Soul Mining

Almost six years ago, I wrote the message below to a new friend.  We were both people struggling through a difficult time and we connected via our respective health issues.  For a short period of time, I’d like to think we helped each other out.  Currently, I am struggling through a similarly dark stretch of health concerns with lots of questions and uncertainty, with no answers on the horizon.  I ran across this today while deleting and/or backing up old files on my computer.  It seemed a fitting tribute to all of my friends and family and how huge of a debt I owe each and every one of them. 

Thank you.

Sometimes I wonder why I do it – why any of us do it.  I've never believed in any kind of bigger picture, or been spiritual in any way.  When it comes to life and its meaning, I don't have any answers and I often wonder what the point of it all is.  These questions always arise when I have to deal with health problems, especially while I was a kidney dialysis patient.  During those three years I contributed nothing worthwhile to society, nor did I enjoy any aspect of it.  At best I was a burden to my friends and family.  I couldn't work very much, nor do anything creative, plus I was a serious expense and burden.  To this day I wonder why I fought so hard to survive, only to end up cold, isolated, and loaded with guilt and regrets.  Yet, there are still those moments - those times when you are able to forget, because your friends rally and fill you with a sense of belonging and love.  Occasionally, there are those times when you can help someone out with advice or comfort that provides a sense of purpose.  Sometimes there are moments or situations where you may encounter someone, when you least expect it, who will change your life.  Maybe none of the big questions get answered, but at least you can feel good about being around, if only for a few moments.  

(02/11/07)

Ocean Breathes Salty

He sat down on the bench beneath the coat rack. Various odors drifted around his senses from the jackets lined up above his head. Each jacket’s stench told a different story about its owner. He leaned his elbows onto his knees and dropped his face into his palms. He didn’t want to delve into those stories. Pain felt like it was going to rupture out from the middle of his back, or at least seep out through the hole in his left side. The pain was from pressure. The pressure was from old blood swirling around his insides from a long stretch of internal bleeding while on blood thinners during a disastrous hospital stay. He was dizzy from the pills he had taken. He began to shiver, as he attempted to regain his feet and return to work. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his hands as they struggled to retie the white apron around his waist. He heard a voice from behind him ask if he was okay.

“Well that is that

And this is this

You tell me what you want

I’ll tell you what you get

You get away from me”

Red and green cloud the pool’s alternating surface direction inside the bright white porcelain bowl. He managed a grunt of laughter as he thought to himself about how the colors were so festive. He tried to ignore the burn from the infection. He was unable to button his jeans, because his hands were shaking too much. The bandage wrapped around his abdomen had begun to unstick, so he tried to hold it in place with his elbow. The tiny rubber ball underneath the burgundy stained gauze that was connected to a tube that thrust deep inside of him looked like it was filled with Kool-Aid, but it made him think of knife wounds.

“The ocean breathes salty

Won’t you carry him in

In your head

In your mouth

In your soul

And maybe we’ll get lucky

And we’ll both grow old

Well I don’t know

I don’t know

I hope so”

Wrapping his arms tightly around each other, he allowed his head to fall against the stair behind it. His momentum shifted his weight across the steps into the wall. He couldn’t make the ataxia of his torso stop no matter how hard he tried to squeeze himself still. His teeth rattled despite his efforts to clamp down his jaw and arrest control of his muscles from the disease that had already eaten away his soul. He could’ve called out for help, but all he could think about was his impending death. It was past 3 am anyway. He didn’t want to wake anyone. He pondered the notion of his death and what it meant to him. Nothing came to mind, other than a sense of relief and the emptiness that he had always envisioned. He had learned less than two months prior that bleeding to death internally would be a good way to go. It was so relaxing to be slowly drained of life; to delve peacefully into a deep sleep and then never wake up. He did wake up though, and instead found himself sweating, shivering, nauseous and forced into a fallen position on a staircase due to crippling pain.

“Well that is that

And this is this

You told me what you saw

And I’ll tell you what you missed

When the ocean met the sky

You missed when time in life

Shook hands and said goodbye

When the Earth folded in on itself

And said ‘Good luck

I hope heaven and hell

Are really there

I wouldn’t hold my breath’

You wasted life

Why wouldn’t you waste death?”

He stared out toward the horizon. The low autumn afternoon sun still burned bright, if not hot. He considered how the tiny bumps for hills covered with tall trees to the west are blocking his view of the ocean from this vantage point. He had actually never seen the beach along this stretch. He had been to this little town hundreds of times, but never ventured anywhere beyond its two very modest golf courses, which lie just inland. He held his shirt up, as his friend worked diligently to reapply his stained bandage to his side and back. A layer of sweat from the activity and humid heavy coastal air made the bandage a liability. The third member of their group, who joined a few holes prior, asked if he could play through. They nodded and laughed at the circumstance. His pain and mourning have been tempered with determination and a realization at how much he wanted to keep fighting.

“The ocean breathes salty

Won’t you carry him in

In your head

In your mouth

In your soul

And the more we move ahead

The more we’re stuck in rewind

Well I don’t mind

I don’t mind

How could I mind?”

lyrics & title taken from Isaac Brock./Modest Mouse

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

Wake (Part II)

Deep Black

Chuck and the Orange sat down on the curved bench changing their shoes. They had both just turned 23 and decided to gather a few of their friends and join a summer bowling league. This was week one. If this May was a sign, then this summer might be a hot one. Chuck and Ryan, or as he had become known that week: the Orange, had grown up doing junior leagues together as kids and thought it might be fun to do a short twelve week league for some fun. It was good for Chuck to get away from the increasingly suffocating scene of his normal routine, which often included Sandray and Jason on the periphery of his social life. It was too much for him to take. He needed to escape, in order to find a way to have fun and maybe meet new people. He had always loved bowling and with Harrison, D and Chris on the team, it looked to be a promising idea.


