There she is. That’s the knock at the door that I was waiting for. Denise is here five minutes late, as per usual. You know you're in love when even a person’s flaws have a certain lovely predictability to them. For a person’s flaws can drive you insane, but they can also make you love that person that much more for some odd inexplicable reason. Maybe it’s that they finally become really open to you in a way most people haven’t. You finally get as much of the real person behind those beautiful doe eyes as is possible in human communication. I open the door half expecting her to just kiss me. I always think that though. Fuck, do I always think this. Get it through your shit-brain love drunk mind buddy. FRIEND ZONE. It's a thing. Trust me if you haven’t ever experienced it you’re either 1) a douchebag that should probably fuck off right now or 2) you look like Zac Efron and no girl, I don’t care if it's even your fucking cousin, just wants to be friends with you.
God she was… I don’t know if there is even a word for it, but it was something in the ballpark of beautiful. And even though she was so beautiful, so gorgeous, she never flaunted it. She never slept around. At least to my knowledge or maybe my willful ignorance for psyche’s sake. She was beautiful for that too. Now don’t get me wrong she’s had her flings, but only in the most respectable of manner you hear me. Nothing trashy like those other sorostitutes at this school. She was too hipster to be a slut. Wait what the fuck does that mean? Never mind I’ll let that one…
Denise how are you, I says to her with ringing joy. Dammit no kiss. O’ but a big ole hug. Ain’t that nice, I says to myself, half disappointed. What was that, she asks. Nothing. Nothing, I says, trying to change the subject. O’ shit is that some drugs I doth see in fair ladies possession, I asks all giddy like. Not if you keep talking like a pedofile, she says, as she enters into the house. I’m not sure sure what she meant by that, but Denise wasn’t the kind of girl you wanted to contradict quite openly, and especially not if I wanted to partake in what she had in her lovely possession. Anyway... we both have an interesting way of looking at each other. It's the kind of look that makes me want to kiss her more. Makes me want to kiss her more because she’s looking at me. The kind of look that makes two people feel alone in the world, but so together with each other. But the worst part in all of this is that I can’t even tell her. Ok, ok I suck at keeping shit to myself so I’ve kinda told her.
I mean I’ve alluded to it in all types of indefinite expressions of my passion, but those are too numerous to list at the present moment. She has to know. She just has to. Maybe the reason I want to kiss her so bad, O’ wait the fantasy is that she kisses me right? I don’t know. I get lost sometimes. Anyway, the reason I want to kiss her so bad, or her to kiss me, might be the simple fact that I’ve never tried doing that before. Just kiss her. I’ve tried every subtle romantic gesture in the book and under the sun, but never that. Maybe that's the one thing I always should have done. The kiss that could outweigh every little thing I’ve ever done for her. Hey it's risky, but talk about some certainty to have in your possession. But certainty always comes at too awkward a price for this awkward soul, so I avoid it like the fucking plague and stick to my little gestures. They’re comfortable, more suiting for me, or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
She came into the living room and sat down. God damn, she remarks, wafting her hand back and forth. You kill a hooker in here or something. Fuck, I says. My bad. Here let me fix that right fucking quick, I says, as I light a few incense to mask the smell. So what ya got planned good lookin, I says with a grin. The usual I guess, she says, waving a bag of goodies in front of her face all weird like. Wanna beer, I asks, already knowing the answer. As sure as the day is fucking long buddy, she says. I chuckle a little bit as I made my way to fridge in the other room.
Reaching delicately into the now open refrigerator, I pulled one Abita Purple Haze for her and one Amber for me. As I quickly moved to pop both their tops off, using the edge of the counter as a makeshift bottle opener, I slowly watched as the foam rose out of my bottle. Slurping what I could down before it made too much of a mess on the floor I then moved back to the living room. As I gently extended the opened beer in her direction her hand met mine as our eyes entrancingly interlocked. For a brief moment I was lost in her tender gaze, but as this tenderness rose in intensity I soon became startled. So startled, in fact, that I completely released the beer I was handing her from the grasp of my hand. Luckily, she had quick reflexes and snagged a hold of it before it went dashing all over the floor and what seemed to be her brand new shoes. Nice bud, she says humorously, shaking her head back and forth at me. You alright, she asks, developing a hint of concern to curiosity. Ya, I’m perfect, I says, doing my best from alluring such an exchange of looks to befall me again. But after that the night went on smoothly. We laughed. We drank. We took some little blue pills that I was just praying weren’t a part of some viagra practical joke… again. I’ll never forget when she pulled that shit on me freshman year. It wasn’t all fun and fucking games though. I had an erection for FOUR FUCKING HOURS. After pitching a tent for that long you start to lose a little feeling down there. And trust you me nothing that standing should feel that numb. Scary shit. Scaaaary shit.
