Story Time

Stumble up the stairs to grab the phone. The basement doesn’t have one. The woman I live with says, “It’s for you.”

“You wouldn’t have yelled if it wasn’t.”

“Of course I wouldn’t of you motherfucker.”

“Aren’t you lovely this morning?”

I put the receiver up to my ear; “Hello?” it’s a woman on the other end. Jan wouldn’t of called me that otherwise. It would have been darling, dearest, Scottie or some such thing. I take a deep breath before I put the receiver to my ear. I look in her eyes; she looks like a lion about to down a zebra. I see the rolling pin in Jan’s hand. I’m glad it’s not a knife this time.

“I told you not to call me here.”

“I need to see you, tonight. I think I’m pregnant.”

“You’re pregnant, great. Why call me about it.”

“It’s yours.”

“Fuck.”

The rolling pin hits me behind the knees; she must have been listening closely. Her arms are much stronger than you’d imagine. My leg buckles, I keep the phone up to my ear. I glance over at those beautiful legs of hers. On my knees she hits me on the shoulder, a few times. I love Jan, but this is going to make it hard to stay with her.

“I’ll be over soon, make sure you’re alone.” I hang up the phone. She’s about to strike me again, I fall forward and she misses. I grab her and the rolling pin. We struggle, she scratches my neck. I pin her down she has no anger or sadness in her eyes. I think about how we should be crying, we’re not.

“I’ll get my stuff together later, you won’t hear from me again.”

“You don’t have to do that. We can work this out.”

“It’s not like you haven’t been with anyone other than me.”

“You’re a liar.”

“So are you.”

“I’m going to change my shirt.”

“Sorry about the blood.”

We separate. I should have tried to kiss her. Walking back down downstairs my steps are weighted down with my impeding battle. Maria is full of shit. It’ll be a grand time; hopefully she doesn’t throw anything at me. I need to end this with her tonight, for good. I pull a shirt out of the dryer. I wish my blood wouldn’t have gotten all over this. It was at one time my favorite. It was the first thing Jan ever bought me, before we started living together.

The car won’t turn over. Ten years past its prime this isn’t that surprising. It and I have that in common. It finally starts and I’m on my merry way to see Maria. The drive is uneventful, an ambulance here a car crash there. I drive slowly by her place; someone’s car is in the driveway. I park, get out, and walk towards the supermarket down the block. I don’t want to deal with the confrontation I’d face in her home at the moment.

The supermarket is empty when I enter. Most people are off at their jobs, toiling away for someone else. Not me, but what do I do? Pretend to be a writer in my spare time. The clerk didn’t even say “Hi” or “How are you”. He can’t be older than twenty. Do parents not remember how to teach courteousness? I make my way past a can display sale the signs that say $1.99 in large block text. I come upon clear doors and pull out a bottle of V8 Splash. I feel emasculated by this plastic juice container. I make my way back to the counter; the clerk looks at me with apathy eyes. I pay and leave. That kid should be fired.

I walk back to Maria’s, it could be hotter outside. Thos neighborhood is nice enough. I’m not worried about being harassed by undesirables. It’s loud and comfortable. Whoever’s car is gone from the drive way. I open the trash can, throw the empty bottle in, and brace myself for whatever awaits me inside.

She’s sitting, reading, and not looking much different than she did the last time I saw her. I wonder how we’ve stayed in contact this long.

“What took you?”

“You had company I didn’t feel like dealing with.”

“It was just a drug dealer.”

“Wonderful.”

“We both know why you wanted me here.” She shifts uncomfortably after I say that. Her expression changes from indifference to a calm anger. It’s obvious she’s still content on dragging this horrid thing on. I think once, we might have been in love. And I think once she was a great beauty. But that was far too long ago. The fact that I’ve kept seeing her is absurd. I’m here to end this, no sense in getting nostalgic.

“I thought you were pregnant. Or is our zygote immune the effects of poison?”

“You knew I was lying before you put down the receiver.”

“Telling me your mother died would have been a better choice.”

“I’ll remember it for next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

The lamp barely misses my head after I utter that sentence. I deserve that. None of this abuse is unreasonable. I’ve acted poorly for years, and this is what I get. She could break my fingers and keep me from typing for the rest of my life. And still she or anyone would be justified.

“Why can’t you just leave that bitch and be with me, like the old days.” She says as she lights a cigarette.

“I’d really prefer it you didn’t refer to Jan like that.”

