I'm moving! On the first I will no longer be a slave to loud drunken arguing and mid-night trips to the emergency room and will become a tenant of the fabulous Muse Apartment Complex in bustling downtown Charlottesville!
I got the news on Friday, and thus the weekend became a test of my mettle, both for the reasons I've just listed, and for a far darker one.
My dear brother once more became exceptionally intoxicated, and once more attempted to take his own life. This was followed by the useless bitch of a leech that is is fiance arriving home just in time to find him trying to hang himself off the patio with a home-made noose.
I didn't know this then, all I knew is when I signed into facebook it was smeared with post after post about how "love wasn't real" and how him and the rest of his buddies that have gone the way of the dodo would be missed. I did the only thing I could think to do... I called my mother.
She didn't pick up at first, so I kept trying, I knew the shit was hitting the fan something terrible but felt completely helpless to do anything about it. Finally she called me back, and as I was informing her of the situation the fight began. Through the ceiling I could hear a cacophony of screams, stomping, and breaking furniture as the epic struggle unfolded. My mother could hear it, through the ceiling AND over the phone. She tried calling them, and the bitch told her what was going on.
She did the only thing she could do... She called the police.
My mother called me back and by the tone of her voice I knew, but she told me anyway. My brother thought his fiance had left him, a "miscommunication" she would later call it, and no longer wanted to live. Above me the war raged on unchecked, I would later learn just how heinous these events were.
He hit her, a few times, and when she tried to pry the knife he was carving up his wrist with from his drunken, suicidal, hands he cut her. The police arrived in mid-conflict, Deus Ex Machina. They had him dropped to the floor, handcuffed him, and dragged him off to Five East where he was briefly evaluated then TDO'd.
For those of you who aren't familiar with this song and dance, mental health care officials can hold someone against there will ONLY if they are deemed a danger to themselves or others, and ONLY for 72 hours. After that they go before a judge and can be released again, regardless of if, by some miracle, they were magically cured of the crazy in the three days following whatever chaos just ensued in their lives.
I had a weekend of relative peace to ponder all this while I frantically began the long process of packing up my things. I had three weeks till the first, and no moment could be squandered. I brought up the AOL radio station "Awesome 80's" and worked like a mad bastard packing boxes, sorting out junk, and hauling old furniture out to the curb to be picked up by the city at a later date.
When Monday came around I was thoroughly exhausted. Every muscle in my body ached, most of all the ones in my cripple-gimpy spine of "ill-equipped to handle heavy loads".
And then, I got a phone call.
My dear brother had opted to be released when placed before the judge, and they had no other option but to let him. He arrived home that day, and we briefly spoke on the phone about unrelated things like "did I know how to download fonts for MS Word".
But there was a saving grace to all of this, I had, in my journey into the closet of endless sorrows, found a treasure that promised great riches. Three vintage bills, all foreign and exceedingly old, preserved under yellowed plastic and ready to be cashed by a would be antiques dealer like myself. A quick perusal of ebay had me salivating with desire for money.
And so Monday came and went, and Tuesday followed.
I awoke this morning ready to haul my closet plundered gains down to a local coin shop and have my way with the clerks wallet as if it were a cheap whore with a few bad habits to support. The clerk took one look at them and told me he didn't want them in a gruff emotionless voice that had me wanting to leap over the counter and plunge my thumbs into his eyes-sockets while I chewed out his tongue.
These weren't any old bills, they were a gift. The one possibly valuable thing I got out of a man of which I don't like to speak. He told me to hold on to them, that they were worth something, valuable treasures gathered by his father during and after the great war. They were worthless, only held high by pompous collectors with no sense of morals other than "buy low, sell high".
I went home, pockets empty, cash-lust un-sated, spent like the money I wouldn't. My mother called again, and I begged her to take me to another antique dealer, THIS one was sure to recognize the value of my wares. The results were the same, a paltry offer of a dollar each. Antique dealers are such sleazes.
She dropped me off and I went inside, fully ready to place the few bills online for sale cheap in hopes salvaging the day, when the phone rang once more.
