“You’re growing out your hair, it looks good”
I manage a sheepish smile from ear to ear. I am exactly two minutes and forty -six seconds into a conversation with Rachel Melcher, an ex-girlfriend…who am I kidding, the ex-girlfriend. I hate these encounters. It never fails, you always run into someone like this when you look your absolute worse, and they look more attractive than you can remember. Rachel looked exactly the same, but somehow less weathered. Her hair was done up in a ponytail, a few strands had managed to escape and fall over her deep dark brown eyes. She looked simple in her faded blue jeans and tight grey shirt, yet somehow still more elegant than I ever could.
All I can think about is the look on her sweet face the night I told her that things weren’t “working out.” It’s the classic line. You tell them the relationship isn’t right, it’s you not them, blah blah blah. It’s supposed to be flawless…but it never is. I went in totally confident that she would understand, we’d have a great night together, and then go our separate ways. Instead regret set in the instant the words escaped my mouth; “I can’t get comfortable in this relationship.“ She looked good that night. She wore a nice dress with this black sweater that used to drive me wild every time she wore it. Something about a girl in a sweater. Her eyes pierced right through me. We quietly finished our Chinese food, and drove home in almost absolute silence. The local oldie station created a nice background noise to three years of stagnation.
“I guess not then Jim…”
“Oh, sorry um, what did you say?”
“I asked how your classes were going.”
“Oh great! One more semester and I should be transferring to State!”
I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was the sole reason I was going to class. The truth is I dropped out a few semesters ago and haven’t quite found the way back. Shit, half of our arguments revolved around me finishing at community college and transferring. She was getting her degree while I was smoking pot and cruising through a “d” average. I always felt like she was too good for me, but I would never admit it to her. Every time I told anyone that she was at university, I felt awful. Here she was moving forward, and I was stuck in high school with ashtrays. She probably reads right through me. She always had a knack for that sort of thing.
“Great! What’s your major going to be?” Rachel asked suspiciously.
“Actually, I was thinking about doing some traveling and seeing the world, you know?”
It was a harsh thing to say, and I immediately felt my face flush. I may or may not have made this big deal one time about taking a break while she was off studying abroad in Europe. I just figured she would want to be single, you know in case any hot Euros wanted to hook up. This was, of course, with her best interests in mind. For the record my reasons for pulling a move like that were definitely not related to the fact that a cute new girl got hired at my work and I am pretty sure she flirted with me on a regular basis. Definitely not. Anyways, she ended up going for three months, and well, I did my best to keep in contact but I was really busy with things... So she ended up with a one-page letter talking about the newest additions to my record collection, and I ended up with an entire shoebox swollen with correspondence. Whenever we had a really bad fight, she would bring it up and it would pretty much extinguish any argument I could make. Of course, anytime I wanted to go on a trip she would smirk and tell me to “be sure and write” and it always culminated in me being preoccupied with calling her every few hours and not doing anything else.
I hate the fucking mall; angry moms pulling their kids around and overly obnoxious “mall rats.” This conversation is only making it worse. All I wanted to do was return a hideous lime green collared shirt my mother bought me and probably blow the money on records at the shop. Now I am doomed to dwell on this conversation for the next few weeks.
“Mm yeah, sounds familiar. I would love to do that. So how is the shop?” she asked.
This I had no reason to lie about. I am about 97% sure that lack of customers, and decline in sales had nothing to do with me. But why stop now? Right?
“Oh great actually. Bill couldn’t be happier. I’m working a ton of hours. There’s even talk of making me a manager,” I retorted, while focusing on a shiny gum wrapper on the tiled floor.
I can’t really tell if she is testing the waters again. I did catch her a few times in the shop while I was working. Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe she was checking up on me. I started getting really paranoid and would spend half my shift hidden behind World music: Zydeco. I can’t turn down the opportunity to strike back…
“How’s the diner?”
Fact: Rachel absolutely hates the diner. Her boss always makes these sexual innuendos, and I mean like real juvenile shit about “tits“ and “ass.” All of her co-workers are either gossip queens or fucking “Rico suave” wannabes. The wages suck. She always gets stuck either working the after-school shift serving all the high school shit heads, or the closing shift with all the drunks and perverts. Really the only good thing was giving me free salad bar anytime I wanted.
“Ha ha. Actually, I quit that place a long time ago. I’m actually doing some part time teaching at a private high school on the other side of town, and working at an art gallery. The owner said he’d showcase my stuff when they do local artist days!”
“Oh wow…great…” I said with feigned enthusiasm.
