Wake (Part III)

I'm Awake Now

Chuck strolled down the sun-drenched sidewalk during the bright August late afternoon. His mind was replaying his day. He felt pretty good. He had to fast all day prior to having his blood drawn for some tests his doctor had ordered, but it never crossed his mind. Not having a lunch break at work kept him focused. He had worked with a greater purpose than usual and was efficient beyond what he had ever deemed necessary. He was inspired by the idea of leaving work a little early and getting over to northwest to wander around and enjoy the neighborhood. It had been a quiet and determined Friday that would hopefully end with some fun.


That night Team Torgo was set to congregate at the Gypsy for drinks and to plan about how to go about finding a sub for The Orange for the state wide tournament in September. He would not be available. The dream was to have Gordy join us, but the prevailing leader in the clubhouse seemed to be the borrowing of the overly intense and often angry Robo Bowler, but who would be the one to approach him?

Chuck massaged the bandage wrapped too tightly around his right arm and turned into Escape from New York Pizza. A slice of pizza would be a perfect springboard into the evening. He could head over to Music Millennium and check on the latest releases before getting down to the Gypsy and grabbing a drink or two ahead of everyone else’s post work arrival.

The brightness of the sun had him blinded for a moment as he walked into the pizza place. Once he gathered his senses, he looked to the counter to his left and scanned the options for slices. He always looked at each option carefully despite always ordering either a slice of cheese or a slice of pepperoni.

“May I help you?” a voice asked him as he focused on the different flavors of pizza in front of him.

“Um, yeah,” he hesitated, and looked around and noticed that he was the only customer; “I think I’ll go big and get a slice of the pepperoni and a medium soda.”

“Chuck? Hey, it’s been forever!”

“Sandy!” he realized too slowly.

“Oh, I forgot that you said that you’d call me by that name,” she said, as she rolled her eyes. “Did you donate blood today?” she asked, indicating the bandage on his arm.

“Sort of,” Chuck looked at his arm as he responded. He noticed that the hair on his arm was standing up. “It has been a long time. “I haven’t seen or heard of you all summer. What’s been going on?” Chuck couldn’t help but notice that Sandray looked better than he’d remembered.

“It’s been a rough summer, to be honest. Jason and I broke up just as I lost my receptionist job,” she told him over her shoulder as she placed a slice of pepperoni pizza into the oven. “I’ve had to find a new apartment and I didn’t have any income,” she added and slammed the oven door with a crash.

“Oh, no!”

“Yeah, no fun, but you don’t need to hear about it,” she smiled and blew her dangling dark brown bangs up with a quick blow from her lips. She walked around the counter and faced Chuck who was bouncing an empty plastic red cup against the palm of his hand. “What have you been up to?”

“Bowling and working, mainly,” he mumbled, realizing that there’s no way he can explain that for him he has had an adventurous and crazy summer, because it was full of moments that are more about running inside jokes that are not based in actual concrete events. His social life would be completely empty if he didn’t have his close friends who were willing to hang out with him. This suddenly depressed him. He couldn’t shake the realization that he was lonely and seeing the happily married, but still flirty Melissa at bowling every Sunday evening exacerbated his feelings of always being the third or fifth or seventh wheel when he was out and about trying to be a normal social person.

“What’s wrong? Bowling sounds fun. Are you in a league?” she encouraged.

“Yes, we just finished it in first place and now we’re going to move on for a state tournament,” he tried to sound enthusiastic, but felt like he was bragging about something that meant so little to him. The bowling was about being wacky and hanging out. He and the guys didn’t particularly care about the tournament. In fact, they were all dreading it, because the excitement of the league had run its course by the end of July.

“Your pizza!” shouted Sandray as she lightly touched his arm and the spun around back toward the pizza oven. She expertly used the paddle to toss his slice onto a whicker basket with a white piece of wax paper sitting on it.

Chuck wandered back to a table not far from the counter and she brought the slice out and set it down and joined him at the table. He couldn’t believe how much he had missed her smile. He could feel his heart racing and remembered that he had always tried to find a way to be alone with her, but it had only happened for a few minutes once before. This is what he had wanted to happen for the last year and he wasn’t sure what to do. He looked down at the pizza, but didn’t want to eat it. He didn’t want to make his inevitable mess in front of her. Instead he fiddled with his cup of orange soda and twirled it around nervously.

“How are Gary and Amanda doing? I’ve been meaning to stop by and visit,” she broke the awkward silence.

