Don’t Forget about My Birthday
September 4th, 2009
One more week. One more week and I’ll be 16. I dropped hints for the last two damn years, so they better get it for me. My stupid brother doesn’t think they will but what does he know? He’s a goddamned retard. He got a truck when he turned 16, so there’s no reason why I shouldn’t get one. His truck is alright. It’s silver, which is stupid, but he lifted it and put some bigger tires on, so at least it looks a little cooler. Last year my retard parents gave me a stupid gift card to the mall. What am I ‘sposed to do with that? I bought some video games but they’re all played out. They’re boring now. One more week. One more week. They better get it. They better get it.
September 5th, 2009
I dropped a few more hints to my mom. Actually, I straight up told that bitch, “Mom, I want a truck for my birthday.” She gave me that stupid parent response, “We’ll see,” as if I don’t know what that means. She’ll get it. She just wants me to think I might not get it so I’ll be surprised. Don’t they know they can’t fool me anymore? My retard brother deleted my blog account today. Piece of shit is gunna pay. He’ll feel like shit when he realizes my truck is gunna be ten times better than his. I won’t even have to customize mine like he did. I bet my dad will do all the work for me so I won’t have to blow all my money fixing it up like Randy did. I changed my blog account password so there’s no way Randy’s gunna crack that shit now. If he does, I’ll crack his goddamned face in! I’ll take that baseball bat of his right and wipe that skinny, pale, peach fuzz, buck-toothed fuckin’ grin right off his face. Then I’ll take his Kansas City Chiefs hat and crap all over it.
September 6th, 2009
My dad picked me up from school today in the station wagon. Why does this whole family insist on making me look like a retard? I hate him. My dad the big goober with his high-water khaki shorts on up to his nipples and those stupid novelty t-shirts of his. One of ‘em says For every animal you don’t eat, I’m gunna eat three. God I hate them all. The worst part is I couldn’t tell him what an asshole he was for embarrassing me like that because I want to make sure I get that truck. What did he think he was doing? They do it on purpose. Always trying to embarrass me and make me feel like a retard. Once I get that truck though, I’ll be outta here. I’ll steal my mom’s bankcard; pull everything I can out of the ATM and go work for EA or Microsoft testing video games. They won’t give a shit that I don’t have a degree when they see how much I know about gaming. Fuck homework. I’m gunna play video games for a living and these assholes are gunna really feel stupid when they realize I played them for the truck and their money. HA!
September 7th, 2009
‘Jack, when are you gunna clean your room? When are you gunna? JACK! JACK! JACK! JACK! JACK!’ SHUT THE FUCK UP MOM!
She comes into my room with that stupid house coat on. The thing is practically a muumuu. I could even see her old flabby titties bouncin’ around in there. Lose some weight Ma! Anyway, she comes in here like it’s her room with that tent of a house coat on and her bleached blonde hair as big as a house, smoking a nasty long cigarette demanding I clean my room. She damn well knows I don’t allow shoes in here and what does she do? She wears those dirty ass flip-flops in here that she just had on outside.
The scene went somethin’ like this.
She opened the door all lazy and tired. She flip-flops into the room with that old-lady cigarette dangling between her long chipped red fingernails practically knocking over my WWF figurines.
“Jack, when are gunna clean up this pig sty?”
She had that glassy look in her eyes like she was hung over again. I shut off my computer monitor, cuz what business is it of hers to look at my stuff?
“Mom, I’m doing stuff right now. I’ll do it later.”
She turned away from me huffing and puffing away on her cigarette staring at my stuff like it was garbage. What would she know? All she likes are stupid ceramic figurines and a bunch of useless crap.
“Well, that’s what you said nearly two weeks ago and I ain’t seen you do shit yet?”
The stupid dirty bitch put her cigarette out in my cup of Dr. Pepper. Can you believe that? This is the kind of bullshit I have to put up with from these retards.
GOD DAMMIT. WHEN IS THIS BITCH GOING TO SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE!? I told her like five fucking times this week to pick me up some pizza rolls at the grocery store and she still hasn’t done it so why do I have to clean my room, huh? Give a little, get a little mom. Is it really too much to ask for one stupid thing from the store? It’s all I asked for and she couldn’t even do that. Randy cancelled MY GOD DAMN BLOG ACCOUNT THAT STUPID ASSHOLE IDIOT! I’m gunna kill him. I’m gunna kill him. I’M GOING TO KILL HIM. At the very least I’m bleachin’ his best pair of Levis.