Time to bow my head and tuck my tail between my legs. The smell of defeat is overpowering. Rather than raise the white flag, I need to make a quick get-a-way. It’s time for an exit strategy. (Hmm, the food court is probably the best way out.) I do my best to casually stretch/glance at my watch. It’s 2:46. I could probably say I have to work at 3. Just then two gawky teenagers walk by and I can sense their testosterone rising as they walk past Rachel. Then they look at me and one of them says something and the other one laughs through cupped hands. It may have been something about Rachel, but I took it with shame. I can almost hear the words “Dude, look at that douche bag“ coming from their prepubescent lips. (Fucking kids. Shouldn’t they be at school or something?)
“So, any special ladies in your life right now, Jim?” The sarcasm seeped from her lips.
Straight for the fucking throat. When did she get so ruthless? I would have never expected that. It’s particularly difficult for me because I happen to know for a fact that she has been dating some asshole art major. I’d see them occasionally at shows and whatnot.. and of course went to great lengths to avoid eye-contact . So this new guy…He is pretty much everything I’m not. One of those real university pricks. You know the type? Ironic t-shirts and fucking scarves. It’s obvious he went straight to a four-year college and left all of us burnouts to suffer at the community college. I know that she knows I haven’t dated anyone since the break-up. It’s...complicated. There have been a few girls, but none that have really made my head spin. I do this thing where I get shaky after a while and stop calling. It happens without fail. Always the little things…like this one girl who would always apologize for everything. No matter how big or small, or who was at fault. This became my excuse to reject her a few weeks later. Another girl would constantly give me things. Little things like cookies, or a mix-tape. It actually made me feel really inadequate because I was certainly not returning the favor. She got the axe even faster. I just get uncomfortable I guess. I think that might have been what happened between Rachel and I. Any excuse was a good one, no matter how ridiculous.
“I am actually in between girlfriends right now. You know how that goes; keeping my options open. Well anyways I really have to go to…school right now to do some administration stuff, you know copies of transcripts and whatnot.”
Wow, I’m really starting to believe my own bullshit.
…So it was great seeing you and catching up,” I blurted out as if it was my last gasp of air.
I remember we’d play this game sometimes where we would people watch and try to guess what they were thinking about. Rachel always managed to make everyone sound like they were about to fall to their death and blurt out as many words as possible in one long condensed sentence. It always made me laugh hysterically to the point of tears.
“Oh…okay.” She said, slightly irked.
Her face says it all. I could read those lips like a telegraph; Three long years of love, hate, dates, necking, movies, conversations, drives, moving out, moving in, temptations, break ups, make ups…Her eyes are calling me an asshole all over again. All I can do is look down and try not to let the guilt ruin my day.
“Well Jim, take care of yourself. You look good. I’m glad you are doing well.”
She reaches out to give me a hug, and it is exactly what I need. My arms automatically wrap around her waist and pull her close. I can smell the familiar vanilla scent I used to dream about every night, and wake up to every day. That proverbial warmth is soothing, and it is at this exact moment that I have an epiphany. I miss her. I miss her a lot. And there is absolutely nothing I can do to get her back. I can only close my eyes and hold onto this moment for as long as possible…
Monday, January 4, 2010
"Tour"
I have always wanted to be on tour, and this felt as good a time as any. I was broke and jobless living with my parents for the summer. I had just earned a teaching credential, another useless piece of paper, and wasn’t planning on teaching high school any time soon. I always imagined touring with my friends and their respective bands across the U.S. and just letting things happen. That how I figured touring worked, you just live and things happen. I admit, I “invited my self” along in a way. I casually mentioned it, sort of as a joke, to a band I barely knew. Conrad had played at my old apartment, Pancake Island, with his former band; HOME IS COLORED GOLD. Max and I had run into each other at various shows around the Bay, but our dynamic was strictly face value. I got acquainted with the other two on the long drive through twilight and desert. A blanket of stars was our guide, and the possibilities were infinite. A lot happened on that tour…even if it was only five days of independence. Freedom from jobs, families, lovers, bills, bosses, and responsibility. I couldn’t even begin to explain what we all felt while on tour, or even less what I experienced. I’m not sure it would make sense anyhow, if you weren’t there too.
Anyways, enough of an introduction. This is a story, well a true narrative, about something that happened while I was on tour with JOHN COTA this past summer. This event occurred sometime in late July. The characters you already know. The setting is a sun-baked wasteland.