The league was mostly made up of older people, which surprised everyone at first. Gordy, a tall fat old man with huge bags under his eyes and a giant cigar dangling from his lips pounded by this rookie team and grumbled incoherently to himself as he carried two black bowling balls upright by the finger holes to his team’s appointed lane. Harrison overheard him grumble something again and then begin to wheeze violently, which caught the attention of everyone else. No one was sure if they needed to run over and prepare to enact CPR, or if things would settle down. It turned out that he was laughing and all was okay.

Everyone else, having tightened their bowling shoes with the 1980s Velcro straps, wandered off to buy several pitchers of beer for the first game, leaving Chuck to try and figure out how to enter in each player’s names onto the electronic scorekeeping system. The last time he had bowled in the small town he grew up in, scorekeeping was still done by hand. He was not sure what to make of this. Little by little the names went in. They had already decided on the team name and the order they would bowl in. He typed in TORGO for the team name. Torgo is the stumbling bumbling bellhop from the terrible movie “Manos: the Hands of Fate.” Torgo looked like he had pillows shoved down his pants and stuttered odd things about “the master” as he bounded slowly through life. The Orange would be the lead off man, he requested to be Chin Ho or Wo Fat from Hawaii Five-O, but The Orange is the name he got for wearing an orange shirt one day – the same day we saw a man standing in a decommissioned telephone booth off of 39th Avenue with an orange crate placed over his head. D was an easy type in for the second slot. Harrison was often known as the Iron Fist dating back to a threat he made against Ox who had made him miss his chance to talk with the ravishing Julie Woo earlier that year so Chuck typed “The Fist.” He looked around and saw that Chris had come back from the bar or bathroom or somewhere and was commenting about the intense smell of Pine Sol that was making his eyes water.

“What do you want to be tonight?” Chuck asked Chris. He had only recently met him, as he was a friend of the Orange’s from college.

“How about ‘Doug E. Fresh?” responded Chris, as everyone else filtered in around the scorer’s desk.

“Perfect.” Chuck replied, as he typed in “Dougie.”

Chuck was set to be the anchor and he hadn’t thought of a name for himself. He looked over at Gordy in the adjacent lane, who was once again wheezing loudly. The alley had opened up the lanes for practice bowling and one of Gordy’s teammates had just missed a spare shot. Gordy shouted out “I’ll give you a T for Trying” and launched into another extended death defying throat clearing gasp for life. Chuck typed in “Gordo.” He glanced up at the screen above the lanes. Team Torgo was set to bowl against Steve, Mandy, Bill, Wendy and Tom from the Mike’s Café team.

Chuck stood up and took in the surroundings and felt strangely energized by the horrifically loud crashing of pins crashing from all sides. It’s no wonder everyone that works at bowling alleys wear hearing aids. He glanced back at his new hero Gordy and started contemplating the idea of taking up cigar smoking. His teammates were all similar to him, but not as gregarious, or huge or loud. They looked to be bowling against a Filipino family going off as Team El Tigre. It would’ve taken at least three of their teammates to measure up to the sheer girth that was Gordy’s mid section. In the other adjacent lanes to their right, Chuck watched as a couple walked up to the lanes. They looked to be a married couple maybe in their early 30s, both of them clad in blue jeans and matching T-shirts. They were introduced to their much older teammates and began to get themselves ready. Chuck watched as someone typed Melissa up on the screen. He didn’t pay any attention to her husband’s name. Chuck stood there with his mouth open and all the silly chatter and odd running commentaries from his teammates faded away. Melissa had shapes that Chuck had never seen in person before. It seemed as if all of her assets were always on the verge of bursting free from her tight well-worn clothes and he silently rooted for them to do so. Her jeans were skin tight and starting to split just underneath her shapely backside. Her white T-shirt hugged her waist and was around her chest.  Not leaving much to his imagination.  She reminded him of 70s TV star Adrienne Barbeau.

Chuck never did bowl a practice ball, as he watched Melissa without ever averting his gaze. He watched her roll her bowling ball and it made him nervous and self conscious.

“There’s a hunger inside you!” Harrison screamed, as he slapped Chuck hard across the back, as he dropped a Snickers candy bar onto the scoring desk. “Are you fired up? I’m fired up!” He shouted and they began a hand bleeding series of hand slaps over and over as the Fist repeated his fired up mantra.

Everything became a blur for Chuck and he began to sweat and become nauseous. He frantically rolled his first ball and scored a messy strike. He looked back over at Melissa who was leaning over and talking to her husband who was sitting on the bench framing their two lanes. Chuck felt like he was sweating pure testosterone, as he was struck with pure lust.

Another crashing strike flashed before Chuck’s eyes, as he heard a loud turkey gobble call from behind, along with shouts of “Annie Oakley” and “Blood in the water” all from his teammates. Chuck had opened with five straight strikes and all the shouting was gaining the attention of the other teams. Chuck turned around, essentially oblivious of what was happening. He saw that Melissa was smiling at him and he lost himself into a daydream of her running over and smothering him with hugs and kisses. He could feel saliva pooling up inside his mouth as he walked toward the back of the lanes high-fiving people all along the way including an intricate rehearsed celebratory greeting with D. He had lost the ability to swallow.

In the sixth frame, the rest of the team was riding the momentum. All four of them had rolled powerful strikes and it was up to Chuck to score a perfect star frame for the team and a sixth straight to start the league. He had never bowled six straight strikes before. He still had not. This time, he left the five & eight pins in the middle and quickly rolled a simple spare. As he walked off the lane, Melissa applauded his start and high fived him as he went by. Her husband was in the back buying some beer. Chuck stomped by his teammates and shrugged off their comments about dropping the mashed potatoes and slipping on spilled gravy and how there had been too much butter on his biscuits. He threw his shoes off and went outside into the warm dry air after a scorching hot day. The evening had started to cool the edge off a touch, but it was still just as warm outside as it was inside the stuffy old bowling alley. He sat down against the side of the building, beneath the tiled figures of people-like shapes purportedly heading toward the entrance into the alley. He took a few deep breaths watched the traffic streak by and felt himself calming down a bit – at least enough to regain some composure.