She was a miracle from matter though that Denise. Kinda girl that makes you truly believe that there has to be something behind that Big BANG, as if through collisions of cosmic forces and a hint bit of radiation somehow brought her into existence. If there isn’t in fact a God behind all of it you might as well call her the best damn piece of accidental art you ever saw. She was fucking beautiful. Trust me, if you saw this girl. God if you met her. You’d say the same damn thing. She was fuck fucking beautiful, and the peculiar thing was she would never even accept such a compliment, even if you said it to her face. If there was one thing she had trouble saying thank you for it was a compliment. It was the one thing that you could never get through to her, her beauty, and not only that, but that everyone saw it too. It was the one thing that was most interesting about her, her beauty evaded her, but beautiful she surely was. I long for a day when a mirror can do justice to a person. So they can finally see what we’ve all been seeing for years… that they’re beautiful. She was leaving now, well not leaving too far exactly. She only lived like on the other side of town with my girl Franky and that silly fellow Barstool from before. Franky was a whole nother story though, despite many similar overlaps concerning my problematic self. God damn talk about another girl I would marry in a heartbeat. Yet another girl I’ve known so long but have never been able to fully express any definite emotions with. I guess that is of no surprise, given I was a man of hidden passion. A boy easily swept to the winds of love. But back to the cancer.
Ya, so I have ball cancer or maybe I’m just depressed. Probably both. I got diagnosed at least with one of the two my sophomore year of college. Kind of a bummer at first, but I can’t say I was surprised. I’ve been a serial hypochondriac since… well, it’s been a while to say the least. I remember at the age of 12 distinctively having the fear of either AIDS or colon cancer. Seriously, what kinda 12 year old do you know that is scared of that sorta shit. While most kids are asking their parents to check under their beds for monsters I was asking mine for a colonoscopy and a blood test to check my white blood cell count. Instead of the boogeyman I was more terrified of the collapse of my immune system and cancer. Little to say, that kind of wrapped up my coming of age story. I was a hopeless romantic since birth that was terrified of AIDS and ass cancer. Shit was weird.
So by the time I was in the doctor’s office, ready to receive the results from my tests, I was well under the suspicion that it was all over for me. But instead of a cavernous ass it was my nuts that got me, but we have already touched on these ironies. How the hell could my 12 year old ass had predicted that shit? Now why, you may ask, did I have such dismal expectations from such a young age pertaining my life’s utter finitude? Well good question my dear sir or madam. See, it all started when I was in second grade. I can’t forget it. I was laying in bed just staring out the window at the darkness. Is this what death is like, I would think to myself. Just darkness? I remembered what they had taught us in sunday school. That after we die we get a go kart track at God’s house with all the candy shit sweets we could eat. Ya, but for whatever plagued my 8 year old mind the darkness seemed more real than that.
Don’t get me wrong I love me some baby Jesus, always have, always will, but there are still times that I can’t help being that little kid. The darkness impinges upon me with a curious anxiety. It was not one born of fear, but more so a curious inevitability to be pondered upon. It’s no surprise that I was destined to be an existentialist at heart, though I vacation in pragmatic theory from time to time. O’ the joys to be a philosopher of death at such a young age. Born to die and die with eyes wide fucking open to a paradise lost to childish anxieties.