There she is again with that shouting. “Jack, did you clean your room yet?” “Jack if you clean your room I’ll go to the store and get your pizza rolls ok?” Fucking Bitch. I’m tryin’ to do stuff here. Hold on. BRB.
Alright I’m back. Once again I told her I was doin’ stuff. What does she do? Storms right back into my room and treats me like I’m her fucking slave. First of all she slammed my door open and put a fist size hole in the drywall and my god damn Randy Travis poster.
She’s yelling at me from across the fucking house. She’s ALWAYS got to be yellin’. Then she wonders why I’m pissed off at her all the time. Why can’t she come in here and talk to me like a civilized person?
Instead, she storms in here, knockin’ over all my stuff and grabs me behind the ear talkin’ to me through her teeth like a god damn animal with her stinkin’ old-lady breath all up in my face.
“No Jack. No, god dammit. Your father is havin’ people from work over and he’s tellin’ you to do it right now, got it?”
Then she flip-flops outta my room like the fat tard that she is.
----
Finally finished my stupid room. I finished it in like 10 minutes. That’ll show her. She thinks she can get me away from the computer with these stupid chores but how’s she gunna know I just shoved everything in my closet? No one’s allowed in there anyway. I’m gunna play World of Warcraft right now. BRB.
----
FUCKING RANDY! FUCKING STUPID PIECE OF SHIT BROTHER! MOTHER FUCKER CANCELLED MY WORLD OF WARCRAFT ACCOUNT! I’m really gunna kill that piece of shit now.
----
ARRRggghhhh! I tell my mom what Randy did and what does she do? NOTHING! UUUUURRRGGGHHH! She’s pissed at me. Not Randy, me. Just cuz I yelled at her. What else was I gunna do? She yells at me from across the house. Why can’t I do it, huh? Double fuckin’ standard, that’s what it is. So yeah, I yelled.
“Mom! Mom! Get in here! Mom! God Damn Randy! You jerk. You stupid jerk. I can hear you laughing outside the door Randy.”
And I could too. Piece of shit was laughing at me from behind my bedroom door.
“I can here you asshole. I hear you laughing,” I told him.
Then when forever went by and my mom just sat on her fat ass, I yelled.
“UURRRRGGGHHHH! Mom! Fuckin’ do somethin’ already!”
Then I get slapped. Me, not Randy, the real perpetrator. All I did was cuss and I get slapped. Now I’m gunna have to pay for a new World of Warcraft account out of my allowance. No. NO! Fuck that! My mom’s payin’ for it, whether she knows about it or not.
So what’s the one thing my mom does say to me?
“What’s the problem Jack? Your father has people from work over. Do you have to make such a big deal over everything?”
What a bitch.
See? See what I mean? They’re so stupid they can’t even see who’s at fault here. Stupid brother deletes my World of Warcraft account and my blog account and she yells at me instead. RETARDS! They better get me that truck. They better. I’m gunna run right over Randy. vvVVRRROOOOOM! Right over his pimple covered stupid head. SPLAT!
September 8th, 2009
It was so funny. Today in class, people were looking at me like, “Do I get an invitation? Am I gunna get to go to your birthday party?” Pppfffftttt. You wish dorks. I only gave out two. I’m pretty selective. I gave one to Jenny and one to Todd. Of course Todd gets one, cuz he’s my best friend, the only one that deserves one, and Jenny just cuz she’s hot and it would be nice to have a hot chick at my party for me and Todd to look at. She’s kinda stupid, but what do I care? Most chicks are stupid anyways. She actually did not know who Randy Travis was. Can you believe that? I went up to her in the cafeteria the other day when she was sitting with the other cheerleader bimbos. I plopped down next to her to let her know who’s boss. Chicks like it when your authoritative ‘n shit.
“Hey Jenny. What’s up? D’ya get the new Randy Travis cd?”
She flipped her bleached blonde hair over her shoulders and kept her bimbo eyes on her lunch. She practically ignored me. All she said was, “No but my sister gave me an old Def Leopard cd and her Alanis Morissette collection.” She just chomped away at her bubble gum and her stupid friends just giggled and got up to leave. I told her those bands were gay and if she wanted to listen to somethin’ good to give me a call.