After returning to the fray, Chuck managed to finish the two and a half remaining games without having to leave again, but was still driven to distraction by the presence of Melissa nearby. Team Torgo was on fire and Chuck led the way with all three games coming in above 200, easily the best bowling of his life. The real Gordy even wheezed his approval for the new Gordo.

Chuck felt his senses returning to him after he had watched Melissa walk out the door with her husband and with his friend’s and teammates all wandering around trying to decide what to do next. They had all piled uncomfortably into Chuck’s car, so they all had to agree about what to do. They’d all decided to grab a bite to eat at Sir Loin’s off of Sandy Boulevard, but there would have to be stops at bank machines and convenience stores for smokes and such.

Chuck turned the ignition and “Deep Black” by the Smithereens was still playing from the ride over.

“Deep black jealousy

Every time you look at me”

These were the first words they all heard and Chuck turned the volume way down.

By the time they reached their third brand of bank, it was Chuck’s turn to grab some cash. He stepped out and wandered up toward the ATM with his head down. He knew someone was getting cash ahead of him, so he wanted to look and act as harmless and possible - likely making him more conspicuous. What he was soon to realize is that this person was Melissa from bowling. She smiled when she recognized him.

“Hey, fancy meeting you here!” she smiled. “Great bowling tonight!” She glanced over his shoulder and could see his teammates all standing around outside his ’83 Ford Ltd. Smoking cigarettes and attempting to figure out if Sir Loin would be open and if so, what exactly what we would find inside. She waved to them.

“Thanks, it was quite a surprise,” he replied, embarrassed.

She touched his forearm as she said that she looked forward to seeing him next week and trotted off to her car. Chuck watched her bound all the way there in the dim twilight. She waved again as she sped off out of the bank’s parking lot. His teammates all watching her leave as well.

Chuck turned to the ATM and stuck his bank card inside the slot. It asked for his pin number and despite having had the exact same account since his mom had helped him sign up for a checking account when he was in the 8th grade, he could not think of what it was. He typed in the first thing he thought of. He tried another when that failed. He began to sweat again and attempted another set of numbers with futility after the machine had spit his card back out. This time it did not return his card. His three strikes were used up. He was now on record as a man trying to steal from his own account.

Melissa had wiped his mind clean.



Part I can be read here
Part III can be read here

Wake (Part I)



You Were Always More Than A Trick To Me, Ray

“I’ll walk you home!” he blurted with too much enthusiasm.

“Oh, okay, that would be great,” Sandray responded with a small smile.

Gary patted him on the back and gave him a creepy squeeze on the shoulder. He knew that this was Chuck’s big moment. Chuck had a serious thing for Sandray, but she was still with Jason - the dreaded Jason. No one could understand why she was with him. He was annoyingly self righteous and always a downer.

“Be safe out there,” Amanda added as she stepped out of the room. She was done, like that, for the night.

All of the goodbyes had been said and he was now alone with her for the first time. He could feel himself tense up, not just from oncoming nerves, but from the cold wind that blew in through the lobby from outside.

The night had gone better than he could’ve ever imagined. Not only did Sandray show up, but Jason had bailed early. Oh, he was a prize. He showed up after everyone had built up into a festive mood. Christmas lights hung from the frame of the window and around the tiny little tree standing near the front door. Candles, otherwise, lit the room. Gary’s sister had brought along loads of spirits with her and some of Gary and Chuck’s workmates had dropped by for the party. All Jason could muster upon his arrival was putting his skateboard in everyone’s way and going on a diatribe against those who drink alcohol and the hypocrisy of the Christmas holiday season. He ranted and raved about how there had been a low turnout at the rally he had attended that night, before he finally left early because he didn’t want to expose himself anymore to our party. Sandray made a small appeal to him to stay and they disappeared in the hallway for a few minutes, but she eventually returned without him. We were all glad to see him go. Jason had strong beliefs, which was fine with all of us, but it was more the way he went about sharing them that always managed to clear rooms.

“Tell me about your name,” Chuck urged.

“Sandray?” Oh, it’s an Americanized Gaelic name, or so I’m told. I never liked it. I don’t know what it means, if anything and I was always called a ‘Sand Ray’ in school growing up,” she laughed nervously, as the wind chill dropped from a sudden gust. “You know, like a Manta Ray? That’s why I go by ‘Ray’ – which is also what everyone called me growing up. It sucks, because it’s a man’s name, but I just gave up. I don’t know what my parents were thinking. My sister’s name is Carrie. I could never win.”

“I like it,” he found himself responding with tears lining his eyes. It must’ve been because of the wind. “How about I call you ‘Sandy’?”

“Thanks, that’s very nice, but that version has never stuck,” she allowed, before they fell into silence again on the empty downtown streets at 3 or so in the morning.

Though he hadn’t known what the night would entail on his way over, he could sense that Gary and Amanda had been building him up for ‘Ray.’ They knew how much he liked her, but he had given up on her the moment he found out that she was with Jason. Not only were they dating, but they were living together. Yet, there he had been, sitting on the floor cross-legged by the Christmas tree distracted between the work conversation of Rick, Gary and Chris to his left and the one between Amanda, Cindy and Ray to his right. This both thrilled him and made him extremely paranoid. He was doing his best to slack it off and be his general silly self-deprecating self and relaxed and to pretend that he was involved with the crazy work story nonsense going on, but Ray kept looking at him every time his name was mentioned in a story from the women to his right.

“How long have you known Gary?” she asked him with her shoulders hiked up and her hands buried deep in her coat pockets.