It was my mother again, she was still parked outside. My brother had called, there was a warrant out for his arrest... I came back outside and she asked me what she should do. I told her he had to turn himself in, otherwise the situation could become much worse. Apparently someones lines got crossed, and when his fiance told them she didn't want to press charges they went ahead and did it anyway. It didn't help that she told them he hit her, that he stabbed her.
And so we were off to the police station, all four of us driving in silence fully expecting my brother to be behind bars within the hour. There was no reason to believe otherwise. The officer told him that it was good that he came in, that the magistrate would look kindly upon that gesture. My brother was handcuffed and driven to the Magistrates office in the back of a police van, while me, my mother, and his fiance drove together.
She kept on telling people how he wasn't himself, that he was drinking, that he normally didn't act like that, that he didn't MEAN to hurt her. She was like a talking head caricature of a beaten wife, and I couldn't tell if it was an act or if she really was that damaged.
As we waited in the magistrates office I leaned against the snack machine while my muscles twitched and my throat spasmed from all the stress. I kept having to cough, a mixture of cigarette smoke, dust inhalation from all the cleaning, and intense anxiety had me going into fits every so often.
We could hear them questioning my brother behind the glass, and it became apparent that he wasn't going to be held today, that a court date was being set for Friday and that if he were so much as five minutes late he would be thrown behind bars.
He came out of that building acting almost excited, a clear changed from the despondent acceptance he had been displaying all day. I could barely look at him... he deserved what he got from all this, and STILL might have to do time. You don't beat your fiance, no matter how much of a raging she-bitch she is.
On a lighter note, he's gotten another sponsor and is once more working the steps. I wish him all the best.
I'll be moving on the first either way.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Life is but a Dream
I dream of shapeless horrors...
Things that shift, that squirm, that consume...
There are variations on the theme, the place, the time, but in the end its always the same: They destroy me all else.
In my dreams these things are flesh incarnate, the embodiment of disease. Like amoebas they are formless, ever changing, but they are life. All life, the way our DNA contains the basic structures of all life merely reconfigured to form fly or man, and without that guiding hand we would be them. A living mass of tissue whose only purpose is to eat and grow.
I think of the movies and books I've seen in the past where this idea was present, what might have seeded these horrors into my consciousness: John Carpenters The Thing, The Blob, many others... None of them close to my sleeping minds concept. They are conscious, willful, and ravenous from countless millenia of imprisonment within our mortal shells.
In my dreams I see them, but there are moments when I feel my dreams have come to pass. I had one such moment of recall today. I sat at my computer exchanging messages with a distant friend, and in that moment I knew... I had dreamed this, and in a rare moment of clarity I knew exactly when, the night where I was released from the psyche ward, when I lay my head on my pillow and surrendered to sleep, I knew this moment would pass.
Are such things possible, the deconstruction of life to its base essentials to where it exists more distinct, more alien, than anything we have seen before it? I do not know, I do not CARE to know. Some things are best left to the resting mind to ponder, to fear in sleep and feel that sweet relief when you awake and realize it was but a dream. Life is but a dream, and death is an awakening.
Please let it be just a dream...
Things that shift, that squirm, that consume...
There are variations on the theme, the place, the time, but in the end its always the same: They destroy me all else.
In my dreams these things are flesh incarnate, the embodiment of disease. Like amoebas they are formless, ever changing, but they are life. All life, the way our DNA contains the basic structures of all life merely reconfigured to form fly or man, and without that guiding hand we would be them. A living mass of tissue whose only purpose is to eat and grow.
I think of the movies and books I've seen in the past where this idea was present, what might have seeded these horrors into my consciousness: John Carpenters The Thing, The Blob, many others... None of them close to my sleeping minds concept. They are conscious, willful, and ravenous from countless millenia of imprisonment within our mortal shells.
In my dreams I see them, but there are moments when I feel my dreams have come to pass. I had one such moment of recall today. I sat at my computer exchanging messages with a distant friend, and in that moment I knew... I had dreamed this, and in a rare moment of clarity I knew exactly when, the night where I was released from the psyche ward, when I lay my head on my pillow and surrendered to sleep, I knew this moment would pass.