When she sees my new truck though, she’ll notice me then. Guys aren’t that shallow but you know chicks are. I see all those cheerleader chicks hangin’ out with all the tough football guys with their big lifted 4x4s covered with mud. She’s gunna shit when she sees mine. Damn she’s hot. I’m gunna go take care of business before I slept. Damn she’s hot.
September 9th, 2009
Bitch totally ignored me in the lunchroom today. I sat down at her table to tell her how cool my party was gunna be. This time I didn’t plop down. I eased in there like a cheetah, right before he moves in for the kill. Real smooth. Just like how I’d fuck her.
“Hey Jenny. Boy I feel sorry for the suckers who aren’t gunna be there at my party,” I told her.
I did this while looking at all the other retards in the cafeteria, but not at her. Chicks like it when you ignore them.
She stood up and left her tray of food behind like I was some kinda disease. Bitch was even wiping her hands off with a wet-nap, as if she’d catch something from me. She used the expensive kind too. I think they were Kleenex brand. Why can’t she just use a regular napkin like a normal person? She made up some bullshit excuse about needing to do some homework before class. If she doesn’t get with me, she’s gunna feel like a retard when I get my new truck on Friday. Then I’ll just go out with her friend Priscilla and make her super jealous. I’ll arrange for Jenny to come to my truck for something when Priscilla’s goin’ down on me. Then she’ll feel like shit. Two more days. Two more days.
September 10th, 2009
Finally got back on World of Warcraft. My mom had to pay for me to get a new account. I told her I’d burn down the god damn house if she was gunna let Randy get away with that. She knows I was bluffin’ though. Hopefully. I don’t want to mess up getting the truck. I did the dishes for her after dinner just to make sure. I tried calling Jenny to remind her about the party but her mom said she wasn’t home. I left like four messages so she better remember. Todd came over and played video games today. Todd’s kind of a dirty S.O.B. but I don’t mind. He’s a hell of a gamer. Even if he is like that kid from those Peanuts cartoons. What’s his name? Pigpen! You know, the one that always had a cloud of dust around him. I told him my plan. He thought it was sweet that I’d be playin’ video games for a livin’. He asked me if I could get him a job when I get to Silicon Valley but I just gave him that stupid parents’ answer, “We’ll see.” One more day. One more day, and I’m outta here.
September 11th, 2009
I did it! I did it! I couldn’t believe how easy it was, but I did it. I couldn’t believe how surprised those fucking retards were. They got what they deserved though. I don’t feel bad. I don’t feel bad at all. I feel great. How could they? How could they have done that to me and not know what was comin’ to ‘em? Cuz they’re RETARDS THAT’S WHY! What did they expect me to do, wheeling out that piece of junk clunker on me? Right next to the garage door, where of course the first thing I would grab would be Randy’s bat. How come they looked so surprised huh? How come they didn’t even move or try to run? Because they’re fucking retards, that’s why. You should have seen the thing. A tiny little S-10. It couldn’t have had more than 4 cylinders. It was a joke. The paint was comin’ off and it was rusted just about everywhere. You couldn’t even tell where I bashed it in with Randy’s baseball bat cuz there was so many dents in it. Good thing Jenny didn’t see this. Chicks don’t like violence. When they see blood they always freak out like it’s a really big deal. She probably would’ve called the cops and told ‘em everything. “Oh my God, Oh my God! You bashed their heads in.” Yeah, well, she wouldn’t say that if she knew what retards they were. How they treated me like I was nuthin’ all the time. Always trying to embarrass me. Always trying make me look like a retard. Todd didn’t come either but it’s probably better that way. He’d prob’ly go to the cops too. He always was a tattletale. Well Randy. You stupid jerk. I got your truck. What now? I guess silver ain’t so bad. Silicon Valley, here I come.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Sunny Delight
Sunny Delight
Freshly cut grass dying on concrete was all Joe saw. With his thumbs under the padded straps of his black book bag, he slouched forward-a sharp curve from belly to forehead. Joe moved quickly from class to class, sometimes bumping into others. His shoulder length brown hair fell over his eyes when he scuttled along the sidewalks at his university. It was very spread out, very little grass, mostly concrete, and all of it completely exposed to a blistering sun. Hidden beneath his hair was an over sized pair of silver headphones that blared music nobody else liked. It was a cd his band had recorded in his mom’s garage. He wore black shirts lacking any design, everyday, and black slacks that were a size too small, everyday. His eyes were probably brown but no one ever saw them to confirm it. Joe kept his long, pale and slender limbs close to his body at all times. Joe rarely ate at the University unless his mother had packed him a lunch. Even at 23, his palette never matured and his tastes remained considerably specific, so the common foods available at the university such as pizza, burritos, and sandwiches would not suffice. It wasn’t healthy. Besides, there were way too many people around those food courts making way too much noise. On most days, his mother would pack his favorite lunch. In his backpack would be a brown paper sack, with his name on it and a heart. In the bag was a sandwich made with 12 grain bread, Nutella (chocolate spread), honey, Grape Nuts cereal, banana, and a few leaves of baby spinach for garnish and added nutrients. In the bag would always be a crisp apple, too big for any one person, especially Joe’s size, and a small green canteen with his favorite juice-Sunny D.
