As he exhaled his breath floated across his face like a specter. He brushed his hand against the blunt object in his coat pocket and his teeth chattered mechanically. “This is it Jim, you can do this.” Somehow the words were less soothing than in his reflection at home. It was nothing new to him. There had been countless before, each with their own distinct flaws. But she was different. Finding that one miniscule deal breaker actually took some effort. It didn’t really bother him that her nose whistled in tune when she slept. Or her tendency to snap her P’s when she spoke. Realistically speaking, he had ended relationships for much less.
It wasn’t so much that Jim was incapable of being in a relationship. There were plenty of times when we he was content playing boyfriend. However once it crossed a point, the point his friend affectionately called “the point of no return,” things began falling apart. It was a phenomenon Jim was hardly aware of. If you asked him, he could recite in great detail every ex-girlfriend’s short comings. But there was never a solid reason. Couples often joke about their partner’s qualms to get a good laugh at parties. To Jim, it was always his sign to abandon ship.
But those memories faded and Jim slowly and methodically began rubbing his hands together. However he wasn’t cold. The sun was descending, but still quite warm. His face and shoulders felt tepid and familiar. He couldn’t tell if his stomach was nervous of the task at hand, or from lunch. It churned like a washing machine. He hadn’t been paying much attention before, but now found he was down the street from her house. He noticed with absent mindedness the faded stop sign. “If only I could,” he whispered to the wind. In turn, there was suddenly a gale which struck his chest. He continued walking, and her house appeared more and more in the pink light of dusk. He could see the pine fence painted white from a summer ago. He could see the jagged bricks which outlined the property. Crab grass and flowers painted every inch of her front yard. Things began looking familiar, yet Jim was ill at ease. He knew she was inside, getting ready for a night at the movies. Only Jim knew how the night would really go. He exhaled again carefully, letting a parade of breath escape. “You can do this. She’s better off anyhow.” Even his inner voice was duping him. She practically worshipped the ground he walked on. She went out of her way to please him. All the while his efforts were hardly worth noting.
Maybe it would be easier to just drag the relationship along. No harm in letting things play-out, after all. Perhaps if things continued the way they were, she would break up with him. Sooner or later, she would get sick of his illness. He smiled up at the plum sky. “Tracy, how could I forget about Tracy?” He recalled how she was a bit insane, more so than him. Jim always suspected she suffered from multiple personalities, although it was never well documented. Quite often, in their more intimate moments, she would burst into uncontrollable laughter without warning. Other times there’d be violent fits where Jim could hardly control her tears and pounding fists. He never knew what to make of it, until she diagnosed herself at a party after too much wine. Before he just sort of tolerated it, even getting a little kick out of the wild emotions she allowed herself to be consumed by. A part of Jim was jealous because Tracy seemed so sure of herself. That she was absolutely comfortable in her own skin. Everything he felt was bottled deep within his heavy soul. Sometimes it would spill over like an ocean of sorrow, but never in the company of others. Jim’s jealousy of her “free will” was the perfect excuse to break up with her. After all, she wasn’t fit to be in a relationship. It seemed cruel at first. The inner voice never lied. Tracy was better off without his hollowness. Her emotions guided her, while he was suppressed and rotting.
It wasn’t unusual then that he could never explain how he felt. Sure, there was the thin film lying just above the surface. He heard himself mimic others countless times expressing happiness, thirst, hunger, sorrow. But the words never meant anything. They never do. People perceive meaning. When Jim said he was thirsty, someone would offer him a drink. But he never felt the dry scratchy desert in his throat. Sure there were times when he was younger that he could call “happy.” These memories grew in his mind like tumors pulsing and bulging. It was a constant reminder of what he had been, and who he had become. How then could Jim ever express his feelings to another? So he was content passing from human to human without ever thinking twice.
These humans, girls, would try to understand him. But it always failed. Only a few times did someone come close to cracking his stoic surface. Ashley certainly tried. She was tall and generally pretty with a constant smile to match. For a while she served as Jim’s greatest remedy. They often took long walks and he would pretentiously quote French philosophers and she would nod intently. Jim felt that his speeches were beyond her comprehension, but that was what made Ashley appealing. She loved him for his fragile inner workings, bit for his outer intellect. She was always eager to understand his dialect, eager to ask questions. She never contributed to the conversation. She was content with sitting and breathing him in. Her eyes always shined and her lips would purse. This was exactly the sort of compassion Jim needed. His words would hang heavy in the air like cigarette smoke, and her smile would reflect off it like a silver glow.
