Morning broke
as late Wednesday afternoon .
My head felt
like a hard boiled egg, the shell of which had been cracked with the back
of a spoon; spider web rings of semi-concentric circles spreading out
from the point of impact.
"Who's the
girl, Shade?"
A familiar
voice, out of the complete darkness. There seemed no logic to it. A warm
strong mans voice coming from out of the black in the middle of the night.
It had been weeks since I had a boy over, and none of them had stayed
past 2 anno.
Sometimes
I worried about the pain and alone that always seem to be with me, it
makes my head spin and my eyes cry. Love a girl. Hate a girl. Hate yourself
even more.
"Karen?" I
responded back blindly.
"No, Zoe."
I opened my
eyes to find Dan sitting at my desk, his deck cradled in his lap, a cup
of coffee in his hand.
"You know,
the hottee with the septum ring."
It took too
much of my strength to pull myself upright on bed. Blinking, I realized
that it was not dark in the apartment, but quite light, much of it coming
from the window.
"What day
is it?"
"Wednesday,
sleepin' beauty." Dan sipped coffee and checked his pad. "I refilled the
maker so, if you get up, there should be plenty of coffee." Dan then looked
at me, he was perhaps the least judgmental man I have ever met. It happens
when you're like him. You consider yourself a fuck-up, even pride yourself
on it, sit leaves little room to judge other people. However there was
an uncharacteristic downward turn to the corners of his eyes when he smiled.
Letting your homelife and social drug abuse interfere with your job, not
mine, was his department, not mine. I had spent 2 full days in bed hadn't
I?
"Zoe called?"
I croaked out, trying to shift the topic as I wrapped my top sheet around
me.
Dan burst
out in near riotous laughter, almost spilling his coffee onto the floor.
Surprised I nearly lost my grip on my sheets.
"What's so
funny?"
"Yeah, she
called." He broke into a chuckle before continuing. "She called to say
that she got a gig and would be here," he pointed at the floor of the
apartment, "Friday with her fish." Dan began laughing again, I could only
assume in reaction to the look on my face. "She seemed very excited about
the fact you had asked her to come up."
"Shit."
I tied the
sheet into a makeshift skirt and I made my way into the kitchen. Pressing
the button on the maker I listened to the whine of the blades, a sound
unpleasantly similar to a Vulcan, a moment later my mug was filled to
the brim with hot coffee.
"BTW, your
,machine makes a vicious cuppa. Took half a pound of sugar just to make
mine safe."
"Really I
drink mine black," I said, settling into my favorite chair. A garage sale
monstrosity of blue vinyl and chrome tubing.
"I guess that
means your stomach hates you as much as your liver."
Dan chuckled
aloud at his own joke, then looked to his pad. "By the way, Marge gave
you the week off, she said she would need the time to edit your story
into something printable"
The story...
"Have you
read it?" I asked, tracing a circle around the rim of my mug.
"No she wouldn't
let me near it." Dan sipped his coffee and set aside his pad, still lit,
onto the desk. "She said your language was a little too strong for my
virgin ears."
We both laughed.
"So who's
this Zoe."
I pulled the
comforter, from the bed onto myself, and began taking regular deep sips
of coffee.
"She's this
girl I know from back home. It's great" I announced. "We're a pretty mutually
destructive couple, me with my liquor, and her with her junk."
I let the
comment sit in the air for a while.
"We met one
day at my dad's hospital. She introduced herself, we went back to her
place. I ended up most nights until I moved here."
Dan whistled.
"So you've invited a junkie nurse to come live with you? Impressive my
friend."
I asked Dan
to hand me my pad.
"Junkie stripper;
actually. She just happened to be in the hospital one morning with a friend
who's appendix had burst, on-stage."
Dan just shook
his head. I thumbed my screen, and waited for it to recognize my print.
My messages, mostly junk from lists, came up on the desktop. A few solicitations,
my mother telling me to not miss my nephews birthday, which I had. I checked
my sent folder and found several drafts of appalling, drunken, "love"
letters to Karen. In various manners I had tried to explain what had happened
with me, with the war. I even mentioned how I prayed daily that she would
break up with her boyfriend. Fortunately none of them had been sent.
But a different
one had been.
Zoe,
Glad you're
coming to the area. go ahead and tell Jana that you'll be staying with
me. I'll pull up some episodes of The Real Adventures of Johnny Quest,
ice some Sapphire and black label, and we'll talk about old times.
Are you
brining Elvis?
I immediately
went back to view her last message.
Thank you
God. Thank you."