“Oh, forever. Since grade school,” Chuck shrugged with a roll of the eyes. He caught her for a moment out of the corner of his eye and marveled at how pretty she looked all bundled up in her dark navy blue coat and the big yarn hat pulled over her ears with her rosy cheeks peaking out over the matching hand-woven scarf wrapped over the bottom half of her face. It was then that he realized that he felt really comfortable with this girl. This was a rarity indeed, but there was something about her that put him at ease. He actually felt a rare twinge of confidence.

“That’s really cool,” she acknowledged and took a deep breath as she shivered from another breeze. “I’ve never been friends with anyone for that long. Amanda was telling me how loyal you are. I admire that.”

Amanda had too. In a strange moment, Chuck had heard her telling Ray about him and his loyalty and how genuine and nice he was, before leaning in from across the floor and patting a kiss on his unsuspecting lips. This caught him off guard and drew him reluctantly into the ladies’ conversation, though the work stories had suddenly taken on a renewed interest for him.

“Guess I’m like a dog,” he responded sheepishly. He wanted to tell her how he had been feeling about her over the last couple of months, since first meeting her. How does one encourage someone to dump their significant other?

They reached the outside entrance to her building a few blocks from where they had started their journey and he froze up, not sure what to do or say in this situation. This was the first time he had been alone with her and all he could manage was small talk. He had a dislike of small talk.

“Do you mind coming in with me? This place scares me,” she asked. She was right to be scared. He had never stepped foot into that building because it was so sketchy. He had known someone who also lived there and they would always meet up someplace neutral in order to avoid being inside that place.

She led the way as they walked swiftly through the dingy hallway, up a few stairs and to her apartment door.

“Well, here you are…” he drifted off, still hating small talk, but extremely guilty of it.

“Yeah, thank you for escorting me.” She smiled to him and then fumbled with a set of keys in her gloved hand.

The doorknob rattled from the other side of her apartment door and opened quickly. It was Jason and his grating voice greeting them before Chuck had had a chance to steel himself against his irritating racket.

“Hey, you’re finally home!” he grinned at her. She stood up on her toes and put her arms around his shoulders and gave Jason a kiss on the cheek. She took her place inside the doorway next to him so that they were both facing Chuck from inside their apartment. Chuck was still standing sideways. Ray was glowing. Her eyes were lit up, which was one of those things that he liked about her so much. She looked electric.

“I’ve always liked you Chuck; thanks for bringing her home safely,” Jason said and reached out to shake his hand like a father talking to his teenage daughter’s latest suitor. Chuck suddenly remembered the remnants of one of Jason’s previous rants about how the tradition of shaking hands is somehow tied with fascism.

“Fantastic!” Chuck mumbled sarcastically, while backing away down the hall and ignoring the outreached hand. He added a “Merry Christmas” for Jason’s benefit. He noticed Sandy mouth a Christmas greeting silently in return as the door closed.

Chuck turned and braced himself for the long walk to his car, hoping that it would still be where he’d parked it early that evening. The lingering vision of Sandy’s smile stuck in his mind. He wished he could see it more often and directed his way, but what was the point? He had been down this road before. It was time to try to forget.


This is the first of three parts. Stay tuned for the continuing adventures.... 

Part II can be read here
Part III can be read here

A Boring Story

   It’s still dark outside, as it is every morning I go to work. I climb onto the crowded and blaringly bright Max and keep my focus on the floor. I’m wearing sunglasses, which are irritating, but the only way I can possibly partially conceal the wreckage that is my face. A face that feels like it’s creeping out over the top and the sides of the frames. People clear a larger space than is necessary for me, as I try to settle into an open corner by the door on the opposite side of the one I entered on. There are no open seats. I felt humiliated yesterday, so I stayed at home. This morning, I don’t feel anything.

---

   Everything was all smiles and giggles. Halloween at the dive strip club we wound up at after about 10 other stops around downtown, and I was standing behind D as he talked with Kat backstage. Kat was our stripper a few minutes before. The stupid turban from the borrowed tossed together costume I was not trying too hard to pull off kept falling off my head. I fiddled uncomfortably with the fake taxi ID badge stuck to my chest as I tried to figure out where the others had disappeared to. I mumbled something to D about how Kat wasn’t going to come to the party that we had heard about happening over off of Belmont. What? Oh, she is coming? Great. Whatever. I stumbled out into the cold damp air outside to find the rest as the house lights came on for closing time.

---

“Oh, you’re such a cutie! What do you do?”
“Hey, Shan, surprised to see you down here…”
“We’re heading to that party we heard about when we were over at the Paris…”
“I’m doing some consulting right now…”
“What are you up to tonight?”
“Looking hot!”
“Can I get a smoke?”
“How long have you been a stripper?”

   The voices from multiple conversations faded into the late night air as I strode forward beyond the rest. I lit a cigarette and felt my throat burn. Where was this party again?

   “What the fuck are you gonna do about it?!”

   I turned my head, as I heard more shouting. There were suddenly a lot more voices, a bunch of voices, yelling in indecipherable accents. I saw Jeff surrounded by a bunch of thugs. What happened to D and Ryan? Kat and Shan? I was several blocks ahead. I sprinted back trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Jeff tried to defend himself from the attackers, but he was severely outnumbered and wearing a catholic bishop’s robe, which constricted his movements. Stupid Halloween.

   Down he went, just as I arrived swinging wildly and randomly at the crowd. Too late. I felt a crack on my right knuckles before finding myself grabbing onto a couple of these attackers in some thoughtless effort to pull them down with me as hit after hit crashed across my face. Then I heard a voice above the din, the gang ran away and all became quiet, which urged me to scream obscenities at the cowards running away from us.

---

   An older woman keeps staring at me. I don’t know what she sees, but I can almost see the wheels turning in her head as she forms some kind of explanation for why I look the way I do and how I’ve invaded her life. Maybe she could simply ask me. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. Maybe it’s the whiskey I had to drink before heading out this morning. I turn my attention back to the floor of the train and try and forget about anyone around me. I’m simply a man on his way to work.