We were all in high spirits as we drove through desolate terrain edging closer and closer to the shimmering stars. No one seemed to be affected by the increasing warmth, or the consuming darkness before us. Everyone was talking at once about the night’s events: The arguing couple. The failed barbeque. Our eccentric guide through the suburbs of Los Angeles. The In N Out burgers we all ate ravenously. All of these events led us to the road that night, and there was no turning back. I mostly listened, and carefully made note of every silhouette reflecting against the windshield. I had just met two of my fellow travelers that day, and things still didn’t feel entirely cozy. We decided to drive all through the night, and find somewhere to sleep in Arizona when we arrived. Our desires rested on parting clouds. Soon we all reached that fantastic medium between fatigue and enthusiasm. Too excited to sleep, and too weary to care. We arrived at the Arizona border around 2a.m. and ceremoniously took photos in front of the sign that received us. At this point we were still foolish and optimistic, estimating when we would arrive at our objective and what we would do with our free time. Everyone agreed we would need to sleep, but we were divided on where we would rest our heads. At this point a motel was out of the question, even though the little money I had was burning a hole in my pocket. I was trying to hold out for various junk at truck stops and “curios” along the way.
It wasn’t until almost day break that the reality of driving all night with very little food in our stomachs hit us like a brick to the face. The sun was slowly beginning to stretch itself across the desert, painting everything in it’s path with brilliant colors. It was a beautiful sight to see, the way each object came alive once the sun’s paint splashed it. Unfortunately, the feeling didn’t last long. Traffic on our little two-lane highway came to a grinding halt. There was an accident too far to see, but we could tell it was serious. Delirious, sleep deprived, and hungry we all set out to entertain ourselves in the swelling heat. Some of us attempted to sleep in the car. Some of us hit rocks with abandoned wood. I gave someone a really awful haircut. Someone shaved themselves a hideous mustache and goatee to boot. We made friends with sleepy truck drivers, and took pictures in front of just about everything we could find. This debacle lasted two hours and 27 minutes…but it felt like an eternity. If we weren’t all mad by now, we were surely losing our minds under that sweltering sun. When we got back into the car and slowly trudged past the newly cleaned up accident, our high morale was gone. We were all hot, sweaty, hungry, and ready for alone time. The jeep became a jail cell, and we were all serving a sentence.
By the time we got into Phoenix, our first date of the tour, we were absolutely senseless. We all had wishes, but there were no words to describe them. We could only gripe about the warmth. The fact that we were 10 hours early for the show wasn’t helping either. The first thing we agreed on, after about half an hour of driving/arguing, was we needed a pool. We soon found one and immediately began disrobing and jumping in. A few lawn keeps were there, but no one seemed to mind. As soon as we were all cooled off, everyone began to laugh and joke again. Sleep was recommended, but somehow alcohol became our precedence. This was a bad idea.
The rest of the afternoon is somewhat of a blur for me. I can only be sure that we baked under that sun for hours on end. My only comfortable moment of the entire day was the 30 minutes I managed to fall asleep in the passenger seat after alcohol had successfully permeated my blood. The rest of those 10 hours was spent in a dream-like state. I remember drinking beer near a playground of an elementary school, our sleeping bags spread out like a welcome mat for rest. The bugs slowly devouring my skin prevented me from dozing off, unlike two of my cohorts, who slept happily for a few hours. There was a pizza place where I couldn’t eat because of my vegan diet, but all of the waitresses were attractive and so everyone ended up there at least three separate times. I finally found a burrito and a cold Tecate for cheap at one point. I remember a skate-punk kid appearing out of nowhere, and guiding a few of us to a record store. There wasn’t anything too exciting there, but I did find a JAWBREAKER patch. He asked us excitedly if we wanted to steal liquor from a grocery store that night, and sleep at his friend’s parent’s house, who were out of town. I’m sure more happened, but I couldn’t tell you to save my life.
Anyways, they finally played the show and a few kids were into it. After they played a metal-core band who’s name I can’t remember played. That was amusing for two and a half songs. I disappeared to call my girlfriend and find some dinner. I must have been gone a while because when I got back everyone was ready to go. The skate-punk kid showed us his favorite local hang out, another Mexican food place. Everyone said the food was decent. After that we said our goodbyes to the skate-punk kid and rolled off to our next destination: New Mexico. We would drive all night again. We hadn’t learned our lesson yet...
**This story can also be found in kyeospeaks #4**
myspace.com/kyeospeaks
Anyways, enough of an introduction. This is a story, well a true narrative, about something that happened while I was on tour with JOHN COTA this past summer. This event occurred sometime in late July. The characters you already know. The setting is a sun-baked wasteland.