"Well it's
not as bad as I had anticipated," Dan looked at me, giggling.
He had been
writing, something into his deck, while I had been combing my message
archives.
I read the
message aloud.
"Johnny Quest
and Elvis?" He jotted something on his pad.
"Yeah," I
remarked standing up, moving slowly towards him, trying to get a look
at what he was writing. "The last time I saw her we were both liquored
upon Sapphire and Johnny Walker watching old epi's of Johnny Quest.
We got pretty hammered and had..." I thought of the most polite way to
phrase it. In mind I could still remember her standing bent over the couch
in the her living room. Her skin so soft, her legs so long, her body so
lithe. I imagined the taste of the sweat on the back of her neck, the
smell of her hair. Of there was also the feel of her. "Let's just say
we had exotic sex."
"I see..."
Dan was again writing. This time tilting it so I couldn't see what it
was he was writing. "And Elvis?"
I explained
Elvis. The little wiry haired black pup that she had gotten last Christmas
from her mum. Very friendly, but had an unhealthy habit of trying to get
some of what ever substances were being abused that night. Only animal
I ever met that liked gin. Dan just kept writing away.
"What the
hell are you writing about?" I burst.
"I'm writing
about you." He finished his cup of coffee and went to get another one.
"You see," he shouted from the kitchen. " I recently decided that you're
life was much too entertaining to go unrecorded. So I have taken to writing
down all the funny things that happen to you." He seated himself in the
blue chair, as I had taken up my desk chair. "So if you'll just give me
a more vulgar definition for exotic sex I'll try and close out
this chapter."
"Always the
journalist," I spit at him.
"Don't call
me a fucking journalist. I'm a reporter." Dan scrawled something violently
onto his pad.
"Sorry." I
pulled a pair of speed pants on underneath my bedsheet toga. Dan looked
pissed, which was odd. "I mean it, I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you."
Dan's brow
was furrowed, he looked at his pad then at me, whatever I had said had
struck some nerve. He stared at me from underneath his brows. The room
was still has he looked at me. None of my robots moved, for one rare moment
there wasn't audio streaming, the main flat was blank. I suddenly realized
how long I had been out of it. All of the day to day chores and preocupations
had been ignored leaving my apartment like the flat of a dead septuagenarian.
The kind of neglect that occurs in an apartment when no one knows you
have died until the smell of a dead senior citizen creeps into their little
world.
"How are you
going to make it up to me?"
I let that
wry smirk, that I had practiced all through out high school, cross my
lips. It was the mirror reverse of my mother's father. Not the result
of genetics, like my ability to curl my tongue. Instead the result of
hours and days spent looking at the portrait photograph of him, that sat
on top of my dresser as a child.
To look at
the photograph was to see the personification of confidence. "Pappy" Shade.
Young, smart looking, and dressed to kill. I always wanted that self assurance.
To posses that smirk that let everyone know, without word, without action,
that you are in charge. In charge of yourself, your situation, and quite
possibly of everyone in the room.
"Let's say
we grab the 'Lev to Baltimore and I get us both hammered?"
Dan' s jaw
dropped.
"You just
came out of a three day binge induced coma and now you want to go get
loaded again?" He shook his head.
I grabbed
my favorite Techen Shirt out of my drawer, and headed towards the bathroom.
"Listen,"
I shouted starting the water. "I have two days 'till Zoe gets here and
my life gets truly weird. I am not about to waste it recovering
from anything. And if you really want to document my life in that
little pad of yours, you'll be ready to go by the time I get out of the
shower."
The water
steamed. It felt heavenly against my bare skin, it cleared the sleep from
my head. I lingered in the shower longer than usaul. The water, batismal,
pushed the sleep and stuppor from my head. I tried to recall sending the
mailto Zoe. Nothing but a blank. What the fuck could I have been
thinking?
Oh, Lord.
What have I done? I must be insane.
Don't get
me wrong Zoe is a wonderful girl, just not the answer to my problems.
I don't want to hurt her. Fuck, all I do is hurt her.
Fuck, fuck,
fuck. Sorry.
Lord, please
give me the strength and the wisdom to deal with this. To do the right
thing, to find the right answers. Fuck. Zoe's a wonderful girl. In another
life I'd' marry her. Lord we both know she deserves better than some idiot
who's in love with a girl who doesn't loves him.
Fuck, fuck,
fuck.
Sorry.
I came out
of the bathroom locking the collar of the shirt. It sucked itself close
to my body, an oily black and red patterned second skin. Dan still sat
in the chair.
"So?"
"So... We
just need to stop at my place to change."