---

   “What happened tonight?” the nice nurse asked me in emergency.
I tried to form words to answer, as I spot Ryan over her shoulder with a grin on his unscathed face, “I, uh, I’m not sure.”
   She was pressing a giant Q-tip around my eyes and it stung to an extent that I started feeling woozy and nauseous.
   “We were jumped by a gang of Russians,” Ryan interjected.
   “What time is it?” I asked.
   I was trying to remember what his stupid costume was. It was gone now. What happened to the turban? Why was D’s laminated bloody picture still clipped to my shirt?
   “How’s Jeff doing?” I asked no one in particular, since no one responded to my last question. The sound of my own voice was muted like it was coming from somewhere else.
   “He’s conscious now. He’ll be okay, honey. He’s getting X-Rays, which is where you’ll be going when we’re done getting these stitches in,” the nurse let us know.
   “What time is it?” I tried again. I noticed that I could see the shadow of my own face closing in on my peripheral vision as it swelled.
   Ryan left. The nurse soon followed.
   “The doctor will be in to put those stitches in shortly dear,” she told me over her shoulder.
   Sometimes I believe that I am destined to spend most of my life waiting around in examination rooms like this one. I belong here. My disease has been dormant for a few years now, so I needed to find a new way to get in. I laughed and fell back onto the flat gurney.

---

   I adjust the sunglasses as I walk down the crooked sidewalk in an effort to get them out of the scarring the frames have settled into. Time for work. When I phoned in ‘beaten up’ yesterday, I’m pretty sure that it created more questions than it answered. In my defense, I could not see, and the nurse had recommended that I not go in. She was very nice. I liked her.
   “What the -?!” I shout, startled. A rogue sprinkler suddenly sprang out from the recently rolled out grassy knoll next to me spraying my legs with a focused intensity. I stop and glance at my wet pants and begin laughing because the water attack avoided my crotch. I remove the sunglasses, as the first sign of daylight creeps over the reflecting glass of the miles of business park mazes I work in. “I expect these attacks during the summer,” I scold the sprinkler head, “but not in November.”