“Well, they aren’t doing well. Amanda has moved out. It’s been pretty rough.” Chuck explained and then added, “but you know how that goes,” realizing that she too had been through a recent break up. He didn’t know what to do with this information. He was personally glad to know that Jason was out of her life, but he didn’t know what she saw in him either. She seemed happier and looked brighter than he had seen her when she was with Jason.

“Hi, I was hoping to order some pizza,” a guy interrupted from behind Sandray. She quickly stood up and slid back behind the counter while rubbing her hands together anxiously into her apron. Chuck hadn’t noticed that anyone had come in. He took a couple of quick bites from his pizza and slurped down a drink of fizzy orange soda. He over poured and some of the sticky beverage slipped around the cup and his mouth and down the sides of his cheeks. He sheepishly grabbed a couple of napkins and wiped his face as quickly as possible, hoping that Sandray hadn’t seen him. He was breathing too fast and a surge of energy ran through him, causing him to vibrate. He couldn’t think of what to do. With his old social circle breaking apart and collapsing, he realized that this could be the last time he would ever see Sandray again.

A line began to form at the counter and another employee appeared from the back to help Sandy out. The sounds that had seemed absent before had all returned. The chatter of conversation and clanking plates and pans and the oven door opening and closing, along with the faint sound of Sonic Youth’s “Tunic” buzzing from a couple of speakers above. Chuck half-heartedly took a couple of more bites from his pizza and fiddled with the latest culture weekly, staring at the upcoming shows, but not really reading them. He was killing time, trying to find a moment when he could try to talk with her, but was losing patience. He could always come back in a week or so and try again. Maybe then he could have a plan and could ask her out.

With that he grabbed his stuff and tossed his napkin pile and half-eaten slice and tossed them into the trash, while placing the ice filled cup and basket into the brown bus tub. He slowly walked over to the few people still lingering around the counter and waved to catch Sandray’s attention.

“It was good to see you Chuck,” she smiled and nodded, before turning her attention back to the woman who was asking about ordering for her son’s baseball team’s pizza party.

Chuck waved in return and tried to force a smile through his clenched jaw. She did not see it. He lowered his head and stepped out onto the busy sidewalk. He dodged a couple of fast walking people and spun around and stopped on the far side of the walkway directly outside the pizza place. He knew this was a mistake. He needed to say more. He needed to at least try. With his luck, he would never see her again and would spend every Friday for the rest of his life hoping that Sandray would finally be back behind that counter to take his order. He walked back inside. Sandy and her co-worker both had their backs to the counter making a couple of fresh pizzas and one man was waiting to place an order.

“I’ll be right with you sir,” she said without looking up. She turned and faced the man waiting, but was looking at Chuck with her mouth open and her eyes looking curious. It felt to Chuck that this man’s order took forever as he stared at Sandy intently trying to be as patient as possible for the transaction to end. Finally, the man stepped aside and reached for his beverage cup, and Chuck jumped in front of Sandy.

“What brings you back?”

“Um, I wanted to ask you something,” his resolve immediately began to crumble as all of his hopes with her were now going to be decided one way or another. He went silent. The smile and look of expectation on her face melted him. She was amazing. She had been struggling and she still managed to make him feel good every time he was in the same room as her. Her presence had always lingered with him. He always felt boosted with an added enthusiasm for several days after simply seeing her in passing. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime. If you like to grab some coffee and catch up.”

Chuck saw a flush of red immediately fill Sandray’s cheeks. He had embarrassed her in front of an unsuspecting public. He was convinced that she would say no. That she would be nice about it, but would now have to let him off easy. He knew how little of a prize he was.

“I’d love to Chuck! There’s nothing else I’d rather do!” she smiled brightly and began writing onto an order pad. “Here’s my number. Call me any time!” she added with excited enthusiasm. A guy that had come in behind this scene patted Chuck on the shoulder and said “Nice work, brother,” as Chuck reached for the sheet of paper.

“I’ll call you this weekend!” he shouted a lot louder than he had planned and stepped back out into the sunshine. He took a long slow deep breath in and exhaled for nearly an entire minute. Her electricity was inside of him. He walked deliberately and as calmly as he could across the street on his way to the record store. He couldn’t wait to join his friends.