On this particular day, Joe ate his lunch behind the newly built computer lab under an old tree on a concrete bench covered in white spots-healthy pigeon excrement. Joe ate his lunch quickly and with the utmost efficiency. First, the sandwich, which was the heart of the meal and had to be eaten first. The apple was considered ancillary but still had nutritional value, so that had to be second. The Sunny-D had little nutritional value so that had to be last. He knew the last thing he tasted needed to be something sweet. After finishing his meal in a record five minutes he neatly wadded up the plastic wrap into the paper bag and tossed the whole of it into the nearest trashcan. He had scoped it out during the feeding process. His mother had itemized his day for him in his pocket calendar the night before. He didn’t need to look at it, but he did anyway. He pulled his bag up over his back rearing his head forward once again to create the momentum needed to propel him toward the south wing of the library-then to the 4th floor. He would then study for one hour and twenty minutes reviewing a chapter in his philosophy book before he needed to be in class. Joe liked the 4th floor. It was quieter than the rest of the library since the installation of the coffee shop downstairs. He drank their coffee everyday but still managed a considerable disdain for the noise it generated. On the 4th floor there were individual study-group rooms he could sneak into, if unlocked, that were virtually sound proof. Some days, he left the lights off. The chairs were perfect. They were made of sturdy wood. They made no sound. He hated the plastic chairs in the classrooms. They spoke even when the class went silent.
With the quick forward pull of his shoulders, Joe left the 4th floor, the library, and continued dragging his head in the direction of the philosophy building. Along the way a shadow passed him, speaking from the blur a familiar voice.
“Hey Joe how’s it….”
There would be no time to inspect this blur for confirmation of its existence. Joe could not justify the slowing of his momentum. Crossing the street he had crossed only an hour and a half earlier, he noticed the freshly cut grass once again just beginning to turn brown. Each blade looked familiar, but how could he be expected to know if they were? He wasn’t about to give any of them names.
‘Susan,’ Joe thought. ‘That’s her name.’
Like the ungodly force of throwing a corvette in reverse on the freeway, Joe turned around. The girl from his previous class was a good twenty meters away from him now but he wouldn’t let her believe that he could be so cold as to pass her without recognition. Now, he remembered her name. Not only that, he had remembered her white and yellow sunflower dress, the way it wasn’t too short, wasn’t too long, had a great big black belt that wrapped around her stomach and waist. He remembered her hair, a soft inviting and unimposing light brown that felt like summer. He remembered that she had freckles all over her body. They covered her face so lightly and gently that they only added to her beauty. She had crooked teeth where vampire fangs might be, just enough to make her interesting.
“Susan!” Joe released a gasp of air spraying a fine mist of sweat from his brow.
“Susan. Susan. Wait up.” He caught up, devoid of breath and ideas.
“Joe.” Susan turned around with her face smirking and contorting in dimples almost making her appear less attractive, but for some reason made her more attractive.
“Joe, what are you doing?”
He had captured his breath and was then beginning to correct his posture, as far as he could, with what little confidence he had.
“It’s that…It’s just that..You, uh. I didn’t see, uh. I forgot to say hi, is all.”
Susan giggled which made him feel a little better. She picked up her backpack and looked as if she needed to go. “OK Joe. Is that all?”
“Um, pretty sure. Yeah.”
She smiled a full smile this time and started to turn.
“No uh, actually. No there, also, I wanted to tell you that, um, well. You know I’m in a band right?” She nodded quickly, putting the odd smirk back on her face.
“Well we're gunna play tonight and,” Joe struggled to pull a flyer for the show out of his bag when all 20 he had printed tore on the zipper.
“Hold on. Let me just..” Joe finally pulled the wad out with a force of frustration. Wrinkled and oily from his sweaty palms, he accidentally handed all twenty flyers to Susan.