“I don’t want to know her name, or anything about her.”

“You used to tell me all about your men. All of I’ve done is said her name.”

“Answer my question.”

“I can’t be with you because you’ve never loved me, the other men, or yourself.”

“How can you say that? I gave you my whole heart a decade ago. It doesn’t mean you get my exclusive rights to my body.”

“Oh. How foolish of me.” I tried with all my might to not sound sardonic when I uttered that. She’s used that tired old line on me for years, this isn’t the first time I’ve showed up to do this. That would explain why my reaction didn’t illicit another object flying at my head.

“You’re always foolish baby.”

“Obviously, or I wouldn’t even be here to right now.”

“Why don’t you move back in with me?”

“So I can be home while you fuck around? We both know if that wasn’t the case it would have happened already.”

“If you weren’t such a child, it wouldn’t be a problem”

“I don’t love you anymore. It’s as easy as that.”

I really did love her, once. I’m not sure who started the infidelity, but I never brought anyone her after it did happen. And for me it didn’t even happen that often. I’m not some prized catch or some handsome looker. Maria on the other hand still had a nice figure and men practically fell over looking at her.

“You’re a fucking liar Scott.”

“Maria, I am not. You know, it’s the truth or nothing with me.”

“Why’d you come then?”

“So I could make you stop calling me or trying to see me. I’ve got something worthwhile now and you can’t seem to let me be happy.”

“Are you going to marry her or something?”

“Yeah, but after that phone call today my chances of a yes are pretty fucking slim.”

I had realized before I left, that I wanted to be with Jan for the rest of my life. I had never been with such a fierce, passionate, and beautiful woman. She never makes me feel unworthy of her presence; this woman I’m here with now has always done the opposite of that. She expects me to be better than I am, and that’s enough for me to be better. I just hope she’s there when I get back.

“You can leave.”

“You’re just deciding this all of a sudden? You don’t want to drag this on for a few more hours, like you usually do?”

“If you really love this woman, get the fuck out of my house.”

“I… Don’t know what to say. I really did love you Maria.”

I get outside it’s humid beyond comprehension. I have three parking tickets. I don’t really care, I have to get back to Jan. I unlock the car and get in. It starts without a fuss for once since we’ve been together. The drive back to my home is uneventful, even more so than on the way to Maria’s. I pull in front of the house, the lights are all on, and Jan’s car is still in the driveway. I get out quickly and gallop into the house. I see a few boxes by the door.

“Jan where are you?”

“I’m in the room, getting my things together.”

“Can I talk to you?”

“I can’t really see why not, it’s your house now.”

I walk into the bedroom; Jan looks more beautiful than I can ever remember. She’s packing her things slowly.

“Marry me?”

“What?”

“Let’s get married, I mean it. I love you Jan. More than any woman I’ve ever met in my tired, boring, and pointless life. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of it without you. So, marry me.”

Third Person Angst

...and that was it. Maybe their wasn't a point in doing anything anymore. All of his "friendships" had more or less run their course. If you could even call them that. Friendship implies more than talking. It implies physical interaction in the form of spending time with one another. Not something he'd done a lot of over the last few years. He does know he's being melodramatic, but it's hard some of the time not to be. What with his inability to keep any sort of social relationship going. It's the same sad series of events all over again for him. It's gotten a little easier, he guesses.

Books

I have in the last week read roughly six and fifty hundred pages from novels. The first being the last three hundred of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon the second being all of The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. That easily illustrates what sort of time I have on my hands. Kavalier and Clay was a grand novel in both scope and execution. Chabon really brought to life the climate of the era (the forties and early fifties), and he made the world of early superhero comic books deeply interesting in what felt like a universal way. Which is a feat daring only a truly skilled writer could pull off. I do imagine, however, it's slightly more fun/interesting if you're already familiar (even just a little) with the history of the medium. It's a book of wonder, romance, and possibility. And I highly recommend reading it, unless you hate happiness. The Bell Jar being the other book this week I have sunk my time into was just as engrossing. I wouldn't already have finished it otherwise. I'm ashamed it's taken me this long to read it. I quite liked the way Esther viewed the world around her, and was floored by Plath's descriptions of mental illness. I was surprised at how humors parts of the book happened to be. I obviously mean parts in the first half or so of the novel when she's in New York. I would rank it up next to Ask The Dust by John Fante and for me to do so says how much I really enjoyed the book. And I do wish I could use Elly Higginbottom as a fake name now. Hm. Maybe I will some day. I'm grateful that this novel was suggested to me. Or chances are I would of continued to put off reading it.

