood up. I looked at the dog and couldn’t tell whether he was looking at me as an enemy or his saviour. Technically I was both, as most heroes are, but dogs don’t remember all that much anyways, right? If they could talk, then there might be some issues, but as far as science knows right now, they can’t and I was safe.
She started to baby talk the devil dog as I opened the door to leave. God I hate baby-talking to animals, especially to fucking rottweilers. They’re animals not children. I’m not saying we shouldn’t be nice to animals, but don’t treat them like children. That’s just sad.
On the walk home that afternoon, I couldn’t quite decide whether I felt exhilarated by my performances or depressed about everything that happened before the debacle.
☂
The morning before, I had woken up hopeful about myself with Allison. I had bought a ring that cost me six months worth of work and had planned the perfect proposal.
A friend of mine’s dad owned a traveling carnival. I told him my elaborate plan and convinced him to keep the carnival open an extra night so that we could have our own private party. All he’d asked in return was that I try and convince his son Greg to get his life together. Knowing full well it would never work, I had agreed to try. Greg was one of those guys who didn’t really have any goals. He lived the life of a typical fraternity jock even though he was neither a jock nor in a fraternity.
Later that day, when we got to the carnival, Allison had no idea that I had set everything up just for us. I guess she thought that it was just an unusually slow night because she didn’t seem to find it strange that we were the only ones there. Eventually, after wasting some money trying to win her god-awful stuffed animals that she’d throw away in a week or so, I got us onto the Ferris wheel and asked the lovely hostess to let us hang out at the top for a while. It’s amazing what a $20 bill will get you from a carnie. I could have gotten her to cluck like a chicken, but decided that wasn’t all that romantic. It’s too bad she wasn’t a violinist, a poet, or something else that would be useful on a romantic evening. As we sat there at the top of the wheel looking out over the Boston skyline across the Charles, I doused her with a bucket of words, in my best lover’s tone. I pulled out some “Remember when we...â€ﾝ moments which girls always melt for. As she was dripping into a puddle, I pulled out the ring and said the words that every man loves to dread.
Despite a slight hesitation, her answer started out perfect with an “Oh, Josh.â€ﾝ The ring had one of those lights inside the case that made it shimmer like a star and it really did look beautiful (six grand’s worth). Then came the worst words that can be said after a proposal. “Can we talk about this?â€ﾝ
Are you fucking kidding me?
“It’s just that I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.â€ﾝ
Are you fucking kidding me?
“You know I love you so much.â€ﾝ
I briefly debated jumping off and wondered how long it would take until I finally hit the ground. Instead, I yelled down to the carnie to bring us down.
“Josh.â€ﾝ
Are you fucking kidding me?
“Josh. Will you talk to me?â€ﾝ
The only thing I could muster up to say was “I want a corn dog.â€ﾝ
When we finally got off the wheel of shame (as I call them now), I marched over to the food vendor area. Unfortunately food was not part of the deal with the owner. Only the rides and a few of the games were open to us. Are you fucking kidding me? I just wanted a goddamn corn dog.
We went back to her place because she wanted to talk, which really meant that she wanted to talk and wanted me to just sit there and not say anything, feigning interest in what she had to say. As we walked in, Satan glared at me and growled. Other than the fact that I hated him in return, I couldn’t figure out why he hated me so much. I had never hit him or anything. I had fed him when I was asked to and walked him a few times, though he just tried to escape my grasp the whole time, probably with the urge to eat some defenseless children. We scooted past him as he stared me down the whole way up the stairs to her bedroom. What was once a nest of young love now looked like a battlefield as we both strapped on our armor and got into position.
After a war of ideas on how to get out of this horrible mess, I somehow fell asleep exhausted from battle. She probably kept talking at least 20 minutes after I dozed off. I had a dream that night where carnies were dancing in a circle around the ring chanting in an ancient carnie language the songs of their ancestors. It was oddly entertaining, though disturbing. I half expected Hannibal Lecter to come out and start eating their cold, clammy brains with a nice glass of Chianti before putting on a Bach record and air conducting along. All of a sudden, a rogue carnie drove one of the trucks top speed right into the middle of the campfire. The damage was devastating. I heard the screaming of the ones not killed on impact, but injured severely. The animals’ cages had all broken loose and all the lions, tigers, elephants, and other large animals started running around in no particular direction. Eventually the scene quieted down after the sound of the ambulances faded along the dirt road heading back to the city.