Are such things possible, the deconstruction of life to its base essentials to where it exists more distinct, more alien, than anything we have seen before it? I do not know, I do not CARE to know. Some things are best left to the resting mind to ponder, to fear in sleep and feel that sweet relief when you awake and realize it was but a dream. Life is but a dream, and death is an awakening.
Please let it be just a dream...
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Pyramid Head Costume
ok, so this year I'm going to FINALLY do what I've been saying I'd do forever now and dress up as Pyramid head for halloween! Construction is underway on the helmet, and its coming along nicely. :)
I started out with a basic frame made from foam board, with two segments cut out so I can see once its constructed.
Here's the side view, with a better look at its shape and the two "peep holes".
Then I applied two layers of fiberglass screen to cover the holes so that I can see out but others can't see in. I also made a frame of sorts to hold in in place using a strip of wood and more foam foamboard.
To the back of the helmet I placed six bottle caps that will, hopefully once its painted, look like large bolts.
I purchased two cans of spray paint: one a textured paint that has the appearance of hammered metal and another regular paint that looks like wood grain.
Sadly I can't continue with this project until the rain stops, and its supposed to be like this for the next few days. I'll post again once I've made some progress. Oh, and the robes will be made of an old sheet I got from a thrift store, painted to look dirty. YAY FOR DYI HALLOWEEN!
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The Nameless Dread
Sometimes I get a nameless dread, a creeping feeling of fear and paranoia that can only be described as the sensation that some one is about to grab your ankle if it happens to be sticking out from beneath the covers. Silence is almost palpable in this state, and every small noise not readily attributed to a source is deemed a threat either supernatural or homicidal.
I've been getting this feeling since I was a kid, but haven't in some time. Tonight I awoke from a nap with it. I can only assume I had yet another nightmare, but I can't remember what it was or what it was about. Sitting at my computer desk I pulled myself indian style into the chair and played some music, hoping it would pass.
All day today the phone didn't ring, and I was left feeling lonely and hideously bored, so I should have seen this coming. Let my mind wander enough and its bound to try to self-destruct. With no one but my cat to keep me company I got online and began the long process of self-soothing, something I'm not particularly good at and usually involves buying stuff off ebay.
I remember when I was younger, when the rest of my family was asleep I'd be at the computer typing away till dawn some nights. The lights would be off and the glare of the monitor would sear into my eyes but I didn't care, I needed to make a connection however brief, however pointless. I'd scour the chat rooms for hours looking for that special someone, a woman with a unique mix of eccentricity and kindness to spend my time talking to. It never lasted, even the most generous of lost souls could only put up with me for so long, and I'd be back in the chat rooms again.
And do you want to know a secret?
I never really stopped...
I've been getting this feeling since I was a kid, but haven't in some time. Tonight I awoke from a nap with it. I can only assume I had yet another nightmare, but I can't remember what it was or what it was about. Sitting at my computer desk I pulled myself indian style into the chair and played some music, hoping it would pass.
All day today the phone didn't ring, and I was left feeling lonely and hideously bored, so I should have seen this coming. Let my mind wander enough and its bound to try to self-destruct. With no one but my cat to keep me company I got online and began the long process of self-soothing, something I'm not particularly good at and usually involves buying stuff off ebay.
I remember when I was younger, when the rest of my family was asleep I'd be at the computer typing away till dawn some nights. The lights would be off and the glare of the monitor would sear into my eyes but I didn't care, I needed to make a connection however brief, however pointless. I'd scour the chat rooms for hours looking for that special someone, a woman with a unique mix of eccentricity and kindness to spend my time talking to. It never lasted, even the most generous of lost souls could only put up with me for so long, and I'd be back in the chat rooms again.
And do you want to know a secret?
I never really stopped...
Friday, September 2, 2011
Night of the Smoothies
Earlier in the week, while helping my mother pack away and arrange her stuff into boxes she begifted me with a Smoothie Elite TM. I had not yet gone grocery shopping, however, and had yet to experiance the sublime bliss that is a home-made smoothie.