Find Part I here
Find Part II here

When We Were Young

A typical night at the packed Gypsy in Northwest Portland leaves both Chuck and Harrison standing amid the smoke, chatter and fellow patrons searching for a place to stake their claim. They are positioned in the main thoroughfare between two booths with drinks in hand, yet having no adequate place to set them down. Chuck is a Whiskey Sour man, whereas Harrison prefers the more classic Bloody Mary. Patrons pass in front of the two as their dialogue begins.

“This is…big,” Harrison says with hesitation in an effort to create drama.

“Not really,” Chuck flatly responds.

“Huh?”

Chuck shifts his cold drink to and fro trying to find a place to set it down. “Mardi Gras? Yeah. St. Patty’s Day? You’ve got my vote. Valentine’s Day with Tracy Lords’ classic cinema? That was big.” He gives up his efforts.

“Not the gathering. Besides, the date with the Lord wasn’t big; it was expansive – bordering colossal,” Harrison tries to clarify.

“Don’t forget illegal. Those performances were during her carded at an R age.”

Harrison’s brow furrows in confusion, “Well, I’m sure everyone else was 21. Or, at least 18.”

“Besides, it’s Lords. Plural not singular,” Chuck asserts, contentedly takes a sip from his drink, and then continues. “There is only one Lord, you heathen pedophile! Jack Lord!”

“Are you going to try and duck destiny all night?” Harrison shouts with his arms upraised with frustration.

“Duck destiny?”

Harrison places his hands out in front of him as if directing traffic to make his point. “Yeah. Duck. Destiny.”

“I have no idea what you’re alluding to. At first I thought you were talking about the crowd, so I was stating that it really isn’t that big compared to other nights. But, in reality, you were clearly setting this whole conversation up to spiral off into some strange tangent.”

“We need a table. That way you are sitting down,” Harrison responds as he waves down Linda, a waitress common to the pair.

“Why are you pregnant?” asks Chuck as Linda approaches with a look of worry on her face.

“I’m getting killed here Banister! What is it?” an exasperated Linda asks.

“He’s pregnant.”

“No, I am not! He’s dodging inevitability.”

"I thought I was ducking destiny.”

“I don’t have time – “ Linda begins with mounting irritation.

“We really need a table,” interrupts Harrison. “Something huge has come to pass.”

“If you two summoned me over here because you are starting another religion, I swear to God I am going to scream rape.”

Chuck looks worried, “Please don’t swear.”

“What?!” Harrison exclaims trying to regain Linda’s attention. “No, that’s not it at all.” He takes a sip from his drink and gets a stick of celery stuck on the rim of one of his nostrils. “But since you mentioned it, why didn’t you ever convert?”

Linda turns away from the two boys and inhales to scream. Harrison extends his hand to try and gag her, but stops when his drink begins to spill. “No! No no no no no! Please, I’m going to write a little something on a piece of paper here that says ‘25%’ gratuity.”

Linda looks at Harrison closely. “25%? I thought that was our standard. It sure is when Sara is around. Where is Sara, anyway?”

“She formally declined to join us,” Chuck interjects.

“Linda?” the bartender shouts to her with his hands aloft from behind the wait station jammed full of drinks.

“What if I scribbled out that silly number and wrote in a big 3-0?”

“Where is Sara, Harrison?”

“She formally declined – “ Chuck begins again.

“I heard you the first time Chuck!” Linda interrupts. “I was asking Harrison.”

“Um, she has come to the conclusion that it is best that we pursue our endeavors and dreams without her company,” Harrison responds to his drink as if in reverence to someone departed.

“And, in her conclusion, lots of adjectives were used, such as, insane, juvenile, and absurd. I think I may have even heard a retarded cast into the mix at one point,” Chuck affirms as he looks over his shoulder at the angry bartender calling for Linda.

“Two words: Three and zero,” Harrison waves the imaginary piece of paper around like a bad salesman.

“Alright, I swear…” Linda says as she beelines to a table, followed slowly by the boys, where a couple is discussing their day in the close quarters of a booth. In front of them on the table is a plate of appetizers and a fruity fishbowl drink. Unfortunately, there is enough room at the table for four people. Six, if you squeeze.

Linda addresses the couple reluctantly. “I’m sorry, I’m going to ask that they join you for a moment. We are getting their table ready right now.” The couple looks rightfully confused as Harrison and Chuck approach without so much as a sign of recognition of their presence. The bartender continues his calls for Linda. She adds a disclaimer while staring at the boys: “This will only be a minute and you won’t even notice that they’re here.” Linda makes a three and a zero with her hands toward Harrison as she rockets towards the bar.