When I woke up she had left for work early and left me a note saying that she was glad we talked and that she’d be home for lunch if I was still around. I made it a point to remember not be at lunch with her that afternoon. Besides, I had to go to work.
☂
I worked as Barista at the local Starbucks, churning out over-priced water and bean-based beverages for people who thought they were more important than they really were. Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with soy milk. I used to always just think to myself, “Just order the regular one fatty, it’s clearly not making a difference.â€ﾝ But then again, I needed the job so I just smiled and handed over the drinks hoping that they’d spill it all over themselves and burn some of that loose skin off. Whatever, you’ve all thought it before too, so don’t judge me. Some people just ask for it and I duly give it.
That was my endless routine for 6 hours a day, 6 days a week. It could have been worse, but not by much. Most of the time I just got into a zone and didn’t see, feel, or have any real interaction outside of my own mind. It was like when you’re driving and 50 miles down the road you suddenly can’t remember driving that distance because you were in a trance conjured by the endless stream of white lines ticking like the seconds on a clock rolled out flat.
My goal was to get better at repeating this trance-like state. I wanted to see if I could learn to control it. That’d be a pretty good skill and I could use it daily. The whole day before it would have been a godsend. Especially after all of that proposal mess, I wanted the ability to help me not think of the harsh rejection. So for the rest of the day I decided to practice. I would zone out and make lattés. I became less and less like an employee and more like a robot. No extras, just work. I was super efficient and everything was going well until one lady ordered her usual “Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with soy milk.â€ﾝ
She stomped through the doors wearing her power suit that was about to bust at the seams from a bunch of powerless and angry cloth. Her sunglasses never came off as she got in line in a huff because she had to wait. She spoke quickly and loudly into her Bluetooth headset talking to someone who probably cared as little about what she was saying as everyone in the store. I noticed a few other customers roll their eyes at the ridiculousness of her and how typical and contrived her performance was.
Melinda, who works the registers, and I normally worked the same shifts. She was what she was and not much more. I couldn’t have cared less about her and rarely spoke to her about anything. On that day, though, she forgot to write soy on the cup and the lady was furious. The fat bitch took a sip of her drink, reeled back, and spit it out, landing a spray of coffee bullets all over me as if I were a paper target in a shooting range. “This is NOT soy milk!â€ﾝ she screamed and proceeded to dry heave a la Jim Carrey in Dumb & Dumber except here it was not at all funny, just sad.
She threw her drink down onto the ground, spilling her Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with skim milk all over the floor as well as a few customers who were just minding their own business. I had never seen such a scene. She stood there screaming like an under-qualified military officer who just got promoted because her daddy was an elite officer. She was struggling for command of her soldiers, but everyone knew she didn’t deserve any sort of respect and they all just wanted her to shut up.
My boss came out to try and console her, but she wasn’t having any of it. Other customers were upset because they were either covered in her coffee or because they now had to wait as all the employees were scrambling to help and clean up.
I looked over at Melinda, dripping in a mix of slobber, espresso and sugar, and then looked down at my shirt. Looking back up to Melinda, she gave me a face that said ‘What?’ Eventually our boss had to give the lady a bunch of free drink coupons to get her to shut up and leave. It’s amazing what you can get in life if you’re evil and cause enough trouble. People will just reward your indecencies to try and keep the peace. All the regular people just going along should be rewarded for being regular. All the bitches like her should be clubbed over the head and tossed to the gutter. If it weren’t for that whole “justice and law systemâ€ﾝ thing, then I may very well have gone Fight Club on her.
Marcus, the owner, walked over to us shaking his head. “Alright you two, will someone tell me what the hell that was all about?â€ﾝ
“The cup didn’t say soy.â€ﾝ I said politely.
“What? It sure did. He just didn’t read it right.â€ﾝ Melinda retorted.
Marcus looked at the two of us and went to go find the cup that had caused the whole mess. He picked it up, wiped it off and came back over. By now, all the coffee had erased or smeared most of what Melinda wrote. There was really no telling what was there originally.