Today was the day...
I awoke knowing full well that I had a good two hours to kill before phone arrived, and yet I wasn't bothered by this. The leisurely and habitual morning routine was one I enjoyed very much, though it hardly ever actually took place before noon. I made my coffee with the last bit of ground awareness left in the can, shaking it into the espresso machines metal cup with urgency. I'm not much of a man without caffeine.
It quickly brewed, and with my coffee I had a cigarette, mingling the two substances both in taste and affect. The days first smoke is always the best. For two hours I waiting, speaking briefly with friends and my mother and when my social worker finally arrived I was good and ready.
She pulled up in a burgundy colored van and I hurried inside to grab my grocery list, fully aware that without it I was sure to get a stern look and possibly even a scolding. I'm not much of a man at all really...
"So how have you been?" Fawn asked, following yet another routine.
"Good, I got my book on amazon..." I responding, the only bit of news I had to share, and with that spent the rest of the conversation went to hell.
"So have you gotten out lately?"
THERE it was, the million dollar question, had ZAK gotten out lately, had ZAK made any friends. How I loathed it so...
"No, but I plan on going downtown tomorrow and hanging out with a friend, maybe pick up some hemp chord." I responding in a spit, expecting her to do exactly what she did...
"Rebecca?"
"Yeah, that's what I ALWAYS do, go downtown and hang out with Rebecca..."
"Oh... I was hoping you were doing something..."
This didn't sit well with me...
"I AM doing stuff."
The rest of the trip went on as follows: I shopped in a hurry, never once taking my list out of my pocket. I almost walked out in front of traffic. I closed the wrong door first on the van. I went home. I made a DELICIOUS SMOOTIE!
The concoction I put together was one banana, one peach, a cup of milk, most of an ice tray of ice, and sugar. It was bliss. Then, my brother called...
"Merry Christmas!" He shouted into the phone in a jovial manner...
"Ok... Whats up bro?"
-insert whatever the hell he wanted, for some reason I can't remember-
"Ok, come on down."
He answered the door with a smile and a little wave, the kind that princess give the crowds gathered as they drive by.
"Would you like a smootie?" I asked, fully hoping him to decline on the grounds of his weak stomach.
"Hell yeah!"
Oops...
I made the smoothie in a hurry, splitting it into three cups, one for me one for him and one for his fiance. He left with cups in hand, promising to return them at a later date, and I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong...
A half an hour later he called again.
"Bro! I'll give you TWO DOLLARS if you make another smoothie for me and my girl, how about it?"
Two smoothies and six four dollars later we had gone through most of the fruit I had just bought and had hoped would last at least a week or so. SIX POUNDS of bananas and peaches and a quarter gallon of milk. Only later did it occur to me just why he had such a sweet tooth.
He called again, this time asking if I would accompany him to the corner in the middle of the night for ice cream and cigarettes. He told me to come around front.
"But DON'T knock, just wait for me." He said emphatically.
"Ok..." I responding, still not understanding.
I waited on his lawn for him to come out smoking a cigarette when it finally hit me. He was high, again, and my suspicions that he was once more using were about to be justified.
He stumbled out of the front door and informed me that we had to go over to Marty's house, that his friend who he lovingly calls Hippie was there and he needed to kick his ass.
"I just want you to grab him from behind... and I'll punch him in the stomach, you got it bro?"
"No brother, I'm against violence..." I didn't know what else to say, but the hokiness of that statement lingered on my tongue like a bit of asprin that didn't go down.
"Alright then, I'll kick your ass too..."
He knocked on Marty's door with a series of quick and hard bangs that was supposed to mimic that of a police officer. Marty didn't even flinch, he was used to my brother's nonsense. He just opened the door and stepped aside letting us in.
"Alright, whats everyone want?"
As it turned out, Marty and Hippie were offering Ben a pack of cigarettes to walk up to the corner for them and pick up a few things, what ammounted to a two liter of coke and yet more cigarettes.