The table rattles as the two settle in. The giant drink between the couple capsizes spilling along the boyfriend’s hands and shirt. Linda, like Lot, does not look back.

“Shit!” exclaims the boyfriend.

“This is much better,” Chuck exhales – oblivious to the carnage a few inches away from him.

“Oh yeah,” Harrison agrees, as they both set their drinks carefully down onto the wobbling table. They are ready to engage in conversation.

“Here honey,” the girlfriend swipes at her boyfriend’s wet shirt with a napkin.

“Okay, I’m sitting,” Chuck licks his finger and extends it upward to check the wind before continuing, “The world is still spinning. So what’s so big?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Harrison grins. “We are film aficionados right? From the whatever’s till now, it doesn’t matter; those scribed lives fill voids in our existences.”

“There are many voids. Oh so many voids,” Chuck glances over at the boyfriend when he hears him groan.

The boyfriend takes the napkin from the gal and carefully jabs at his shirt, “Christ! It’s all over!”

“Then let’s fill those voids and while we’re at it – I don’t know – maybe our wallets!”

“Looks like Tide country,” the girlfriend uncomfortably laughs.

“So, what? Become actors?” Chuck asks with mild annoyance at the notion.

“It looks like I’ve been shot!” the boyfriend shouts at the entire room.

“Are you insane?” Harrison asks incredulously, “I can’t act.”

“Oh no, that’s not the silk daddy is it?” the girlfriend responds to her boyfriend’s clear dismay.

“You would be a terrible actor wouldn’t you?”

“This is the silk daddy!” sobs the boyfriend as he shrinks his shoulders.

“You’re ducking again,” asserts Harrison distractedly. He turns his attention toward the bar and spots Sean and Dorian.

“The Daddy is ruined!”

Sean and Dorian, precariously carrying pints of neon yellow liquid, approach the table expectantly. “Sup?” Dorian asks.

“Sup, dudes? Slide home,” Chuck and Harrison respond in unison as the each scoot closer to the couple on each side, so Dorian and Sean can slide into each space at the outside end of the booth.

“The intricate and expensive fibers of the Daddy will never survive this!” the boyfriend continues to sob.

“What the hell?” the girlfriend mumbles and crosses her arms.

“What are you freaks up to?” Sean asks as he twirls his drink between his thumb and forefinger just above the table.

“But this is the Daddy!” the boyfriend pleads for understanding.

“Welcome to the future,” Harrison dramatically pronounces to his cohorts and anyone who may be within earshot.

“What is this?” asks Dorian as he drains his pint. “All I got from the email was: ‘Meet at Gyps. Stop. You’ll be there anyway. Stop. Probably drunk. Stop. This is big. End transmission.” So, hit us with the line.”

“We are the writers,” Harrison begins moving his hands around in a Vogue motif, “and as you slept, dreaming of Molly Ringwald – "

“No,” Sean urgently interrupts, “I never dreamt of her.”

“Ally Sheedy?” Harrison asks Sean still miming in sheer stupid vanity.

“Naw, never into brunettes.”

“She was tight until that dandruff thing,” adds Dorian.

“Freeze frame. Flakes are el natural. Otherwise, she would be a Disney chick,” Harrison continues the tangent and his gestures.

“What?!” Dorian shouts confused.

“Oh, you know damn well, Scully. Those Disney chicks aren’t real.” Harrison retorts amazed, while finally giving up his flailing arms and hands. “They’re bought, built, all on a program – "

“CGI can only go so far Mulder,” D argues.

“Tell me, have you ever touched one of them? No?” Harrison turns to the others for help. “I didn’t think as much.” Sean and Chuck shake their heads in agreement, or simple indifference.

“Come on Daddy!” the boyfriend shouts as he shakes his shirt in an effort to revive the original color and dry it out as quickly as possible. “We need to get to the drycleaners stat!”

“You lived in L.A. for 14 years,” Dorian addresses Harrison, “and you’re telling me you never saw one of them in person?”

“Pasadena. And, never once.”

“Oh, that’ll help,” the girlfriend sarcastically groans before sucking on the one remaining straw sticking out of the nearly empty fishbowl.

“Once, when I was young, I saw Dorothy Hamill skating,” Sean adds. “Wasn’t she hot once in the 70s?”

“Like, hot always,” affirms Chuck to the palm of the hand his face is leaning on. “Mary Lou was the bomb back in ’84! I swear most of America wasn’t sure whether to eat out of, frame, or hump the box of Wheaties she was on.”