“That’s cool Joe.” She handed them back with two fingers, further contorting that smirk on her face.
“Just tell me where it’s going to be and what time and I’ll go ok?” Susan turned around fully and this time with greater speed. “See ya Joe.”
Joe was kneeling down still trying to catch a glimpse of her as she nearly skipped along the concrete, kicking up wisps of dead grass with her brown clunking grandma shoes, sending the blades into swirls behind her, all of it complementing her white and yellow sunflower dress. Joe saw this moving picture for a glorious three seconds before the glare off a rear view mirror in a 1979 Chrysler Le Baron caught the sun and shot white hot heat into his retina. The car had been blaring music Joe couldn’t stand, an incessant thumping shaking his chest.
In class, he looked at his desk. His music played on in his head but it was beginning to be a distraction from the intricate patterns he loved noticing in the veneer covering his particleboard desk. He couldn’t understand why his palms became so sweaty when he touched anything synthetic. He loved that he didn’t know. He ran his fingers over the dark brown lines simulating wood, swirling with each turn. Always something new. Always something interesting. The professor came in and for a brief moment Joe looked up to confirm he was in the right place at the right time. After this was accomplished his head went back down into his book bag and then immediately into his book to the appropriate chapter. By then, the memory of the other faces in the room washed into pastels.
At home his mother bombarded him with hugs and kisses before he had a chance to put down his book bag or even shut the front door. His head stayed down looking at the carpet while his mother ran her fingers through his hair. She was a large, blond German woman in her 50's with kind round cheeks and piercing eyes that were nearly devoid of pupils.
“D'you wash your hair today son?”
If there's one thing Joe hated it was emphatic greetings followed by accusations.
“Don't remember.”
His mother went into her kitchen and began staring into the pot of spaghetti sauce while continuing her attempt at conversation with Joe.
“Dinner's about ready. You wanna wash up and come on in here?”
She added in the apparent choice to give Joe the impression she was backing off. He rolled his eyes in the hallway. He felt perhaps he could have pretended to enjoy those big heavy arms wrapped around his, pressing his elbows into his ribs.
“Thanks mom. I'll be right there.”
Joe left the room looking for the smirk on his mother's face to return acknowledging that she had won this give-and-take game they have always played. The smirk returned and so did a new attempt to connect.
“Mom, I, uh, tonight I have to play remember?” Joe stayed in the hallway pretending to be moving toward his bedroom. His mother stayed silent for longer than Joe would have liked.
“So I can't stay too long. I need to get ready,” Joe added.
“Play what dear?” The sounds of his mother's wooden spoon against the large deep sauce pot increased in volume and in frequency.
“Remember? My band mom. We're playing tonight at DG's.”
The spoon fell against the side of the metal pot and stopped.
“Oh. That's right. The band thing. Well, ok. Don't you wanna eat first?”
The spoon resumed its noise making and soon after, so did the rest of the kitchen utensil orchestra.
Joe took little time to pack his drums into his little Japanese economy car. His mother watched him from various areas of the house, slowly folding laundry. When Joe got to the club he was reminded once again that his body wasn't built for lifting such heavy cumbersome objects. His skinny fingers and slender body would have made for a great guitar player but Joe always liked the anonymity of being behind something. In this case behind three other guys and a wall of drums. On this particular night, Joe left enough space between his equipment and the “Big Other,” the audience, to see if a flash of color and curves crossed this makeshift peephole. For much of the band's set, Joe's eyes stayed focused on the drums themselves. Inconsequential moments passed when his neck was permitted to straighten for a quick glimpse into a neutral blur in front of him. Sweat had infiltrated his eyes. His heart beat increased further and further until his vision reddened.
The song was over. Joe's head and neck rested into that comfortable space where his plain black t-shirt could more closely and lovingly wipe his brow, as his mother would have. In the distance, at the entrance to the club was a figure in white. A familiar black circle wrapped and segmented the figure into two glorious halves. The figure came into focus revealing a longer, whiter, cotton dress, adorned with sleek modern black high heels, hair curled and floating in heavenly arrangements, flowing all the way down to a familiar black belt. The figure moved slowly, looking at each new detail of the room, stepping lightly and with caution in random directions, awaiting instruction, and perhaps preparing for unfamiliar smells. The figure found a face behind a small fortress of wood and steel that directed her movement in a purposeful manner. A smile emerged.