"Hold on... Just make a list, my brain doesn't have a memory anymore..."
I shit you not, his exact words...
We took the list and began walking up King Street, at this point it was almost eleven at night. I tried to make small talk, to hide the fact that I hated him for being so stupid as to use again after all he's been through, not that it would have mattered, he was too high to notice my subtle disdain.
"So how have you been?" He asked me: not the first time, not the last.
"I've been doing good, just keeping up with my stuff."
"Aren't we all... So what are you doing?" His questioning continued, as if he couldn't very well see exactly what I was doing.
"Walking... I have a destination." I hoped he didn't notice my frustration.
"Yeah, me too. I want to get my GED."
I was surprised, never in all my life had I heard been express interest in anything academic.
"That's great bro, what do you plan on doing with it?" I asked, legitimately interested regardless of his intoxication.
"I want to go to collage, take biology or zoo-ology, so I can learn to take care of wolves..."
I really should have suspected this...
"That's great bro..."
I didn't say much after that.
It wasn't until we approached the Corner that I realized it was Friday night. The Corner is a strip of bars and restaurants between UVA Medical Center and UVA Campus, and on Friday nights it is riddled with hideously drunken college students, homeless men and women (also drunk), and an odd assortment of partiers and sight seers (who very likely would be drunk as well). The place stank, the scents washed over me with ever step and shifted between oddly pleasant and deeply repugnant. Sweat mixed with the oder of food cooking, vomit with the inexplicable sweetness of cotton candy, and all around the stench of alcohol poured from the open mouths of a hundred heavy drinkers.
Women marched up the sidewalk like flocks of birds, all the while pruning there make-up and telling and retelling the stories that only such as them know. I'd catch bits of conversation, a word here, half a sentence there, always vacuous, always slurred. The men were just as ridiculous, I've never seen so many polo shirts and backwards baseball caps in my life. Popped collars all around boys, its FRIDAY NIGHT in CHARLOTTESVILLE!
We weaved in and out of the packs like outsiders in a gathering of wolves, and my brother never flinched, hell he seemed oddly comfortable. We reached our destination and went inside. By this time my heart was beating in my chest and acid was rising out of my gut like filth from a sewer. I bought a half gallon of cookies and cream ice-cream and two rolls of Tums. In the check out line my brother said he forgot something and ventured back into the store, I stepped outside for a smoke. He followed out a few minutes later.
"Don't tell my girl this, but that pixie girl in there was hitting on me."
Here we go again...
"Yeah, she was bangin too, not a bit of fat on her body, but don't tell anyone."
"You know I wouldn't, wouldn't want to get youi in trouble." Maybe...
"I told her I had a girlfriend though, she asked about my tattoos and I said I did them in my kitchen with my girlfriend." He managed to say, must have been sobering up at that point.
"Then she should be proud..." Ugh...
We once again began the trek up the corner when a balding old man approached my brother, he wore a black band T-shirt for a group I didn't recognize, was skin and bones thin, and had perhaps one tooth left in his head.
"I met you in prison, didn't I?" The man said. "I'm gonna get lit tonight, look in this cup."
I couldn't help it, my eyes trained on the plastic cup as if pulled there by force. It contained a sickly green and oddly neon fluid sloshing around with several diminutive ice cubes.
"Its chill, mixed with beer, gonna feel good tonight."
I had a moment where my morbid curiosity almost took over and asked the man what exactly "chill" was, and I hoped to god that it wasn't what it looked like, which was cheap anti-freeze.
A block down several beer bottles rained down from the balcony above, nearly striking me before shattering. I couldn't take it anymore.
"Lets get the fuck out of here bro..."
He merely nodded.
My brother went on to tell me that people respected him now, that women smiled at him and people spoke to him and he wanted to know why, he asked me upfront what had changed about him. I did my best to lie....
"You have confidence now." Liquid courage maybe, a little green deffinately.
I when we arrived back at Marty's he gave them there bounty and I went home, wishing him a good night. I gimped into my apartment and prepared myself a large milkshake with the ice-cream I had bought and sat down in my chair to reflect.