“Look. I understand that she’s just exceptionally nuts and completely out of her tree, but we can’t have people do that in our store, so we have to make sure their orders are right. OK? Please don’t let this happen again. Either of you.â€ﾝ
Melinda and I agreed to be more aware and Marcus retreated to the office in the back. I grabbed a napkin to try and dry some of the gunk off of me, but it would have taken more napkins than the store had to get me clean. So I decided to be disgusting the rest of the day and proudly display my wounds from that battle.
I debated whether or not to drift off into a trance again but after you’ve been through something like that, it makes you care even less. I was contemplating revenge on Melinda when I heard a “Whoa, what happened to you?â€ﾝ I looked up and saw the last person in the world that I wanted to see. Allison. I would have rather had the Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with soy milk lady come back and spit in my face again than to see her.
“Look, I really don’t want to talk about it.â€ﾝ
“Alrighty, well I didn’t see you at lunch today so I thought I’d see if you were here.â€ﾝ
“Well here I am.â€ﾝ
“You want to come over after work?â€ﾝ
“After a day like this I don’t really think I’ll be in a great mood.â€ﾝ Not to mention a night like last night.
“Oh. Ok. Well if you change your mind, I’ll be there just hanging out, ok?â€ﾝ
“Yeah, ok.â€ﾝ There’s no way in hell that’s going to happen.
She looked almost as defeated as Marcus did a few minutes ago and I couldn’t help but smile a little bit inside for my small win. It’s amazing that after shooting you in the heart, girls will often want to smile and cuddle afterwards. What they don’t realize is that most of the time we just want to get them back. We want revenge. Not serious revenge, just little victories here and there. She retreated and rounded the corner outside the store then faded away.
It wasn’t until two showers later that I felt like I got myself clean from the fat bitch spittle. I still shudder thinking about it. The next day, she came back. That Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with soy milk lady and her stupid face. I saw her walk in and was tempted to make whatever it was wrong on purpose just to see what would happen. I looked over and Melinda’s face hardened as soon as she saw the woman.
Of course she used one of her many free drink coupons and walked briskly to wait for her cup, standing in front of everyone who was already waiting patiently. “Let’s go, I’m in a hurry,â€ﾝ she said, just begging me to forego my generally high sense of morality. “Come on!â€ﾝ she yelled again. “And could you maybe try and make it right this time?â€ﾝ
“Coming right up.â€ﾝ I said cheerfully. After giving the other satisfied customers their drinks I finally started making hers. My mind was racing trying to think of what I could do and suddenly it hit me. The adrenaline took me by the hand and helped me as I took her Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with soy milk, put the lid on loosely and ‘tripped’ as I took a small step over to give it to her. The cup flew out of my hands and my God was it beautiful. I wish the Planet Earth video crew were there to film it at 100 frames per second so that we could watch it again at super slow motion in all of it’s glory.
The lid that was loosely placed on the cup came off first as the first bits of coffee flew out. The cup got some good air as it left my hands and I had just enough time to see a reaction before the bomb landed. Her face was pure joy to my eyes. Just as her mouth started to open up into a scream, her Extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip Mocha with soy milk landed on her face first, then her chest and the last little bits made it all the way to her feet. Like a cartoon, the cup hit her square on the head a hair later than the coffee did. I was an unbelievable shot. Everywhere that it landed it slid downward, around all her fatty rolls, invading every crevice and planting flags at each stop to claim its territory. The bloodcurdling scream she belched resounded so loudly that a few other people dropped their own drinks on the floor in surprise.
The new guy, eager to be helpful, rushed over to the woman with a whole ream of napkins to help get her dry. Marcus ran out of the back and as he saw the whale, he ran full speed over to her almost knocking over the display of Starbucks sponsored CDs and a few customers as well. After assessing the situation, looking at the woman and then Melinda, he looked straight at me. I had never seen that look in anyone before. He looked the way Jack the Ripper must have just before he carried out his well-planned murders. I tried to act surprised, but I was enjoying the moment too much to pull it off with any sort of conviction, and he saw my game. “Josh. My office. Now! Oh, God, you have got to be kidding me.â€ﾝ
I slowly and triumphantly removed my apron and in my head I heard everyone in the place erupt into applause. I’m sure a few people who were there had seen what happened before and had seen her in the store a few other times as well. I hoped that someone understood and smiled with a nod while seeing the whole thing play out. Melinda looked at me as if she had just gotten smacked across the face by her best friend without provocation. Slightly bowing every few steps along the way, I brushed past Melinda, pushed open the door and arrived backstage to my green room.