“So what happened…” Jim stopped and considered this for a moment looking vaguely at some grass peeking through the thick concrete. His hand once again smoothed over that foreign protuberance near his heart. Ashley would constantly bring him awful things. A bland humus dip with stale pita bread. Horrible mix tapes filled with unrelenting cacophony. He always tried to appreciate her generosity, but gratitude was just another meaningless emotion. After a while, her offerings became utterly annoying. He found himself creating elaborate stories to hint at her. She never understood. She thought she was playing girlfriend…”and why not get gifts Jim,” she often asked. There were no words to explain, only the bile which had spewed from my lips so many times before.
Then came that familiar friend; solitude. No one worried how Jim was feeling. No one questioned where he was heading. No terrible surprises at work or home. Jim was free to drink too many pints at the local bar and stumble home without the pending clash. Things were perfect for a week or two. Then remorse, without warning. It had been there lingering all along. The small things begin to appear first. Sleeping alone in a bitter bed. Walking, fingers interlocked, among the hustle of a busy street. Those late night phone calls full of passionate breath and sincere laughter. And so it became that Jim would miss his latest casualty. He missed Ashley. He even missed Tracy and her lunacy. Emptiness is a powerful entity. A piece of him was lost forever, and that is always a disheartening realization. Desperation. Settling. Soon Jim found another meaningless relationship to exist lifeless in. He was trapped like a caged animal. It was a hideous, familiar cycle. The cycle had a scripted beginning and ending. Jim was responsible for the interior.
The evening began surrounding him as he reminisced. Soon the sun too would suffocate under the darkness and he would be more alone than ever. Jim exhaled again, carefully releasing a parade of smoke. How could Sara know just how much he loved her? So much so that he needed to disconnect from her completely. Night had finished painting the sky, and what was so clear to Jim had become distorted and incoherent. He noted what must have been the jagged brick which surrounded Sara’s house. The Oak tree in her backyard had become a giant, swaying menacingly. The sky was bruised, purplish, hanging over the world. Jim mindlessly glanced at his watch, paying more attention to the muffled ticking than to the actual time. It was 8:04. He was late. Yet his daze kept him mesmerized with the murky surroundings and his own thoughts.
“Maybe I’m wrong about Sara,” he whispered, again as if someone where listening. A brisk wind caught the giant, and it bent violently from side to side. “No, you’re wrong,” Jim said, answering the giant’s gestures. A revelation suddenly hit Jim like a brick to the face. He was content. He felt a numbness grow steadily from his toes and sweep across his entire body. “I’m happy.” He said the words this time out loud, and was startled by his own hoarse voice. He began shouting, as if the giant could not hear well. “I’m happy.” “I…am…happy…” Nearby a car door slammed and a dog sang its song to the moon. Jim was overcome by a strange emotion. Everything had suddenly become illuminated, tinted yellow by the street lights lining his path. The giant had changed too. Flailing arms had become branches, and its disapproving fingers had become leaves.
His heart suddenly pressed harder and harder against the lump in his coat, as if to remind him of the task. He could hear his heart beating in unison with the sounds around him. He repeated the four syllables which had cleared his head. His heart beat even harder, as if questioning his new found life. His chest was protruding now, and the object grew larger with it. Jim could see that his breath had become strained, for now little puffs circled his head. He quickly looked down, expecting to see his heart exploding through his chest and landing on the bleak sidewalk. Suddenly the object was not hidden, but formed a noticeable protrusion in his coat. “Had it been this obvious all along?” Paranoia as he imagined everyone he passed calling the police to report him. Above him the giant crept forward and threw itself back. It was no use. He couldn’t fight it. His hand mechanically slipped into his coat and stroked the blunt object, as if petting a child’s head who did something right. His eyes grey dim. Jim was alone.
He sighed, this time moving too quickly to notice the escape of air. His soul matched the night. The shadows of the street lamps no longer illuminated him in a yellow glow. They formed a dark shade across his face. He was hiding. His feet were moving quickly. First one foot, and then the other repeated. The clicking of each step echoed against the houses, but Jim never noticed. The giant was drawing closer. He squinted and the words “Johnson Residence” appeared in front of his nose. They became more and more clear. His fingers were now massaging the blunt object. His finger tips were cold against the steel of freedom. His chest was heavy and tender, his heart pressing firmly against the coat. His hands formed a tight clasp against the object, knuckles turning white from the grip. Jim exhaled, and a fog surrounded the words he knew so well. His other hand clenched into a fist, and he carefully brought it to the wood door. “This is it Jim. You can do this.”
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
"Conversations in brevity"
“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…
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…
"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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