Today was the day...
I awoke knowing full well that I had a good two hours to kill before phone arrived, and yet I wasn't bothered by this. The leisurely and habitual morning routine was one I enjoyed very much, though it hardly ever actually took place before noon. I made my coffee with the last bit of ground awareness left in the can, shaking it into the espresso machines metal cup with urgency. I'm not much of a man without caffeine.
It quickly brewed, and with my coffee I had a cigarette, mingling the two substances both in taste and affect. The days first smoke is always the best. For two hours I waiting, speaking briefly with friends and my mother and when my social worker finally arrived I was good and ready.
She pulled up in a burgundy colored van and I hurried inside to grab my grocery list, fully aware that without it I was sure to get a stern look and possibly even a scolding. I'm not much of a man at all really...
"So how have you been?" Fawn asked, following yet another routine.
"Good, I got my book on amazon..." I responding, the only bit of news I had to share, and with that spent the rest of the conversation went to hell.
"So have you gotten out lately?"
THERE it was, the million dollar question, had ZAK gotten out lately, had ZAK made any friends. How I loathed it so...
"No, but I plan on going downtown tomorrow and hanging out with a friend, maybe pick up some hemp chord." I responding in a spit, expecting her to do exactly what she did...
"Rebecca?"
"Yeah, that's what I ALWAYS do, go downtown and hang out with Rebecca..."
"Oh... I was hoping you were doing something..."
This didn't sit well with me...
"I AM doing stuff."
The rest of the trip went on as follows: I shopped in a hurry, never once taking my list out of my pocket. I almost walked out in front of traffic. I closed the wrong door first on the van. I went home. I made a DELICIOUS SMOOTIE!
The concoction I put together was one banana, one peach, a cup of milk, most of an ice tray of ice, and sugar. It was bliss. Then, my brother called...
"Merry Christmas!" He shouted into the phone in a jovial manner...
"Ok... Whats up bro?"
-insert whatever the hell he wanted, for some reason I can't remember-
"Ok, come on down."
He answered the door with a smile and a little wave, the kind that princess give the crowds gathered as they drive by.
"Would you like a smootie?" I asked, fully hoping him to decline on the grounds of his weak stomach.
"Hell yeah!"
Oops...
I made the smoothie in a hurry, splitting it into three cups, one for me one for him and one for his fiance. He left with cups in hand, promising to return them at a later date, and I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong...
A half an hour later he called again.
"Bro! I'll give you TWO DOLLARS if you make another smoothie for me and my girl, how about it?"
Two smoothies and six four dollars later we had gone through most of the fruit I had just bought and had hoped would last at least a week or so. SIX POUNDS of bananas and peaches and a quarter gallon of milk. Only later did it occur to me just why he had such a sweet tooth.
He called again, this time asking if I would accompany him to the corner in the middle of the night for ice cream and cigarettes. He told me to come around front.
"But DON'T knock, just wait for me." He said emphatically.
"Ok..." I responding, still not understanding.
I waited on his lawn for him to come out smoking a cigarette when it finally hit me. He was high, again, and my suspicions that he was once more using were about to be justified.
He stumbled out of the front door and informed me that we had to go over to Marty's house, that his friend who he lovingly calls Hippie was there and he needed to kick his ass.
"I just want you to grab him from behind... and I'll punch him in the stomach, you got it bro?"
"No brother, I'm against violence..." I didn't know what else to say, but the hokiness of that statement lingered on my tongue like a bit of asprin that didn't go down.
"Alright then, I'll kick your ass too..."
He knocked on Marty's door with a series of quick and hard bangs that was supposed to mimic that of a police officer. Marty didn't even flinch, he was used to my brother's nonsense. He just opened the door and stepped aside letting us in.
"Alright, whats everyone want?"
As it turned out, Marty and Hippie were offering Ben a pack of cigarettes to walk up to the corner for them and pick up a few things, what ammounted to a two liter of coke and yet more cigarettes.
"Hold on... Just make a list, my brain doesn't have a memory anymore..."