It didn’t occur to me until a few minutes later that this would end up hurting me pretty bad. I was still running on the fumes of my high to care much, but it all came to a screeching halt when Marcus came back in looking like Wile E. Coyote with the Road Runner in his sight.
Chapter 3
Marcus beat my ear for an hour or so until he finally collapsed like a lover after a marathon romp in the sack. As big of a man as he was, he had a surprisingly small angry tone. Normally in the equation of men, the size of the man is directly proportional to the size of his voice capacity. This was not the case with Marcus and it was the sole reason that I didn’t fear for my life during his rant. For most of his spiel I drifted in and out of a daydream where I was floating around above Coney Island invisibly as if I were haunting the place. It’s odd though, because I’ve never been to or even seen the island. That’s the fun with dreams, they’ll lie right back to you.
Needless to say I was let go. I would have fired me on the spot as well, but would have probably tossed in a nice brisk slap across the face or kick in the shins as a severance package. I couldn’t really complain as I clearly did it all on purpose. The trick was just going to be finding my next job. Marcus, still exhausted from his tirade, looked as though he needed a cigarette. “Well, do you have anything else to say?â€ﾝ he asked plainly.
“Not really. Frankly, I think it was worth it. She was just the worst.â€ﾝ
Marcus had cooled down and now chuckled with me. “Well, at least you’ve got a good sense of humor.â€ﾝ
“Yeah, maybe now I’ll open up my own Starbucks across the street. You know I’d get more business.â€ﾝ
“You go ahead and try.â€ﾝ
☂
I walked out of the office with an odd tranquility surfing along my veins. I laughed out loud as I recounted the last 24 hours. “I’m like a bad movie,â€ﾝ I mumbled to a stranger as he walked past me in the opposite direction. Maybe it’ll end up being one of those movies that’s so bad that it’s good, I thought. I thought about going to Allison’s, but decided to just forget about her for the night and walked a few more blocks, around the corner and into Our House, a local bar.
The place was pretty dead. After all it was only 5 o’clock. The happy hour crowd was just starting to trickle in with their pea coats and Bluetooth headsets and the jukebox hadn’t yet been turned up to eleven. After picking my seat at the bar, I ordered a Jack Daniels on the rocks. The bartender was this guy I’d seen there before, I don’t know his name, but the thing about him that stood out is that he always wore the same shirt. Granted I didn’t go there all that often, but every time I did he was wearing the same cowboy shirt with blue and brown stripes and mother of pearl buttons. The kicker was this bolo he wore with an Arizona style cattle skull and turquoise stones for eyes.
I downed my first drink in about one and a half sips and signaled for more by tapping on the rim. Bolo came over and poured me another drink. I looked up at the TV and the news happened to be on. I always hated the news. It’s always the same and we never actually learn anything. Someone died, a new medical study says we can’t eat something that we all eat regularly, another pharmaceutical bought their way into a piece about how their drug is the new best thing, more killing, etc. (The only thing I’d steal from our Canadian brothers to the north is their news. They actually have news that matters.) They were doing a piece that night on the carnival that had been in town. Apparently one of their employees had been drinking and rammed one of their trucks into the camp killing 12 and injuring 9.
The camera zoomed in on the smoldering campfire with branches of metal and debris around it. Broken cages, aimless animals, corn dogs and cotton candy were strewn about mingled with all the orphaned stuffed animals keeping them company. I couldn’t really grasp right away what I was seeing on the screen. It all seemed very familiar though I couldn’t figure out why. I must have had my mouth hanging or something because Bolo asked me, “Hey, you alright?â€ﾝ
“Yeah, I just...I was just there the other night.â€ﾝ
“Oh the carnival, huh. That’s some shit, right? I wonder what made him do it.â€ﾝ
“You think he did it on purpose?â€ﾝ
“That’s what they’re saying. Either that or he’s just got really bad aim.â€ﾝ
“I proposed to my girl there last night.â€ﾝ
“Oh congratulations.â€ﾝ
“She didn’t say yes.â€ﾝ
“Oh.â€ﾝ
“...â€ﾝ
“Here, this one’s on me.â€ﾝ
“Thanks.â€ﾝ
We bantered a bit as the place started to fill up. The bar always drew a strangely eclectic crowd. Of course the local college kids came in with their fake IDs and were normally accepted without question. There were often had businessmen, because of the college girls; older gay women, because of the college girls; blue-collar types, because of the college girls, and then the other 20-30 somethings as well. It’s amazing the demand for college girls. Try to work on a girl 5 years older and you’re ten times more likely to actually get somewhere with her, flattered that you passed up all the newer, younger models.