So I’m sitting here, a little high, watching Jackie Brown. God damn Tarantino is the shit, I says a little too loudly, as my brothers walk in. Talking to yourself again buddy, Chancey says to me. Fucking weirdo, Bobby follows in remark. Bobby-relation by blood- was a big mother fucker built like a brick shit house meets a lumberjack meets a fella with that John Wayne True Grit kinda integrity. He was one of the best guys I knew. His strict moral code was harsh sometimes in application, but unequivocally right. Damn we use to beat the shit out of each other when we were kids. I’ll have to tell you another time about how he exploded my nose with one hell of a punch. It was glorious in retrospect. God we really hated each other. Who would have guess he’d turn out to be one of my best and most trusted friends. Chancey-relation by shared fraternal drinking- on the other hand was different from Bobby. Though also a tall SOB like Bobby, he was a completely different person. See, Chancey was a mystic at heart. A true troubled artist. Small town boy turned hipster stoner and my fellow compatriot in drug shenanigans. Jesus, was he one hell of a guitar player. Dude could pick out a melody a mile away and graced his favorite Martin acoustic with only the loveliest of music. But most important he was a good listener. Dude will listen to me ramble on for hours. But most of all he was the kind of friend that would tell you when you’re wrong and when you are fucking up. That's a rare breed of friend. Him and Bobby had that in common, among other things.
So both of them hung out for a while. As me and my brother Bobby walked outside to grab a smoke, while Chancey took a shit, I couldn’t but help feel like I was standing next to my father for a second. I felt this way because, out of all three of my brothers, Bobby resembled Dad the most in spirit, for he was what a man should be. Compassionate yet firm in resolution. Sensitive to all that could hurt in another’s soul and man enough to look it in the eye for what it is was. But he wasn’t just my father’s soul for he was so much than that. He truly was, if he was anything, his own man. He had true mother fucking grit, that brother of mine. True mother fucking grit and a heart full of love. And I loved him and he loved me. God damn did nobody except my momma love me the way Bobby did. He had my back at every crossroads. He knew my heart better than I knew myself sometimes. He would have been my Best Man at my wedding if that were to ever happen, for there was nobody I trusted in my heart more than him. I’ll never forget the little things he would do for me. Back even when I was worse off. Back when I first found out I was dying and would drink myself into oblivion just to forget for a sec, Bobby would come over to my apartment and check on me. Watch me long enough to know that I was asleep. Sometimes he would even tuck my drunk ass into bed. God did I love him. God did he love me. That’s why his letter is a little different than the rest to follow. Well at least I think it is.
Dear Bobby,
I almost don’t even know how to start this out man. Our relationship has changed so much over the past couple of years and it’s hard to pick out the right words, but in certain aspects our relationship hasn’t changed at all. You’re my little brother Bobby. And no matter how much fucking taller you get or how big that beard of yours may grow in comparison to the little facial hair I can muster, you will always be just that to me… my lil bro. No matter all the years we spent fighting or beating the shit out of each other I always loved you and I would do anything for you. I can’t even say how proud of you I am, especially these past years. You have truly opened up your heart and in doing so became the man you were always meant to be. You’ve come to show a level of confidence and maturity that far exceeds anything I could ever hope to achieve, but this isn’t all too surprising I guess. You have always been a man of principle. A man that can draw the line on the right and the wrong and stick to it no matter what anyone thinks. You do this because you are fearless. You do this because you’re so courageous. You do this because… because you… because you are the best man I will ever know. This is also the reason probably why we didn’t get along much when we were kids. I was too wild. Too all over the place to appreciate the man you’ve always been. I use to think you were just too insecure and illogical to see things my way, but how wrong I was. Honestly Bobby. Honestly brother. It was in fact me that was insecure. It was me that was illogical because I was jealous of you whether I knew it or not. I was jealous that you never had to doubt yourself and I hated you for it because I hated myself. You’ve never doubted who you were and I can’t tell you how much I respect you for that. It takes so much fortitude to stand your ground even when it would be easier to cave in. It takes strength to be the man you are both in word and action. Both whose testament go without question when it comes to your character. I know you always have, well until lately, been kind of a shy guy, but let me tell you something. I would trade all of my crazy, look at me antics for an ounce of the self assurance and courage you have. Bobby in always sticking to what you believe you have surpassed every quality I have ever been praised for. That's why I’m so happy… so happy that person you are is finally sharing himself so freely with others. People deserve to have you in their lives because you are worth knowing. Being in your company can only bring about good in another’s life and of that I am sure. You remind me so much of Dad in some of those respects, but even so there is something undeniably unique about you. Something residing in your heart that makes knowing and being around you that much more precious. So promise me this... never stop. Never stop being the man I only wish I could be. Never cease to share that heart of yours with those around you because you have the capacity to cure people of so much hurt. Keep it ready for the rest of the fam. O’ how they will need your strength when I’m gone bud. They’re going to need your love. I hope you’ll forgive me for all my downfalls as your older brother Bobby. I can’t say I always was good to you. I can’t say I never said things to you that I knew would cut deep. I’m sorry Bobby... I really am, but I cannot fix the sins of days now past. This I know, but I can tell you this. I love you brother. I respect you and I’m proud of you. Please don’t forget that.