I shit you not, his exact words...
We took the list and began walking up King Street, at this point it was almost eleven at night. I tried to make small talk, to hide the fact that I hated him for being so stupid as to use again after all he's been through, not that it would have mattered, he was too high to notice my subtle disdain.
"So how have you been?" He asked me: not the first time, not the last.
"I've been doing good, just keeping up with my stuff."
"Aren't we all... So what are you doing?" His questioning continued, as if he couldn't very well see exactly what I was doing.
"Walking... I have a destination." I hoped he didn't notice my frustration.
"Yeah, me too. I want to get my GED."
I was surprised, never in all my life had I heard been express interest in anything academic.
"That's great bro, what do you plan on doing with it?" I asked, legitimately interested regardless of his intoxication.
"I want to go to collage, take biology or zoo-ology, so I can learn to take care of wolves..."
I really should have suspected this...
"That's great bro..."
I didn't say much after that.
It wasn't until we approached the Corner that I realized it was Friday night. The Corner is a strip of bars and restaurants between UVA Medical Center and UVA Campus, and on Friday nights it is riddled with hideously drunken college students, homeless men and women (also drunk), and an odd assortment of partiers and sight seers (who very likely would be drunk as well). The place stank, the scents washed over me with ever step and shifted between oddly pleasant and deeply repugnant. Sweat mixed with the oder of food cooking, vomit with the inexplicable sweetness of cotton candy, and all around the stench of alcohol poured from the open mouths of a hundred heavy drinkers.
Women marched up the sidewalk like flocks of birds, all the while pruning there make-up and telling and retelling the stories that only such as them know. I'd catch bits of conversation, a word here, half a sentence there, always vacuous, always slurred. The men were just as ridiculous, I've never seen so many polo shirts and backwards baseball caps in my life. Popped collars all around boys, its FRIDAY NIGHT in CHARLOTTESVILLE!
We weaved in and out of the packs like outsiders in a gathering of wolves, and my brother never flinched, hell he seemed oddly comfortable. We reached our destination and went inside. By this time my heart was beating in my chest and acid was rising out of my gut like filth from a sewer. I bought a half gallon of cookies and cream ice-cream and two rolls of Tums. In the check out line my brother said he forgot something and ventured back into the store, I stepped outside for a smoke. He followed out a few minutes later.
"Don't tell my girl this, but that pixie girl in there was hitting on me."
Here we go again...
"Yeah, she was bangin too, not a bit of fat on her body, but don't tell anyone."
"You know I wouldn't, wouldn't want to get youi in trouble." Maybe...
"I told her I had a girlfriend though, she asked about my tattoos and I said I did them in my kitchen with my girlfriend." He managed to say, must have been sobering up at that point.
"Then she should be proud..." Ugh...
We once again began the trek up the corner when a balding old man approached my brother, he wore a black band T-shirt for a group I didn't recognize, was skin and bones thin, and had perhaps one tooth left in his head.
"I met you in prison, didn't I?" The man said. "I'm gonna get lit tonight, look in this cup."
I couldn't help it, my eyes trained on the plastic cup as if pulled there by force. It contained a sickly green and oddly neon fluid sloshing around with several diminutive ice cubes.
"Its chill, mixed with beer, gonna feel good tonight."
I had a moment where my morbid curiosity almost took over and asked the man what exactly "chill" was, and I hoped to god that it wasn't what it looked like, which was cheap anti-freeze.
A block down several beer bottles rained down from the balcony above, nearly striking me before shattering. I couldn't take it anymore.
"Lets get the fuck out of here bro..."
He merely nodded.
My brother went on to tell me that people respected him now, that women smiled at him and people spoke to him and he wanted to know why, he asked me upfront what had changed about him. I did my best to lie....
"You have confidence now." Liquid courage maybe, a little green deffinately.
I when we arrived back at Marty's he gave them there bounty and I went home, wishing him a good night. I gimped into my apartment and prepared myself a large milkshake with the ice-cream I had bought and sat down in my chair to reflect.
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