Ch. 10
What stretch of the imagination would it require to see me being some one’s husband? Would it be possible to steal a gal’s heart and wed her in a couple months? Would that even be humane to do to another? Fuck probably not, but a boy can dream right? The… the funny thing is, all I ever wanted growing up was to be someone’s husband, a couple of kids father. That’s all. No amount of money or prestige ever filled my mind with dreams. No fancy of the heart did I ever have other than that simply wonderful hope for unconditioned love and acceptance. This is the kinda stuff I prayed I’d find in a woman and child. But the Lord thought otherwise I guess. Maybe I was to learn that such things as true acceptance have no being in the being of others, but only rest in the arms of the Lord. Arms that I was soon to enter or in the abyss find my stay. Why, I sometimes wonder, did God let me hold on to a wish so long only to strike it from my hands with the plague of my own frailty. Was it not his wish that I too would wish something such as a loving family? Does he care I wonder, but if the answer to that question is not, then he might as well not even be. For though he may not intervene in this infinitesimal life of mine, does he not at least weep for his child’s despair? For a God who will not even weep at the sufferings of his sons is no God of mine. No God. Nothing divine. Just another hapless personage that cares nothing for me or my struggle.
I like to write a lot. It helps distract me from my condition almost as good as the drugs do. See writing is for man the chance to be divine and God among creation, for as he scribbles, the white hues of paper not only fade in dark ink, but genesis avails herself in a dance of fluttering pen. We birth worlds in our wondering minds, but in doing so we only come to know what poor shitty God’s we are, and how futile is the striving to produce a better tale than the one already told. The one we live every day. The human tale of you and I spun in our sadness and filled with our joy. See I was writing all this down when… well first off, I know it may see weird to be writing about writing, but I doubt I’m the first to do such a thing. Schopenhauer had quite a thing or two to say about an ample pen at work… at least I think he did. Anyway, so I was writing all of this down when Franky came in. Hey ya jackasssss, she says to me in her own sweet funny way. Hey gorgeous, I says to her. Aw shucks man you just know how to make a girl smile don’t you. Always Franky. Always, I says to her one more time, as I slowly look up and gave her one of my wonderful little smiles.
What you writing about Buddha boy, she says to me, as she jumps on the futon next to my recliner and lays her head gently on my arm. I’m writing about writing right now, I says to her. She chuckles a little bit. I know, I says. It sounds a little bit funny, but one doesn’t always control what comes out on these here pages. Well read me what you got. You’ve sparked my curiosity. Well how bout this, I says to her. Ya I’m listening, she says to me. How about instead of reading you this I cook up something just for you, I says, with charm a flux. Ew ya I like that. I like that a lot, she says to me, as she perks up to an upright position. Ok give me a second, I says to her, as my pen begins to slowly graze across the lines of my journal.
It took a couple of minutes, but surely its end did come. It wasn’t polished the way I usually like it to be, but I’m sure she’d appreciate it nonetheless. Ok all done, I says to her. You ready, I asks. Yes Yes Yes, she says with complete excitement. No need to get to excited it might suck dick for all you know, I says to her. O’ come on now, she says. Just read the damn thing. Ok ok, I says to her. It's not that great but here we go:
Souls don’t hide when they shine like hers.
Eyes don’t cry when they’re looking towards her.
Smiles don’t fade and hearts don’t trimmer.
Whenever she is close
the whole world begins to shimmer.
No with her the nights are warm
And the days are cool
For in her gentle laugh
Nature’s vigor soothes
For in her calming voice
The winds die down
For in her loving gaze
I dare not move, nor make a sound
For with her near the stars never cease to shine
And with her here the sun’s light no longer blinds
For she is the one
That lovely girl
That enlightens my sight
And brings grace to broken worlds
So… I says to her. She was quiet. What that bad, I asks her. Don’t say anything, she says to me. Don’t say anything more. But… I says. She cut me off mid sentence by putting her hand over my mouth somewhat awkwardly. Don’t say anything, she says again, looking down. So i did… I mean I didn’t. I didn’t say anything for a while. We sat there and not for one moment did she remove her hand from my mouth. I guess she was serious about making sure I stayed quiet.
After a little while longer I slowly raised my hand to hers and pulled it gently away from where it had once laid. As I pulled it down and grasped it softly in my own palm, I looked at her and she looked at me. What’s wrong darling, I asks her. Is it something I said. No it was… it was really beautiful, she says to me, but… But what, I says to her. I just had the most awful day… just an awful week and what you just read to me… what you just wrote made it all go away. Well I’m… I tried to start, but had not the time because before I could get another word out she had both arms around me and was hugging me tighter than she had ever hugged me before. I thought I was going to lose you, she said, as she softly started to cry on my shoulder. I thought you were going to die. I know no one was saying it, but I thought here is this wonderful person. Here is this awkwardly, wonderful person who does nothing but love people in his own way and he’s going to die. He’s going to die and there was nothing I could do to stop it. With one last tight pull she began to move away and wipe her tears from her face quite fervently. Gosh I’m a soppy mess, she says to me. It’s ok, I says, holding back the tears of my own. Thank you for what you wrote, she says to me as she gave me one last hug. I’m just so glad you’re getting better. I don’t know what I’d do without you. And with those words I could only say one thing. It wasn’t the truth for the truth was far from these utterances of mine. Me too Franky… Me too.