“Joe. Hey, there's someone I'd like you to meet.”
Another figure, in dark clothing, emerging from nothingness, out of “the real,” never fully establishing human shapes and characteristics, barely seemed to exist as it blurred like a rock in the distance, directly in front of Joe.
“Joe, this is my friend Manny. He really liked your band.”
Joe didn’t know Manny, what he was to Susan, or what to say to either one of them. He loved that he didn’t know.
Freshly cut grass dying on concrete was all Joe saw. With his thumbs under the padded straps of his black book bag, he slouched forward-a sharp curve from belly to forehead. Joe moved quickly from class to class, sometimes bumping into others. His shoulder length brown hair fell over his eyes when he scuttled along the sidewalks at his university. It was very spread out, very little grass, mostly concrete, and all of it completely exposed to a blistering sun. Hidden beneath his hair was an over sized pair of silver headphones that blared music nobody else liked. It was a cd his band had recorded in his mom’s garage. He wore black shirts lacking any design, everyday, and black slacks that were a size too small, everyday. His eyes were probably brown but no one ever saw them to confirm it. Joe kept his long, pale and slender limbs close to his body at all times. Joe rarely ate at the University unless his mother had packed him a lunch. Even at 23, his palette never matured and his tastes remained considerably specific, so the common foods available at the university such as pizza, burritos, and sandwiches would not suffice. It wasn’t healthy. Besides, there were way too many people around those food courts making way too much noise. On most days, his mother would pack his favorite lunch. In his backpack would be a brown paper sack, with his name on it and a heart. In the bag was a sandwich made with 12 grain bread, Nutella (chocolate spread), honey, Grape Nuts cereal, banana, and a few leaves of baby spinach for garnish and added nutrients. In the bag would always be a crisp apple, too big for any one person, especially Joe’s size, and a small green canteen with his favorite juice-Sunny D.
On this particular day, Joe ate his lunch behind the newly built computer lab under an old tree on a concrete bench covered in white spots-healthy pigeon excrement. Joe ate his lunch quickly and with the utmost efficiency. First, the sandwich, which was the heart of the meal and had to be eaten first. The apple was considered ancillary but still had nutritional value, so that had to be second. The Sunny-D had little nutritional value so that had to be last. He knew the last thing he tasted needed to be something sweet. After finishing his meal in a record five minutes he neatly wadded up the plastic wrap into the paper bag and tossed the whole of it into the nearest trashcan. He had scoped it out during the feeding process. His mother had itemized his day for him in his pocket calendar the night before. He didn’t need to look at it, but he did anyway. He pulled his bag up over his back rearing his head forward once again to create the momentum needed to propel him toward the south wing of the library-then to the 4th floor. He would then study for one hour and twenty minutes reviewing a chapter in his philosophy book before he needed to be in class. Joe liked the 4th floor. It was quieter than the rest of the library since the installation of the coffee shop downstairs. He drank their coffee everyday but still managed a considerable disdain for the noise it generated. On the 4th floor there were individual study-group rooms he could sneak into, if unlocked, that were virtually sound proof. Some days, he left the lights off. The chairs were perfect. They were made of sturdy wood. They made no sound. He hated the plastic chairs in the classrooms. They spoke even when the class went silent.
With the quick forward pull of his shoulders, Joe left the 4th floor, the library, and continued dragging his head in the direction of the philosophy building. Along the way a shadow passed him, speaking from the blur a familiar voice.
“Hey Joe how’s it….”
There would be no time to inspect this blur for confirmation of its existence. Joe could not justify the slowing of his momentum. Crossing the street he had crossed only an hour and a half earlier, he noticed the freshly cut grass once again just beginning to turn brown. Each blade looked familiar, but how could he be expected to know if they were? He wasn’t about to give any of them names.
‘Susan,’ Joe thought. ‘That’s her name.’
Like the ungodly force of throwing a corvette in reverse on the freeway, Joe turned around. The girl from his previous class was a good twenty meters away from him now but he wouldn’t let her believe that he could be so cold as to pass her without recognition. Now, he remembered her name. Not only that, he had remembered her white and yellow sunflower dress, the way it wasn’t too short, wasn’t too long, had a great big black belt that wrapped around her stomach and waist. He remembered her hair, a soft inviting and unimposing light brown that felt like summer. He remembered that she had freckles all over her body. They covered her face so lightly and gently that they only added to her beauty. She had crooked teeth where vampire fangs might be, just enough to make her interesting.