Your Brother,
Me
As Bobby and I finished our cigs he made his way back to his and Chancey’s apartment across the street. Hey Bobby, I says to him. Ya bud, he responds, stopping to turn around and look my way. I love you bro, I says to him. I know bud. I love you too, he says calmly, making eye contact with me before turning around to ascend the stairs that lay before him. Chancey, on the other hand, stuck around to smoke a little with me, but we really didn’t have very much weed. Life as a college student is rough. Weed has its droughts just like water, and we were stuck in one right now let me tell you, but my boy was coming back with the weed and boomer hookup hard tonight so I was jacked. As Clefus came in with bag in hand my own hands began to shake with excitement. We all huddled round staring at the mother fuckers, waiting to see which one of us would be the first to grab and consume his portion. Naturally, it didn’t take too terribly long for one of us to strike out and grab his claim viz. me, but then again no one I knew would be too terribly surprised at that either. It took about 30-40 minutes for them to kick in so I won’t try to describe our simple waitings around to you. Let's fast forward an hour or two to the good part.
Ok.
What follows.
Might.
Not. Make.
Much Sense.
It’s all.
A little fuzzy.
Now.
Looking.
Back at it.
I have to write this real fast. I’ll be pissed at myself if I don’t do this. Latter me will have a kneption. This is some straight fear and loathing type shit. So I was starting to trip right. I was losing my goddamn mind. I know because I read it on the page of the book I was reading in the John. Yup, that’s what it says: BUD YOU ARE TRIPPIN. I wish you could be here right now. As the words are birthed out of my pen. It’s some real freudian phallic bullshit. At least I think she cares about my thoughts like these, ya know Denise. God my thoughts… They… Are… They are Maddness
She reads my writing, at least she says she does. I don’t know because she doesn’t return my texts, but I still lov…
Dammit I forgot. I knew I’d fucking forget. The title of the book I was reading in the John remember. Ya it was this book Democracy Matters, by Cornel West. Hell of a book so far. I mean I’m only on the preface… Obviously. I knew I’d fucking forget that. Is it weird that I feel like this…
Sorry about that. I was having a little trouble formulating my thoughts let alone being able to speak them to you. As things simmered down in my head, and the room grew less chaotic to my frantic and shooting gaze, I took a deep breathe in and sighed out into the world. God were we here, I thought with a smile. It was moments like these that people should cherish. That they should hold onto. We were listening to Mumford and Sons and it was wholesome. As you can tell from above, shit got a little crazy for a second. Bassnectar, Nero, Tangerine Dream, and that initial period of tripping can get kinda hectic, especially if tried to be perceived through sober eyes. But as I have said, chaos slowly laid its head in slumber and the magical Mumford resonated in my ears like… Well fuck it doesn’t even matter. All I can say is it was wholesome. Damn wholesome son. Damn wholesomeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Ah I could have said that word for another hour. Literally my hand is fucking orange right now. It's nuts. I wonder if I could make it turn purple…. HOLY FUCK!!! My whole arm is as purple as Barney’s dick, I proclaimed!! What the fuck did you just say, Chancey and Clefus both says to me, starting to lose their shit. Nothing… I said nothing, I says to them, squinting my eyes with a solemn look upon my face. Fucking weirdo, Clefus says to Chancey. Yup that bout sums it up he, says in agreement.
Chancey you want to go on a walk and smoke some cigs in a second, I asks him, quickly changing the subject. Fuck you, Clefus says to me. What about me, he asks. Fuck off, I says to him. When have you ever wanted to go on a walk anyway. True, he remarks. But it doesn’t hurt to pay me the fucking courtesy of asking jackass, he says, returning his stare to the television. One problem, Chancey responds, ignoring me and Clefus’ little exchange. And what’s that, I asks him. Don’t have any cigs, he says. Fuck I only have like 5 left, I says, checking my pack. That just won’t suffice for a good old Chancey and I walk. Ok man let's reconvene in like 30 mins to readdress this matter, I says. Dude why the fuck are you rubbing your face like a fucking loon, I asks Clefus, as he slowly moves his hand across his face. I don’t know bud why are you looking at your arm like it’s Barney’s dick or something… Oh my god... how did he know. O that’s right I shouted it outloud like a fucking craycray.