I was listening to this playlist consisting of The Elementree Livity Project, Jon Gromm, The John Butler Trio, John Prine, Echo and the Bunnymen, Ambrosia, Trevor Hall, Spoon, and a bunch of other nitchy bands I found on spotify. All 554 songs on a playlist entitled… wait at this point it was like 326. It’s grown a lot over the days. But anyway, it was entitled New Music. Which was ironic because most of the music on it was made before I could even comprehend what good music was. With all the Howlin Wolf, the John Coltrane, etc. It’s just eclectic as fuck to say the least. Everything from Morning Jacket to well, a lot of shit. In terms of music, on a scale of 1 to a whole lot of shit, it was a whole lot of shit. Denise had to unsubscribe to it because she failed to turn off the notifications within the app that alerted subscribers to new additions to the playlist. Little to say, she was getting fucking notified every second when I added new music, which was most seconds of the day. I could see how that would annoy one after so many times having to clear out your phone’s que. So, as much as I wanted her to listen to all that I had amassed, I could understand why it could become more a nuisance than a pleasure. Hey bud, I heard muffled through my headphones. Though I wasn’t quite ready to look up and open my eyes, given Soulshine by the Allman Brothers was ringing sweet glory into my ears, I reluctantly regained sight to this world.
As I looked up no one was around. What the fuck I swear I heard someone. God damn this is not the time to lose my mind. Hello, I says with trepidation, quietly hoping someone was actually there to respond. O’ you’re in there, I heard the voice speak again. Uh ya, I says, forgetting to ask who it was. Is it ok for me to come in, the voice spoke again. Uh I guess, I says to the voice. Ya guess huh, the voice asked me as it drew closer. Ya I guess, I says again. O’ shit Denise, I didn’t recognize your voice, I says to her as she enters my living room. Ya its me, she says, as she slowly enters grazing her hand across the wall as she drew closer to where I was standing… no wait I was still sitting. I stood up and gave her a hug. What’s up, I says to her. O’ nothing much just in the neighborhood and figured I’d swing by. This immediately struck me with a note of curiosity, given that she lived on the other side of town and didn’t have any reason to be over here unless she was coming to visit me. Oh ok what’s up, I says to her again, as I quickly try to clean the place up.
God this place is a mess. I guess when three stoners occupy a space such as this it is bound to gather a heap worth of trash. God I don’t even want to think how bad the place must smell right now. God I don’t want to imagine how bad I smell right now. When was the last time I took a mother fucking shower anyway. I guess she saw that I was a little bewildered at the moment so she just started to talk. I knocked a couple times, but no one answered so I figured I’d just pop my head in and see if you were here, she says. Ya sorry I was listening to some music, I says to her. O’ really what you listening to, she asks, as she plops down in my chair and takes a gander at my ipad. Turpentine by Brandi Carlile huh, she asks. Never heard it before, she says, as she slips my headphones over her ears. She sat there for a second I guess trying to get a feel for it. It wasn’t what I was listening to when she came in, but it was on the playlist so I was just kind of happy she was listening to it. After a few more seconds she began to smile and sway her head a little bit. Do you like it, I asks. What, she yells. Do you like it, I asks again a little louder this time. What, she yells again. Do you like it, I says softly, as I lift the headphones off her ears. Ya I do, she says. It’s very you to say the least. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, I says to her. No, it’s a good thing dumbass, she says. I like the song and I like you, she says, with a little spunk in her tone. O’ do you now, I asks, with a little grin on my face. Ya I do, she says, as she tosses the headphones to me. So what are you really doing here, I asks. That obvious huh, she says. Ya, well unless you’re here to view an apartment I’m guessing that there is some sort of reason. Why, she says. Can’t just come over to say hi to my besty for a second. Well I guess that could be the reason, I says. Well you’re right it’s not, she says, as she looks at me with an intent unknown. It isn’t, I asks her. No it isn’t, she says. No it isn’t.
I feel like if you’re not into sports you really fucking set up some conversational walls for yourself later in life. Though you may have played them growing up, and were familiar with the lingo, there is no way you can sufficiently uphold any conversation of merit amongst certain crowds. So you do what most do. You get passionate about something else you can side track conversation to. So if you’re one of those guys, like me and Barstool, then you probably like good music and good films. This means you have probably read a book or done something productive in the last month other than watching boring ass fucking sports. Not hating on the game or anything. I understand it is a complex endeavor and an appeal to most. Jesus my youngest brother Dugan was like autism smart when it came to sports knowledge. I’m talking like fucking rainman winner winner chicken dinner kinda of fucking smart. You know what, fuck that. Rain Man doesn’t even got shit on my lil bro when it comes to this shit. Plus, my lil bro’s not retarded… I mean special… I mean… Well anyway, so he’s got that going for him.
God was Dugan not the most kind hearted, couldn’t hurt a fucking thing, kind of guy. He was so passionate in the array of things that fascinated him, sports being only one of them. Physics, bio-science, pharmacology you name it he’s probably read something on it. God does that kid read. It’s kinda awesome that he can do that with such passion given his dyslexia (a word in itself that makes me feel like I fucking have it too). I think it says a lot about his character. Just tell this kid he can’t do something and it’ll all of a sudden become his favorite thing in the world, because his favorite thing was probably defying limitations assigned by others. Nobody stopped this kid unless it was himself. God the lives he could change in whatever he ends up choosing to do. He had to be the most genuine person on the face of the planet.
I use to love it when me and him would just randomly run off to catch a movie, sometimes forgetting to check the time schedules or even if anything was out worth seeing. We just went so we could be together. Theater time was our time. We would talk on our drives over stretching in topic from quantum theory, to the new pope, to his rambling offs on sports. God I’ll always cherish those conversations till the day I die. He’s gunna be somebody some day. Somebody to someone that I know. I just wish he knew he already was to me and that I love him. There’s nothing like having a little brother who looks up to you. Loves you unconditionally like Dugan did… like Bobby and Z did... God dammit I’m not dead. I’m not fucking dead yet. I’m not fucking dead. I’m not fucking… Whooo sorry about that, had to collect my shit there for a hot sec.