“Daddy? Daddy?” the boyfriend cries out to his failing shirt.

“Listen. We’re doing the screenplay. And I mean THE screenplay,” Harrison returns to topic.

“Screenplay?” the gang responds in unison.

“There you go. Stretch it a little more. That way, maybe everyone will pay more attention to the wrinkles than the stains,” the girlfriend tells her boyfriend.

“That’s it boys! This eagle has finally stopped doing whatever the fuck he was up to prior and landed.”

“I get it. One small step for you and one gigantic step for our kind. Kudos,” adds Sean.

“What’s up with the attitude?” the boyfriend finally responds to his neglected date.

“C’mon dude! What the fuck are you talking about?! That’s ridic!” Chuck pounds the table.

“No, the eagle is right! Think out of the box. Multimedia, mass exposure, internet, action figures. The soundtrack will debut at #1 with a bullet. MTV will be touring our cribs….” Dorian continues to list addressing no one in particular, “my spa will be filled with Cristal…how can I afford such luxury?”

“I know we can do this.”

“Seems like you care more about that stupid shirt than me,” the girlfriend states, as she’s now shifted most of her attention to the boys.

"D’s right about the box,” Sean adds, “hey, they said we couldn’t fly, and I’m certain some people plummeted to their deaths, but those silly Wright Brothers did it. 'Cuz you gotta have faith.”

“10 car garage, a private plane…well, I guess that ends our tour…” Dorian stammers, as he returns to the conversation.

“That’s what I like to hear. I am sick and tired of this can’t do shit. How could Brian Bosworth star in an action movie and get away with it? And worse, we all sat around watching that crap shouting ‘Boz! Boz! Boz!’ What’s stopping us?” Harrison shouts before taking a deep breath.

“But this isn’t a shirt. This is the Daddy?!” the boyfriend whines as his defense.

“Whatever bros,” states Chuck, clearly not convinced.

Dorian looks at his empty glass and then at the bar, “This place is past tense. Let’s motor. Besides, the Oak is about the start.”

“What’s happened to this place?” Sean agrees.

“The Oak is what’s happened to this place? Everything was cool until they added the oak.”

“Look! Here comes Helloween!” Chuck points to a male in his late 30s or early 40s crossing through the bar towards the other section where an announcer is beckoning all to partake in karaoke 80s night. This guy is hardcore hair-metal enthusiast. He proudly sports a cut off baseball T-shirt from Motley Crue’s Dr. Feelgood tour, ripped jeans, big big hair and the same kick ass attitude he had back in ’82. If only the body had remained as fresh as his love for the genre of metal. Patrons watch and also point, while some of the younger ladies in attendance wave to him for some God forsaken reason. He is so damn uncool. They are clearly too young to understand how uncool he is. So much so, that he has become cool.

“What’s wrong with all of you?” Harrison jumps back on point. “We’re talking about THE screenplay. This could be the Ben Hur of the new millennium and all you’re worried about is the Oak!”

“I know Kevin Smith. Maybe he could offer –" the girlfriend begins to the boys.

“I need to get drunk,” Chucks cuts her off.

“Let’s hit the ‘Balt,” suggests D.

“Who the hell is Kevin Smith?” the boyfriend’s voice cracks.

“We need to stay and hash this out,” demands Harrison, sensing he’s lost his audience, as Helloween has begun to wail the opening scream in “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns n Roses.

Everyone else nods in silent agreement.

“Fine, but you guys are picking this one up,” he commands as he waves down the scrambling Linda.

“D’s all over this action,” Sean offers, “he’s got a Jacuzzi boiling over with Cristal.”

“Did you screw him?” the boyfriend jealously continues.

“Someone is going to pay for this and somehow I have a feeling it’s going to be me,” Chuck worries aloud.

“I got it C-Note,” D offers.

“I’m not talking about the bill.”

Linda approaches cautiously. She addresses the couple who are no longer facing each other: “Well, I have some good news for you two. Your guests’ table is finally ready.”

“Cancel it. Just tab me and these three,” Dorian gestures to Sean, Harrison and Chuck. “We’re out.”

The boys all stand and stretch nonchalant aside the booth, while the girl slaps her now ex-boyfriend. “Go to hell!”

“Oh dear,” Linda worries to herself as Helloween continues to shred his voice to the siren screams of Axel Rose and the girl runs towards the exit after the departing boys.

(written with Jeff Piering)