The pool table lit up with its constellation of balls–new solar systems being created every ten minutes or so. It was an amazing universe. I sometimes felt like God watching it all happen from the outside. Right as I was admiring a constellation that looked like a smiley face, a soft voice bubbled, “Hey, can I sit here?â€ﾝ
“Um...sure, yeah.â€ﾝ I stammered.
“It’s my birthday!â€ﾝ
“Happy Birthday.â€ﾝ
“Are you going to buy me a drink or what?â€ﾝ
“Oh, um, yeah. What’s your drink?â€ﾝ
“I don’t know, something fun.â€ﾝ
I waved Bolo over.
“So, it’s her birthday and she wants something fun.â€ﾝ
“How about a couple buttery nipples.â€ﾝ
“Ha! What’s that?â€ﾝ She giggled. I couldn’t help but cringe a little at that giggle.
“Warm butterscotch schnapps. It’s pretty amazing.â€ﾝ Bolo replied.
“Make two,â€ﾝ I said. “Aren’t you here with anyone else?â€ﾝ
“Yeah, my friends are over there.â€ﾝ
“Are you sure you don’t want them to drink with you?â€ﾝ
“No, that’s why I came over here.â€ﾝ
“Oh, ok. Two it is barkeep.â€ﾝ
Bolo twirled the schnapps bottle around his finger like a cowboy in a shootout at high noon and poured two shots, then returned the bottle to its holster and pushed the drinks over to us.
“How about a toast?â€ﾝ She smiled.
“Sure. Let’s see,â€ﾝ God I’m awful at toasts.
“Make it good, it’s my birthday.â€ﾝ
I sighed, closed my eyes, took a deep breath and said, “Ok here we go. Wait, what’s your name?â€ﾝ
“I thought you would never ask.â€ﾝ She leaned in so close to my ear that I could feel her lips brush my ear as she spoke, “Nicole.â€ﾝ
I stayed there a second savoring that feeling, then snapped back to reality.
“To Nicole. May her birthday be as full of life as the stars in her eyes.â€ﾝ I said. Where did that come from?
For a moment she didn’t say anything. She just looked at me with a touch of sadness that I felt drip to my feet as if I just stepped into a light rain. The moment passed and she screamed, “WHOOOO!â€ﾝ
We both took our shots and I felt the warmth coat the lining of my throat and fade slowly down into my stomach. “My name is Josh.â€ﾝ I said.
“Well, let’s have another, Josh.â€ﾝ Nicole said with a slight hint of rebellion. I will rebel against the world by drinking butterscotch schnapps, I thought. If only Stalin had access to butterscotch schnapps instead of Vodka, he may not have been such a dick.
Bolo poured us another and without a word we downed our second.
“One more?â€ﾝ I tossed the words out into the booze filled haze unsure of why.
“Yes.â€ﾝ Her neck started to loosen up. You’re already tipsy? I thought to myself. I’ve been here drinking whiskey for a few hours already. She sat on the edge of her barstool like a child waiting to open her first present at a birthday party. Bolo poured us another two short glasses. Mid-shot, she exclaimed as loud as she could with a mouth full of schnapps. “Mm Mm!â€ﾝ
She slammed her glass down onto the bar and jumped up to her feet. “This is my song,â€ﾝ she screamed as she bobbed her head back and forth. The whole night they’d been doing an 80s theme with the tunes. Take on me. Take on me. Take me up. “Let’s go dance.â€ﾝ As any guy would do, I tried to keep us at the bar and as far away from the dance floor as possible. She was surprisingly strong, though, and pulled me up out of my seat. She bounced with the beat all the way over to a small open area and kept bouncing full force, occasionally doing that Flashdance running in place move.