Kim the Waitress

Portland, OR Autumn, 1993

“Let’s go there!” Jonathan shouted over the loud stereo rattling the loose doors of the old white car, while extending a finger in front of my face.
“because the charm of her smile and the depth of her eyes radiated softly when reflected in mine”
“What?!” I responded as I slammed on the brakes in reaction to Jonathan’s point.
“yet eventually we realized sadly that I couldn’t suit her nor could she suit me”
The rusty carcass of the old Buick careened across two lanes of Weidler and slammed into the sudden steep slope of the short driveway cut into the sidewalk, throwing the two passengers across the front seat. The music shorted out for a moment before continuing.
“but I know, I-I know, an assurance of perpetual love was quite impossible”
I veered the car diagonally across the parking lot and floated into a space opposite the front entrance of the old Farrell’s and shifted it abruptly into park.
“when only 80 percent of what she wants can I fulfill”
I sat at the steering wheel, with the engine running, mimicking the naked skittering guitar line of the Spoke song in anticipation of the big booming conclusion. Jonathan stared at me expectantly holding his invisible drumsticks. One of the speakers dropped out just as the full band kicked in.
“and I content myself with the few months we had!”
With that, I pulled the key back and removed it, cutting the music off suddenly. My door screamed as if in pain as I forced it open partway, sucked in my gut and slid onto my feet. Jonathan was already out of the car and moving towards the ice cream parlor.
The wet blacktop reflected the beaming lights of the Farrell’s sign in front of me. Its frame of white light bulbs still managed to burn my eyes from its glaring image on the ground. My overcoat blew open as a breeze swept through the damp evening air. Jonathan stomped his combat boots into a huge puddle that had formed next to the wheelchair ramp by the entrance, trying to splash me. He began to laugh maniacally.
“Look out!” he screamed in his approximation of a Ronny James Dio howl.
“What are we doing here?” I asked, oblivious to his antics. “I haven’t been to this place since my birthday party in 1978. Are we going to the zoo after this?!” I added sarcastically, imagining myself riding in the backwards seat of the Plymouth family wagon that we had back then, waving at the drivers in our wake.
“Since it was too late to hit the DQ, this seemed like the next best thing.”
“I thought we were getting Blizzards so we could take one back to Isabel,” I stated, already knowing that this was, in fact, true.
“They were closed dog…they were closed,” he acted disappointed as he held the door open for me, while clipping my back foot with an uplifted toe. “Oops! Be careful there buddy!” he laughed with an over-enunciated voice, as I stumbled.
Earlier I had headed over to Jonathan and Isabel’s apartment a few beers after getting home from work. The idea was to go out to dinner, but none of us could decide what to do. After endless deliberation, Isabel had changed into a t-shirt, sweats, and her slippers, while the dusk had turned to darkness. We decided that Jonathan and I would grab something to go. The final decision was to go get treats at DQ.
I leaned my left hand on the cash register counter just inside the door, while Jonathan went straight to the gift shop shelves to mess with the hundreds of colorful toys on display. The narrow row of tables that lay straight ahead reminded me of that old birthday party during the 70’s. I couldn’t remember who was there, besides my parents, or what I had had. Jonathan began to wiggle a day-glow green rubber ball with long bouncing tendrils at me. Apparently, the wad had a high pitched voice and a low opinion of me.
“Charles sucks!” it told me.
I watched Jonathan bounce the object around before it met an untimely end with a bright blue plastic dump truck on one of the display shelves.
“Oh!” I softly exclaimed at the tragedy, just as a teenage boy dressed as a vaudeville performer approached us. He was wearing a Styrofoam hat - made to look like straw, a vest with vertical red and white stripes on the front over a white long sleeve shirt, and a black bow tie with tails. His long scraggly hair poked out from underneath the ill-fitting hat and his unenthusiastic, pimply expression were the only things keeping me from believing that he might twirl a cane around one of his arms and start tap dancing for us.
“Two?” he queried reluctantly. He was facing me, but keeping his eyes on Jonathan to his right, whose sizable frame continued to hulk over the squealing toys on display below him.
At the table, in the open dining room, around the corner from the front entrance, we both struggled opening the thin newsprint menus.
“It’s weird being back in here,” I reflected as I glanced at the light fixtures around the room. “I don’t think that it’s changed at all, except for the new and improved musty smell.”
“How do they expect us to eat our treats with this garbage all over our fingers?” Jonathan interrupted as he examined his finger tips and before sticking them into my face. “Look at this! This is an abomination! Now I have to go wash this sludge – this filth muck – off before I can even consider doing anything else!” he continued to shout around the empty place.
“There’s nothing on your fingers from the newsprint.”
“Filth! Muck! Who knows what else?!”
Our boy appeared again, leading three new characters into the space.
“I gotta hit the head, dude,” Jonathan said as he launched out of the booth. He had to turn his shoulder to allow the new customers by, who were left off at the booth next to ours in my line of sight.
The new arrivals consisted of a scruffy, tall and thin kid with hideous sideburns. The burns looked artificial - plastered across his boyish cheeks – having a darker color than the hair on his head. He sat next to a girl, who had slid into the booth before him. She stared off absently with her chin in one of her hands and her fingers gathered under her bottom lip. She had thick eyeliner on, short and spiky jet black hair and pale white skin. Her bulky furry dark purple coat tickled at her jaw line. The third member of their group was a non distinct guy who sat facing away from me. I tried to make eye contact with the girl.
As I sat looking at her, I was introduced to a faint sweet scent. Our waitress had appeared and was setting two small glasses of ice water on the table. I glanced to my left and saw a short red skirt underneath a lacey white apron and fishnet stockings wound around long luscious legs.
“Welcome to The Original Portland Ice Cream Parlour!” she smiled at me. “Do you guys want coffee?” she asked as she nodded to me.
I looked up at her glowing face. She wore shiny bright red lipstick which provided a sharp focus to her soft features. She looked airbrushed. There were matching red ribbons tying her curled light brown hair into different groupings that all hovered teasingly above her shoulders. My hand dropped from my face and began to examine the objects on the table randomly.
“I don’t know…um…”
“Oh, I’ll wait for your friend then,” she added with a smirk and twirled away. “I’ll be right back!” she called over her shoulder with a coffee pot held aloft in her right hand.
She stretched over the serving station to set the pot back onto its warmer. She held one leg up to keep her skirt from rising up and exposing too much, but enough to taunt my imagination. She began to fill three glasses with ice and water. Suddenly, I was jolted out of my daydream as Jonathan walked in front of my view of her beauty.
“Have you seen the urinals in there? They’re like six inches off the ground! I’m all, stooping down, hoping I can toss it in there! It’s fucking ridic!” he continued from where he left off, as I resumed staring at the seductive waitress. She was working her way back to deliver waters to the other table. “What?” Jonathan asked, interrupting himself. “Wait a second. What’s going on? What are you doing?” He turned his head and spotted her over his shoulder. “Oh, I see,” he realized, turning back to me, adding, “You are a dirty dirty man! Hoooo! Chucky is a dirty evil naughty boy! Naughty!”