Next on the reading agenda is Shopgirl by Steve Martin, The Color Purple by Alice Walker, and Everything is Illuminated by Jonathon Safran Foer. Not all to be read at the same time. I guess I could try, but I don't think I'd get as much enjoyment out of each novel. After this I should probably move on to books I've already bought and paid for.


Yippy for interesting blog posts.

I haven't talked about music on here for awhile, so I think I'll post some songs. Listen to them.









Hopefully these were enjoyable selections.

This Is All True, But Not Meant For Anyone.

Do you ever chew gum? I do. Not so sure why. Trident is my brand. The flavor varies. Sometimes it's watermelon twist other times its bubble gum. And even other times it's some citrus combo. The is sometimes cuts my gums, the edges are surprisingly sharp. It's sort of a comfort to chew it though. I have to be needlessly active. Why am I telling you about this you ask? I'm not sure. I thought you'd find it interesting. Since it's not exactly peculiar, but not ever soul on earth does it. The vast majority can't though. So saying that is sort of insensitive.

Do you ever drink soda? Or do you call it pop? Not that it really matters. It means the same thing. I stopped a few weeks ago. To see if cutting out those pointless calories would help me loose some weight. Not sure if it is. It's not that I think you should. You drink it to your hearts content, if you so please. I just don't feel the best about myself, so as I said, I cut it out of my diet.

Do you like movies? I hope so. I adore them. The silver screen sparkles so splendidly. It's a great way to fill time, instead of staring endlessly at pointless computer screen. But if you don't like them, it's okay. We can't have everything in common.

Do you like books? That I can't just brush off. Literature is deeply important to me. Reading is a gateway to all sorts of fun and adventure, and if you want none of that, you want none of me. Books have changed my life on many occasions and shaped the person yammering at this very moment.

Back To Chapel Town

I wonder what I should be when growing up becomes an option to me. A librarian seemed like a sure thing until the realization of statistical analysis became apparent. Spending time figuring out the interests of a town or schools demographic doesn't like something I would want to spend a lot of time learning about or doing. But selecting authors and musical artists to put on the shelves would be such a wonderful thing to do. But things put out would probably be looked over for Danielle Steel and Lady Gaga. Since most people aren't looking to expand their usually small horizons. Say Cult Of Luna's Somewhere Alone The Highway put out in the boonies of public library cds would anyone dare to venture into uncharted territory to be rewarded with a dense and deeply emotional album. Probably not.

Maybe a generic English major is the way to go. Drinking too much wine and writing things poorly, so later in life I can fail to write a novel or a poetry. And writing isn't something I do often or ever. Since everything that would come out would have been said by someone else only with more feeling. Typing out cliches for a grade doesn't seem like a way to spend time. Anything that comes out of this mind would be roman à clef anyway. What sane person would ever want to hear mostly made up stories based upon the few people I've known. It would be drab, banal, and boring. But still so far riding high on the list of things grown up me will try and do.

Or a social worker. Helping people has always been a dream of mine. Thank Batman for that. To think I could put someone on a better path towards contributing to the world would be a wondrous feeling. Making sure people grow up right or don't ruin their family or their own lives is beyond a grand thing to set ones life to. But the failures I would most certainly encounter would be very hard for me to handle, so this might be too dangerous of thing for me to do.

Perhaps all of things future careers are too far fetched for a failure such as me. One doesn't know until they try I guess. Whatever happens becoming one of the cops is out of the question. And maybe we'll never know. Becoming terribly withdrawn from the world seems like a possible outcome for me too.

In The Now

So, here I am. Sitting around feeling genuinely sexy. And no one to share this fleeting overconfidence with. In a sort time it'll be gone and back to feeling the opposite of this I'll go. But at least this will be here to remind me, that one day for a short while I felt sexy as hell. All of this is a far cry from what it's been like the last few days. Uncontrollable anxiety is a faraway feeling at the moment. It'll be back kicking the door down sooner or later, and ruin my otherwise nice numb day.

Perhaps this should be updated more. So all zero of you can be privy to all of the bullshit that flies through my mind. That wouldn't be terribly exciting since it's made up of so few parts. And I'm not feeling as if any of that needs to be divulged anyway. Since it probably wouldn't be all that surprising anyway. Wonderful.