I realized then that I hadn’t been off the barstool since I had gotten there at 5 and was more drunk than I realized. The dangling Christmas lights mixed in with the neon beer signs and danced together with the beat. I looked over to Nicole, who was clearly in her own world, uncaring of everyone around her and I couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous of being so care free. After a second, I let the alcohol finally take the wheel in my head and I started moving. “Yay!â€ﾝ she exclaimed as I bounced my legs. After the alcohol got used to controlling the movement of the legs, my arms started swirling about. Piece by piece, I was letting go of my body parts, succumbing to the capable but awkward force of the sauce.
Song after song we danced. It was something I had never done before and something that she was clearly an expert at. Eventually, after some more 80s classics of Genesis, Tears for Fears, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Paula Abdul, Gloria Estefan, Journey, and Modern English, my bladder was screaming for my attention like a child that wouldn’t be ignored. “I’ll be right back.â€ﾝ I tried to say over the music.
“Ok.â€ﾝ She replied melodically in sync with the music.
The room slid slowly back and forth as I walked as if I were on a large boat floating on the sea. Arrghh, I thought as I pushed open the door to the bathroom with a hooked index finger. Public restrooms are one of my least favorite places. Surrounded by men with their pants down and their dicks hanging out like a shady porn theatre with sticky floors. That’s the image that always comes in my head as I wedge myself into a tightly packed line of urinals.
After a shake or two and a shiver that ran briskly down my spine, I washed my hands and left the theater. I made my way past the businessmen, college girls, and the rockstar wannabes back to where Nicole was dancing. I paused a moment, made sure I was is in the right spot, furrowed my eyebrows and started looking around. I stood on my tippy-toes trying to get a better view but couldn’t find her anywhere. I walked back over to Bolo and asked, “Hey have you seen the Buttery Nipples girl?â€ﾝ
“I don’t hear that nearly often enough,â€ﾝ he smirked hoping for some recognition or return joke. He noticed my lack of interest in and finally said “I haven’t seen her since you guys went over to dance. Sweet moves by the way.â€ﾝ
“Thanks.â€ﾝ I paid my tab, ran outside past the bouncer who was surprisingly small and looked around hoping to see her somewhere. Twenty minutes ago I could have cared less about this girl, but somewhere between A-Ha and Fleetwood Mac something happened. I walked around the block once just for good measure before giving up completely. I walked home that night trying to make sense of my life. I’d always known the epithet ‘when it rains it pours’, but it rarely rained over me. It felt as if I was suddenly walking around in wet socks, weighing my feet down as if two kids were sitting on my feet with their legs wrapped around mine.
At least I could walk. The wonder of Boston, as a 20-something, is that you don’t have to drive anywhere and probably wouldn’t even if you could afford it. Drink and drink and then just walk home. My feet slowly started to lighten up as I started to let everything go bit by bit. I ran up the stoop to my apartment, opened the door and fell face down onto my bed. It’s amazing how a bed feels more like a home than any other part of a house.
That night I dreamt of Nicole. Her hair the color of a Strawberry-banana smoothie, her eyes the dark blue/grey of ocean horizon after it rains over the sea. It’s amazing how fast it can happen. Infatuation should be prescribed as a drug for the sullen or depressed. What a job that would be, to be the object of affection for the troubled. It’s one of the few feelings that instantly makes everything else in the world seem trivial. Love doesn’t even quite compare. There are so many degrees of love that sometimes it’s just there in the background like a jazz guitar player riffing standards in the back of your mind. Sometimes you notice him as he plucks out a tune you actually recognize, but the rest of the time he’s just kind of there.
In my dream I saw her walking down Massachusetts Avenue toward Cambridge. She was smoking an Ultra Light and bobbing her head to the sounds of her iPod. The dream zoomed in closer to her and I could hear her listening to what was probably her favorite Mayday Parade song–I had a dream last night we drove out to see Las Vegas. We lost ourselves in the bright lights, I wish you could have seen us. I couldn’t have imagined anything else for her to listen to–just obscure enough to be cool, but well known enough for others to know how cool.