His voice dropped to a whisper as she reached the table behind him. He hunched his head low and leaned in towards me. I looked over him and noticed that the girl in the purple coat was looking at us, distracted by our antics. She and I made eye contact before I looked back down at Jonathan’s wide grin and then at the stunning waitress who returned to our table.
“Hi sweeties,” she charmed us, “have you decided on anything? Do you know if you want coffee yet?” she said looking at me suspiciously.
Jonathan planted one of his boots firmly into my right shin, causing me to cringe and drop the spoon I had been twirling in my hand with a loud series of clanks.
“No coffee for me…thanks,” I spit out, while clearing my throat, and grabbing my wounded leg underneath the table.
She turned her attention back to Jonathan who ordered a banana split and an orange soda without hesitation and placed his filthy newspaper menu back into its holding place. I quickly began to scan the menu for the first time since our arrival. My eyes would not focus on any one thing. Jonathan had turned back around and started some sort of conversation with the other table. I sighed, trying to slow my thoughts down. I looked over at the waitress’ face, her chest, then back at her face, prior to hurriedly pointing my head back to the menu.
“I don’t know…” I said, just as Jonathan’s boot returned in full force with a loud pop. “What is your favorite?” I asked looking back up at her hazel eyes, while cringing from pain.
“If you want dessert…I’m fond of the milkshakes.” She began tapping her pen lightly on her slightly parted lips.
“I’ll have one of those then!” I leaped in loudly. “SHAAAAAKES!” then shot from my mouth unexpectedly like the legendary McDonald’s mascot beast Grimace stricken with Tourette’s syndrome. She held her gaze steady, choosing to ignore our (or my) idiocy. “Sorry, I, um… uh…make that a strawberry one. Yes, strawberry….”
She smiled inwardly, I’m certain.
“Anything else?” she sighed. We both shook our heads with furrowed brows.
“Thanks Kim!” I tossed in quickly, as she turned away, catching sight of her tiny name tag expertly placed over her heart. She glanced back and made eye contact for a second before walking off.
“Nice going chump,” jeered Jonathan.
“Dude, I wasn’t ready for this. I didn’t expect the waitress at a kid’s ice cream place to be smoking hot! What is up with the garter belt? Did you see that? She’s like one of those fantasy French maids!”
“Yeah! I did!” his voice cracked with sarcasm.
Silence overcame us for a few moments as we settled into our seats and sipped from our waters. My mind raced. Kim, the waitress, was all I could think about.
“Maybe they hired her to keep all the creepy fathers distracted so they’ll keep bringing their screaming kids to this dump?” Jonathan offered. “You should ask her out.”
“Right. I’m just the man for the job. I’m sure she gets play from hundreds of assholes a day…” I trailed off and dropped my face into my hand, lost.
“So what?”
I didn’t respond as I considered his question. What would it hurt to ask her out? That answer seemed easy: me. I could foresee, not just a polite decline, but a denial of humiliating proportions. I didn’t bother to think about what that would entail since she was approaching again with coffees for the other table. I tried to absorb the entirety of her figure in order to burn her image into my memory for all time! Unfortunately, I was too conscious of this goal, because I couldn’t focus at all.
Jonathan sat sideways in the booth with his back to the wall. He had his right arm resting on the back of the booth shared with the neighboring group. The solo guy just on the other side had partially turned around to address us.
“So, it’s her birthday today, so we wanna get the whole deal,” he whispered, indicating the purple coat girl. “Do you mind?”
Jonathan looked at me for a split second, pretending to commiserate, before answering. I looked at the birthday girl again. She continued to look disinterested with every aspect of the proceedings.
“Here you go, my darlings,” Kim had returned with the treats. “Can I get you anything else?” she queried as she looked at my empty water glass. “More water, honey?”
I blushed. Jonathan shook his head in disgust as he returned to his previous position facing the table.
Kim had a pitcher already in her left hand. She slowly leaned across the table to fill the small glass. Her perfume gently filled my nose as I slid down low in the booth, while my feet jumped around erratically like one of those wood block jig dolls that dance around on a plank. I made every effort not to ogle the closeness of her teasing cleavage, as I was ogling it. I had stopped breathing.
After the uncomfortably exciting moment had passed and she had gone away, I gasped for my breath. Jonathan’s grin widened from ear to ear as he jammed a hunk of sliced banana into it.
“Are you shaking?” he asked with a laugh.
I shook my head defiantly.
“Leave me alone,” I whined as I stabbed the straw against the table to pop the paper wrapper free. “She’s way out of my league.”
“All I’m saying is that if we played in our league, I would not be with Isabel. It’s all about overachieving. ‘Be all you can be’ and all that,” he air quoted. “Annie Oakley, dude. Blood in the water. Blood in the water,” he repeated like a mantra as he slid his right hand back and forth along the inside of his upraised left forearm – representing, presumably, a shark fin cresting the surface of the ocean’s water. “Blood-In-The-Water!” he emphasized by adding a pause between each word.
I pushed myself up higher after sinking down in the seat, so I could lean over the pink shake, asking myself what the point of this was.
“But”
“ANN-IE OAK-LEY,” he confirmed with an invisible rifle aimed at my face.
Our stand off was abruptly interrupted by an unbearably loud siren from inside the dining room. I spotted the kid who greeted us cranking on a handle to a box. That box seemed to be the source of the spiraling scream.
“AIR RAID!” Jonathan shouted, ducking his head down below the back of the booth.
I watched the kid’s hat fly off his head as he used all of the force of his skinny arm to spin the horn’s handle with determination. Then the kitchen’s door swung open, revealing two more vaudevillian kids high-stepping their way into the dining room carrying a tray atop a platform. The platform displayed a shiny silver trough jammed with countless multi-colored scoops of melting ice cream. This new duo, carrying the treat, suddenly broke out into a sprint, jolting their way back and forth across the dining room, as the air horn continued to shred our ears. Meanwhile, a thudding bass drum poked its way out of the kitchen, riding on the belly of yet another showman/ restaurant worker, who was clearly cast in his role due to his girth. In his High School daytime life, he was certainly the funny tuba player for the marching band. Jonathan peaked up over the bench just as the air raid siren slowly declined and our host joined the side of the drummer to march the quartet towards our tables. Apparently this show was designed to create intrigue and excitement for the potential recipient of the unappetizing sloppy treat piled on top of the bouncing display. The approach of the dissolving dessert and its four pallbearers triggered memories from my own birthday party. My eyes watered from over saturation. I had to place both hands on the table to keep the room from spinning.
Once the trough-bearers had reached their destination at our neighboring table and the noise had ceased (it was still ringing inside my ears), I saw the purple coat girl hang her head down and hunch her shoulders. Maybe she was being sheepish. I felt embarrassed for her. The trough was dropped under her nose with a bounce and a splash and the barbershop quartet began to serenade the victim with a version of a “Happy Birthday” song I was unfamiliar with. I could hear Jonathan humming along with the tune, while raising over the back of the booth to take in the scene. I looked around the restaurant hoping to spot our lovely waitress. I felt a surge of pride fill my chest, assuming her disdain for this tasteless show, because she was nowhere to be seen. I sank back down in my seat and examined the table, trying to be oblivious to the activities.