Ah shit I can’t believe this song came on, I says to them, changing the subject yet again. This is the perfect song for this moment ya know. It was so fantastically gay in all the best ways. It was off the Raising Sands album by Allison Kraus and Mr. Robert Plant himself ladies and gentlemen. Jesus what a voice. Fucking magnificent. Just lovely. It was the kind of album that just wakes you up for a minute. Lets ya breathe the midnight air in and dance to the sweet folky jazz that its dishing out. Jesus there is something powerful, I tell you, in the things we humans do. We got magic in us when we let it shine. It… And that's about where the shrooms took me in a weird turn of events, to a level I dare not try to express… nuttier than even that shit I dropped on you before hand
As I said goodbye to her and closed the door gently in her wake I thought to myself. Well now that Denise has come and gone. What to do? What to do? She had been over for a while to say hi for some random reason, but then again I wasn’t one to complain, not with her. Let's see, what to do till my plans with the one and only Franky Frank Frank come about. That was weird. I don’t know why I said her name like that. Did I say that out loud, I thought to myself. What the fuck did you just say, JoJo says to me, laughing his ass off from the top of the stairs. I guess I was in the hallway confusing thinking to myself with talking to myself again. God I gotta lay off the drugs.
Hey gay boy come upstairs, JoJo says to me in some kind of weird sluttly voice that he sometimes talked in. Dude please don’t ever do that again, I says to him, shaking my head. That is just not something you say to another brother. Or is it the only right thing to say to a brother, he says to me in response. Their was a pause in speech as I stared at him like the artard he was. Ya that was too far, he says to me quickly. Sorry, he says again, now no longer making eye contact. Damn right you are, I responded with a laugh. Seriously come upstairs I'm working on a new song and I want your opinion, he says, pretending as if that whole exchange didn’t just happen. Well I guess it's time to listen to my roommate slam some dope beats on his DJ equipment. Sounds like a Tuesday in the town house to me. Was it a Tuesday? Ya let’s say it's Tuesday. JoJo what day is it, I asks him, pretending like it was normal to not already be aware of the answer. It's Thursday bro remember were going out with the girls tonight after you grab a drink with Franky, he says. Hey do you think the girls would mind if Franky joined along, I asks him. I don’t know buddy, you know how bitches be about other bitches, he said all too seriously. Ya you got a point, but do you think they’ll care dude, come on it's Franky aka the most amazing non-bitch in the world, I says. He pauses for a moment calculating the possible scenarios. Ya fuck those bitches and their emotions bring her bud I fucking love Franky, he says. Alright sounds good. Now let me hear what you got.
What to do now? I had about 3 hours to kill.... I guess I could call Chancey and we could play some guitar, or I could watch Perks, you know Perks of Being a Wallflower, and cry by myself in my living room. Yup! Perks it is. There was something about that movie. It was like the first time I felt completely and utterly understood. Finally accepted. You either get it or you just fucking don’t. There is no in between. I mean not everybody is obsessed like me. I mean shit, I must have watched that movie like fucking 84 times. I know 84. It's such an irrelevant fucking number or maybe I mean random. I don’t know. I don’t know a lot of things though. Not like in a humble I don’t know kinda way, just a factual I just don’t know kinda way. I don’t think most people know that much. I wish more people would say I don’t FUCKING know more often. Maybe the world or at least my own friend group would be a little better off with some socratic tea a brewing.