I just floated above her for a while and watched her, trying to figure her out. There is no greater mystery than a love interest when you first meet them–so much to learn and so many unknowns. What’s her favorite food? What’s she into? All the things that would eventually be made known in a relationship. (I knew everything there was to know about Allison, and though there’s certainly something great about that, I realized that I missed the mystery.) I followed her all the way over to the MIT campus before I woke up to my bladder elbowing my insides reminding me I had to go. I was still in my clothes from last night and most likely in the position that I had fallen into when I first got home. Now that’s sleeping, I thought.
A quick flush and I plopped back down into bed. Reaching over to my nightstand, I looked at my cell phone and saw that Allison had called a few times the night before. I played the message back on speakerphone as I rolled out of bed again to brush my teeth. “Hey Josh, it’s Allison. Hey I just was wondering if maybe we could talk some more. I feel like things have been left on a weird note and I was hoping that we could work things out. Give me a call when you get a chance. Bye.â€ﾝ
So much has happened since I saw you last, I thought. Less than 24 hours ago I had a job and wasn’t hopelessly infatuated with another girl that I didn’t know if I’ll ever see again. I’m a different person entirely. A brief look outside told me that it was going to be a nice day and dammit I was going to enjoy it while I could. I put on some clothes, grabbed my bag, some tunes, a book and walked out the door.
Chapter 4
When you have no specific goals for a day, it’s amazing what you can come up with to do. I’d been so conditioned to the routines of work and life with Allison, that being free of both of those things (Allison pending) was kind of like a snow day. I felt like I could do anything and was probably going to try. I decided to take a leisurely walk down Newbury Street, something I hadn’t done in a long time because Allison hated it. I thought about what else I could do now without Allison dictating our agendas as I passed by my favorite local homeless man. Just before rounding the corner, I walked past Sweet & Nasty, a specialty adult toy and cake shoppe. That place always gets me–I should work there, I thought as I turned onto Newbury. I popped into Newbury Comics to check out some new records. After you haven’t been in a record store for a while (because you buy all your music on iTunes), you suddenly remember why record stores are so great. Everyone is there for one purpose: the music. Whatever your musical tastes are you can find something that you’ll like and most likely someone else there who likes the same thing, no matter how bizarre it may be.
The line at JP Licks had died down a bit after I left Newbury Comics with nothing but a slight contact high, so I moseyed on in and got an ice cream cone. The guy at the counter kept looking at me, clearly thinking that I was cute and that maybe I’d be interested in him, but hey, it’s Boston and I was pretty used to it by then. I loved to toy with gay men. I’d speak very clearly in a straight tone, but would occasionally drop in mumbles of obscenities, just quiet enough that it wouldn’t be understood. “Here’s your change.â€ﾝ
I browsed my iPod for the perfect soundtrack to this walk. Scrolling past the classic life-soundtrack tunes of Radiohead, Sigur Rós and Yann Tiersen, I felt like I needed something a bit more obscure. Ah, there it was, Trentmøller. Nothing like some weird electronica to add a mood to life. You know how sometimes when you find the perfect soundtrack to life, you actually feel like you’re watching it instead of living it? That’s exactly what it felt like as I paraded down the street. I disappeared and in my place was my understudy, and an HD camera with a soap opera filter on to make it all feel even more ethereal. I just sat back with some popcorn and watched as life around me buzzed with caffeine and lust.
This street was amazing, how could anyone not appreciate it? It had everything. The chic flares of expensive grub, hipster shops, bums chanting for change, $20 parking, art galleries, Skate shops, Asian markets, you name it, it was there. It was always good people-watching as well. All the girls who wished they were high fashion broke out their D&G garb and kicked it with their huge sunglasses and tried to look like someone famous.
Eventually I made it down to the Commons and browsed around the local Frisbee players and hippies, who are usually the same, but not in this town. I sat for a while and let my camera-self pan across the landscape, immortalizing each Frisbee toss and kiss for posterity. The spring in Boston was unlike anywhere else. There was a certain magic in the air. After taking in all the scenes that I could, I headed back up towards Newbury to check out the other side of the street.