I began to ponder the idea of asking out the hot waitress. I closed my eyes lightly in an effort to focus – to try and summon up an angle and some courage and to shut out the action around me. “When would be the best moment to make my move?” “How would I do it?” “How could I make it memorable and intriguing for her?” “Would she be willing to give a dumpy chump like me a chance?” “How could I make her happy?” All of these questions looped around in my thoughts uselessly. My eyelids popped open with a sudden panic, realizing that I no longer knew where she was.
“She’s totally pissed!” Jonathan whispered to me, suddenly leaning in from across the table. “Look at her. Her face is red, but I don’t think it’s from embarrassment!” He tacked on as if narrating a silly sitcom. I could faintly hear a studio audience groan in unison. He was right though. She was breathing very quickly through flared nostrils. Her sneer stabbed at the sideburns kid next to her. He stood up from the table quickly; she slid over, and pushed herself upright by pressing down on the corner of the table, before storming off from view.
“Damn,” I blurted in monotone, watching her disappear. “Maybe I should go after her. Console her.”
“What is wrong with you, dude?”
“What? I dig the purple coat.”
“What about the waitress? Stay on target! Besides, she’s with Beck over there,” he indicated with a thumb over his shoulder.
Beck, and his mismatching hair and sideburns, was still standing by the table confused. The massive pile of ice cream scoops were drooping into a dark mudflow that was threatening to spill over the lip of the silver bowl. He looked at his friend who urged him to go after her with a gesture of his hand.
“What was that all about?” Jonathan asked the remaining guy, who was eyeing the birthday sludge with trepidation. He shrugged in response.
“Fuck if I know. I just got into town to visit and I’m supposed to stay with them.”
“Sweet! That’s bound to be fun.”
I made some gurgling sounds with the straw as I sucked down the last remnants of the shake and pushed the stem of the glass towards the middle of the table. I noticed the bill sitting on the edge of the table. Kim had drawn a bubbly heart onto the back of the slip. It sent a chill down my spine, despite knowing that she probably adorned all her receipts with this personal touch.
“Let’s get out of here,” I resigned.
“What about the chickie? You have to get in there.”
“I don’t know what happened to her. She’s disappeared. If she’s still around, then maybe I’ll see her at the register up front,” I suggested. I was still attempting to get together the nerve to at least tell her that…. Tell her that she’s…. I didn’t know what was appropriate.
“Maybe she’s taking a break from being so hot,” he offered.
Jonathan was on his feet, sliding an arm into his new leather jacket, as I fumbled through my wallet trying to pull together enough of a tip from the few ones inside. I had $5 total, so I dropped all of the singles onto the outside edge of the table next to the bill.
“Is that a heart?” asked Jonathan as adjusted himself into his jacket. “She so wants you.”
I slid the bill off the table with my thumb and followed Jonathan around the corner back to the gift shop entryway. Jonathan shot a look back toward the stranded guy remaining at the other table.
“Good luck tonight,” he blurted as he shot a double finger point in the guy’s direction. The castaway shook his head before pressing his right index finger to the side of it and mimicking his own suicide.
The lights had been dimmed up front, because they were shutting down for the evening. No one was in sight. Jonathan resumed fiddling with the toys for a few moments. I started to feel flushed thinking about what I would say if Kim walked around the corner.
The wait was becoming a long one.
“We should get the hell outta here. They obviously don’t want our money,” Jonathan suggested as he tossed a yellow super ball a few inches out of his palm over and over. “Why don’t you go find the waitress and tell her you’re ready to pay? Go get her!” His enthusiasm had built during this thought process, but I could see it wane immediately after he stopped talking. He closed his fist around the rubber ball. “I’ll be outside having a smoke.”
With that decision, he jerked his fist down and slammed the ball into the painted cement tile floor. The ball lunged back and forth from floor to the low ceiling panels and back too fast to see. The jackhammer rapidity of this action rattled out like machine gun fire erupting in the hushed silence of the entryway. Speckles of white powder floated down from the damaged ceiling panels.
“That should get someone’s attention,” I heard his voice menace just as I saw a puff of smoke dart in through the closing door as he disappeared.
The yellow ball was slowing its momentum and no longer touching the ceiling above with each bounce. I was able to chase it down and hunch over to grab it just as I heard some steps walking in from the dining room. I breathed a quick sigh of relief since I was able to snag the incriminating evidence before the potential arrival of Kim. I placed the ball into a clear plastic container holding rubber chicken key chains and watched the pimply kid appear and walk determinedly behind the L-shaped counter towards the register.
“Are you ready?” he queried as he made eye contact.
My shoulders hunched with disappointment, causing my hand to accidentally drag the rubber chicken container off the shelf and onto the floor with a small series of clacks.
“Damnit!” I shouted and shifted around to grab the mess up off the floor, bumping the shelving with my ass.
“Sir. Sir. Don’t worry about it. We can take care of it.”
I jolted upright, straightened my long black overcoat and stepped over the mess. I handed the kid a credit card and looked around to the dining room to see if I could spot the waitress one last time.
“Please sign here, sir.”
“Sorry about the, uh, mess.”
“Thank you,” he said, as I handed the receipt back to him.
The kid moved quickly away and out of sight. I could hear him tell someone to pick the toys up off the floor. Probably the chubby bass drum guy. I lingered in the dim light briefly and pushed open the door feeling a cool rush of wind sting my eyes. I squinted in reaction and tried to get my bearings by locating my 1975 Buick Apollo on the other side of the parking lot. At the moment I spotted its familiar shape, mildly illuminated by the orange hued lights surrounding the parking lot, I felt something snag my left foot, which was in the process of transferring weight towards my still raised right foot. The car disappeared in an upward blur, smearing into the lights from the Farrell’s sign that were behind me, and then to blackness as my eyes unconsciously clenched to brace for impact.
Lying sideways in a heap, head first down the blacktop wheelchair ramp, I felt my left palm burn from trying to catch my fall. I could hear the glide of cars passing by on the street behind me. I groaned and lifted my right hand from the puddle it had landed in and rolled on to my back. My eyes opened to see Jonathan hovering over me.
“Oops. What happened there buddy?” he asked with a wide smile as smoke flow out of his nostrils. “You okay?”
“AH! HA! HA!”
He reached out a hand to help me up, but was interrupted by a car turning into the lot. It cruised over the top of my head. I looked over to my left in reaction and saw Kim wearing a thin leather jacket. She was holding herself tightly to keep warm. She held a skinny strap against her left forearm, so her tiny glittery purse dangled next to her skirt. My neck relaxed as I watched her fishnet adorned legs clomp quickly towards the car that had pulled in to pick her up.
“Oh, no. Wow. Tough break. Sorry, man,” Jonathan stammered flatly and returned his hand to help me up. I sat up and brushed my hands together to discard the sand and gravel that had embedded themselves from the tumble and accepted his offering.
“What the hell?” I asked in mild exasperation.
“I didn’t think you’d go down!”
I brushed myself off and noticed a gaping hole in the left knee of my pants. I wasn’t upset. I shakily stepped off of the inclined plane of the slope and reached for my car keys.
“Let’s grab some beer,” Jonathan suggested as he tossed the butt aside. “It’s on me.”