Well perks was over. I cried like a bitch. Well I choked up like a man I mean… totally not a bitch. What’s next on the agenda then? Yahtzee? No, fuck that. JoJo what are you doing tonight, I asks him. Bars bro we just fucking talked about this before you started crying like a little bitch, he says to me with a snicker. Bars with the bitches and Franky, he says, changing to a more honest tonal complexion free of disenchantment. O’ ya sounds good to me, I says back to him, shaking the haze from my memory. Fucking stoners, he says, returning to his snickering. Stoners, I thought inquisitively to myself. It's just me down here dipshit aka stoner as in singular you fucking juicer, I says, trying to strike back at him with some sort of rhetorical criticism. Look to your left, he yelled as he ran up the stairs. What the fuck is he talking abou… Holy fuckkkkkkkkkk I yelled!!!! I jumped like a little bitch that time. Chancey when the fuck did you get here, I exclaimed in utter fucking shock. Dude we’ve literally been smoking a bowl for like the past fucking hour, he says to me, probably just as shocked with me as I was with him. Well speak up every once in awhile you tall fucking giant why don’t you, I says, as if my shock were entirely his fault. I looked to my right. I looked to my left. Ok let's just stick to pot this next week. No more addy, that shits either degrading your brain or there is a massive tumor forming on your frontal cortex, I think with all seriousness more often than not.
We were together now, me and Franky. As we sipped on our drinks and the night progressed forward I felt harkened back to less turbulent times. I smiled at her. Hey what you smiling at good looking, she says intrigued. You of course beautiful, I says with a smooth grin. Aw shucks bud you're just so damn charming, she says in her little girlish giggle. Shots, I asked. O’ lordy lordy, I thought you’d never ask, she says, throwing her gaze to the bar. I mean it was Thursday night, besides drinking ourselves into the vast portions of oblivion like the true explorers we were, what the fuck else were we supposed to do in this sin of a fucking city we called home. Two shots of Jose bar keep, I says, sliding my debit card across the disturbingly sticky surface. No limes please just salt. What the fuck, I like the limes, Franky chimes in with some annoyance. And wait what the fuck did you just order, she exclaims, realizing what I had just done. O’ no, no, no, she says in resistance. I have to wake up for class tomorrow. No bud not tonight. You know tequila gets you absolutely fucking crazy. I am not going to be chasing after your ass like freshmen year again, she says. O you’ll chase after me girly. You know what happened last time I ran off unsupervised with tequila in my system, I says, as I start to nostalgically laugh with abundance.
We paused to take our shots in our traditional fashion. Snort the salt and take the shot. The bartender Benjo just laughed. This wasn’t the first time we got shots here. Ya, well if I remember correctly, the last time we did this and I didn’t baby your fucking ass all night you snuck into my dorm, passed out naked in my bed, and pissed yourself, she said, as she punched me pretty fuckin hard. I had to throw out those brand new sheets my mom just sent me too douchebag, she said, punching me again for what I assumed was my continuance in laughter. Ya well you learned your lesson didn’t you, I asks her with that devilish smirk of mine. And what lesson was that, she said, with a sexy level of sass. Well, I says, leaning back a little on the barstool where I now was sitting. 1) is obviously don’t let me drink tequila. Well no fucking shit, she says, as I signal for two more shots. Let me get this round, she says. Naw it's fine I got it, I says to her. Thanks you’re such a doll, she says to me, with a tone that I couldn’t quite read as being sarcastic or genuine.
Anyway, what is lesson numero two, she asks, right before we pause again to snort the salt and take the shot. Fucking titties does that hit the spot, I fucking proclaimed to the bar, now half full. Well my dear it’s as simple as this. Uh huh, she says as I wait, formulating what might possibly be my last words. 2) Don’t leave your window unlocked when you live in the basement of Thomson Hall, I says, but before I could even muster a laugh she punched me again even harder. You told me you didn’t remember that night you jackass, she yells at me with vicious love! Did I, I says with that smirk back on my face. So why the hell didn’t you just go to bathroom? It was right across the hall from my room. Why the fuck did you piss yourself, she demanded in utter curiosity. You know to be honest that parts a little hazy. Intuitively I want to say it was either because I was fast asleep or maybe I was just being drunk and lazy that night, I says, with a mix of hazy remembrance and brazened embellishment. She cocked her arm back as if she was going to hit me again, but slowly lowered it as her smile raised to sight. You’re lucky I love you boo, she says with an almost luciferian compassion. I know, I said with a wink, as I continued on completely unaware of the devils that stirred in her mind. Bar keep two more shots please, I says. And close the tab while you’re at it bud. O’ lord here we go again, she says somewhere between a laugh and dismay. My life, she says, as she puts face to open hands. Ya ain’t it just grand, I says, now scratching her back as a co