When I finally made it back to Mass Ave I stopped and looked around, wondering where to now? I turned right and headed back towards my apartment. Instead of going home, though, I kept going until I hit the Charles River and the Longfellow Bridge. About halfway down the bridge, on the other side of the street I saw a girl walking with strawberry blonde hair, bobbing her head as she walked. I squinted a bit to try and get a better look, but I knew it was her. I didn’t have enough time to see her face as she passed me going the opposite direction. I couldn’t believe it, it had to be her. A second later I had a déja vu to end all déja vu. The feeling hit me so hard I stopped for a moment, almost saying ‘ow.’ I disregarded all traffic that may have been coming and ran across the street. I was about 20 feet from her. She was wearing those tight jeans with no back pockets. God bless the person who invented the back pocket-less jeans.
I toyed with the idea of catching up to her and tapping her on the shoulder, but we were halfway across the bridge and she probably would have either maced me in the face or kicked me in the groin. Either way I would have most likely fallen over the edge into the freezing Charles to a slow, frigid death. That was out of the question, so I just stayed behind her a bit trying to think of what the chances were that it was actually her. It had to be an absurd a million to one chance. There were 590,763 people in Boston and the area of the city was 89.6 square miles. The chances were too small, I thought, but it has to be her. We finally cleared the 2164.8 feet of the bridge and she turned left and across the street toward the Esplanade.
Again I was struck by a déja vu so hard it broke my stride.
I started to wonder how I could approach her without being creepy or having to say that I’d been following you for about half a mile. I decided to alter my route and walk away from her a bit hoping she’d stop somewhere. About a quarter of a mile down, she sat on a bench looking out over the Charles, right as the song I was listening to came to a final pause. It felt as if time stopped for a second. I couldn’t just walk up to her now, I had to either wait a while or walk right in front of her and have her see me. I surveyed the situation to formulate a plan.
There was a small dock leading out over the river right by her bench. Perfect, I said to myself moved forward. Keeping my head down as I walked, I slowly walked past her and got aboard the dock. It seemed more like a raft that was attached by a single rope to the brush than a dock, but I had a plan. I sat down and peered out over the Charles. The college crew teams were practicing their ancient exercises. I wondered how the coxswain was chosen. He didn’t have to do anything but yell at everyone else to do the hard work of rowing. How does someone get that gig?
I looked left with my peripheral vision to see her out of the corner of my eye. She was still there, curled up with a book, reading intently. I wondered if she had seen me, or if she would have cared if she had seen me. I have to at least talk to her, I thought. I grabbed my bag and prepared myself as best I could. I’m certainly not an outgoing person and I was even less so with my confidence nearly at empty.
I took a big breath, stood up and looked around. Still there? I began walking back toward the sidewalks and tried to think of something to say. Closer. Closer. Stop. I squeezed my face into my best inquisitive look and said “Nicole?â€ﾝ
Startled, she looked up. “Oh, hey.â€ﾝ
“What are the chances, right?â€ﾝ
“Yeah.â€ﾝ
I had never felt silence as awkward as this. The air was suddenly tinged with a strange feeling, clinging to every breath I took. I almost choked on it.
“So what happened last night? I came out of the bathroom and you had left.â€ﾝ
“Oh, yeah, well I just had to leave. Sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind anyway.â€ﾝ
I was choking on the heavy air, the words getting harder and harder to get out.
“Actually I was having a great time.â€ﾝ
“Really?â€ﾝ
“Yeah, I mean you got me to dance, right? Who else could have done that?â€ﾝ I did a few moves with my arms to jog her memory.
Finally a smile.
“Look, I’m really not very good with guys, you know? I just got out of this bad relationship and I’m just not sure I want to do that again just yet.â€ﾝ
“I certainly understand that. I don’t really want to get into anything big either. I just asked my girl to marry me two days ago and she said no.â€ﾝ
“Ouch.â€ﾝ
“You’re telling me.â€ﾝ
She looked at me for a moment. I could tell she was sizing me up: Was this guy worth continuing a conversation with? “You want to sit down?â€ﾝ she finally said, tentatively.
“Yeah, that’d be great.â€ﾝ
We sat on that bench for a while talking about the things you do when you first meet someone. I told her all about my struggles with Allison, the ring, her stupid dog, the carnival proposal, and my recently lost job. I could tell she was judging me a bit about the fact that I had no real career. “So then what do you really want to do?â€ﾝ
“I’m not really sure yet.â€ﾝ