We were all in high spirits as we drove through desolate terrain edging closer and closer to the shimmering stars. No one seemed to be affected by the increasing warmth, or the consuming darkness before us. Everyone was talking at once about the night’s events: The arguing couple. The failed barbeque. Our eccentric guide through the suburbs of Los Angeles. The In N Out burgers we all ate ravenously. All of these events led us to the road that night, and there was no turning back. I mostly listened, and carefully made note of every silhouette reflecting against the windshield. I had just met two of my fellow travelers that day, and things still didn’t feel entirely cozy. We decided to drive all through the night, and find somewhere to sleep in Arizona when we arrived. Our desires rested on parting clouds. Soon we all reached that fantastic medium between fatigue and enthusiasm. Too excited to sleep, and too weary to care. We arrived at the Arizona border around 2a.m. and ceremoniously took photos in front of the sign that received us. At this point we were still foolish and optimistic, estimating when we would arrive at our objective and what we would do with our free time. Everyone agreed we would need to sleep, but we were divided on where we would rest our heads. At this point a motel was out of the question, even though the little money I had was burning a hole in my pocket. I was trying to hold out for various junk at truck stops and “curios” along the way.
It wasn’t until almost day break that the reality of driving all night with very little food in our stomachs hit us like a brick to the face. The sun was slowly beginning to stretch itself across the desert, painting everything in it’s path with brilliant colors. It was a beautiful sight to see, the way each object came alive once the sun’s paint splashed it. Unfortunately, the feeling didn’t last long. Traffic on our little two-lane highway came to a grinding halt. There was an accident too far to see, but we could tell it was serious. Delirious, sleep deprived, and hungry we all set out to entertain ourselves in the swelling heat. Some of us attempted to sleep in the car. Some of us hit rocks with abandoned wood. I gave someone a really awful haircut. Someone shaved themselves a hideous mustache and goatee to boot. We made friends with sleepy truck drivers, and took pictures in front of just about everything we could find. This debacle lasted two hours and 27 minutes…but it felt like an eternity. If we weren’t all mad by now, we were surely losing our minds under that sweltering sun. When we got back into the car and slowly trudged past the newly cleaned up accident, our high morale was gone. We were all hot, sweaty, hungry, and ready for alone time. The jeep became a jail cell, and we were all serving a sentence.
By the time we got into Phoenix, our first date of the tour, we were absolutely senseless. We all had wishes, but there were no words to describe them. We could only gripe about the warmth. The fact that we were 10 hours early for the show wasn’t helping either. The first thing we agreed on, after about half an hour of driving/arguing, was we needed a pool. We soon found one and immediately began disrobing and jumping in. A few lawn keeps were there, but no one seemed to mind. As soon as we were all cooled off, everyone began to laugh and joke again. Sleep was recommended, but somehow alcohol became our precedence. This was a bad idea.
The rest of the afternoon is somewhat of a blur for me. I can only be sure that we baked under that sun for hours on end. My only comfortable moment of the entire day was the 30 minutes I managed to fall asleep in the passenger seat after alcohol had successfully permeated my blood. The rest of those 10 hours was spent in a dream-like state. I remember drinking beer near a playground of an elementary school, our sleeping bags spread out like a welcome mat for rest. The bugs slowly devouring my skin prevented me from dozing off, unlike two of my cohorts, who slept happily for a few hours. There was a pizza place where I couldn’t eat because of my vegan diet, but all of the waitresses were attractive and so everyone ended up there at least three separate times. I finally found a burrito and a cold Tecate for cheap at one point. I remember a skate-punk kid appearing out of nowhere, and guiding a few of us to a record store. There wasn’t anything too exciting there, but I did find a JAWBREAKER patch. He asked us excitedly if we wanted to steal liquor from a grocery store that night, and sleep at his friend’s parent’s house, who were out of town. I’m sure more happened, but I couldn’t tell you to save my life.
Anyways, they finally played the show and a few kids were into it. After they played a metal-core band who’s name I can’t remember played. That was amusing for two and a half songs. I disappeared to call my girlfriend and find some dinner. I must have been gone a while because when I got back everyone was ready to go. The skate-punk kid showed us his favorite local hang out, another Mexican food place. Everyone said the food was decent. After that we said our goodbyes to the skate-punk kid and rolled off to our next destination: New Mexico. We would drive all night again. We hadn’t learned our lesson yet...
**This story can also be found in kyeospeaks #4**
myspace.com/kyeospeaks
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