“Susan!” Joe released a gasp of air spraying a fine mist of sweat from his brow.
“Susan. Susan. Wait up.” He caught up, devoid of breath and ideas.
“Joe.” Susan turned around with her face smirking and contorting in dimples almost making her appear less attractive, but for some reason made her more attractive.
“Joe, what are you doing?”
He had captured his breath and was then beginning to correct his posture, as far as he could, with what little confidence he had.
“It’s that…It’s just that..You, uh. I didn’t see, uh. I forgot to say hi, is all.”
Susan giggled which made him feel a little better. She picked up her backpack and looked as if she needed to go. “OK Joe. Is that all?”
“Um, pretty sure. Yeah.”
She smiled a full smile this time and started to turn.
“No uh, actually. No there, also, I wanted to tell you that, um, well. You know I’m in a band right?” She nodded quickly, putting the odd smirk back on her face.
“Well we're gunna play tonight and,” Joe struggled to pull a flyer for the show out of his bag when all 20 he had printed tore on the zipper.
“Hold on. Let me just..” Joe finally pulled the wad out with a force of frustration. Wrinkled and oily from his sweaty palms, he accidentally handed all twenty flyers to Susan.
“That’s cool Joe.” She handed them back with two fingers, further contorting that smirk on her face.
“Just tell me where it’s going to be and what time and I’ll go ok?” Susan turned around fully and this time with greater speed. “See ya Joe.”
Joe was kneeling down still trying to catch a glimpse of her as she nearly skipped along the concrete, kicking up wisps of dead grass with her brown clunking grandma shoes, sending the blades into swirls behind her, all of it complementing her white and yellow sunflower dress. Joe saw this moving picture for a glorious three seconds before the glare off a rear view mirror in a 1979 Chrysler Le Baron caught the sun and shot white hot heat into his retina. The car had been blaring music Joe couldn’t stand, an incessant thumping shaking his chest.
In class, he looked at his desk. His music played on in his head but it was beginning to be a distraction from the intricate patterns he loved noticing in the veneer covering his particleboard desk. He couldn’t understand why his palms became so sweaty when he touched anything synthetic. He loved that he didn’t know. He ran his fingers over the dark brown lines simulating wood, swirling with each turn. Always something new. Always something interesting. The professor came in and for a brief moment Joe looked up to confirm he was in the right place at the right time. After this was accomplished his head went back down into his book bag and then immediately into his book to the appropriate chapter. By then, the memory of the other faces in the room washed into pastels.
At home his mother bombarded him with hugs and kisses before he had a chance to put down his book bag or even shut the front door. His head stayed down looking at the carpet while his mother ran her fingers through his hair. She was a large, blond German woman in her 50's with kind round cheeks and piercing eyes that were nearly devoid of pupils.
“D'you wash your hair today son?”
If there's one thing Joe hated it was emphatic greetings followed by accusations.
“Don't remember.”
His mother went into her kitchen and began staring into the pot of spaghetti sauce while continuing her attempt at conversation with Joe.
“Dinner's about ready. You wanna wash up and come on in here?”
She added in the apparent choice to give Joe the impression she was backing off. He rolled his eyes in the hallway. He felt perhaps he could have pretended to enjoy those big heavy arms wrapped around his, pressing his elbows into his ribs.
“Thanks mom. I'll be right there.”
Joe left the room looking for the smirk on his mother's face to return acknowledging that she had won this give-and-take game they have always played. The smirk returned and so did a new attempt to connect.
“Mom, I, uh, tonight I have to play remember?” Joe stayed in the hallway pretending to be moving toward his bedroom. His mother stayed silent for longer than Joe would have liked.
“So I can't stay too long. I need to get ready,” Joe added.
“Play what dear?” The sounds of his mother's wooden spoon against the large deep sauce pot increased in volume and in frequency.
“Remember? My band mom. We're playing tonight at DG's.”
The spoon fell against the side of the metal pot and stopped.
“Oh. That's right. The band thing. Well, ok. Don't you wanna eat first?”
The spoon resumed its noise making and soon after, so did the rest of the kitchen utensil orchestra.
Joe took little time to pack his drums into his little Japanese economy car. His mother watched him from various areas of the house, slowly folding laundry. When Joe got to the club he was reminded once again that his body wasn't built for lifting such heavy cumbersome objects. His skinny fingers and slender body would have made for a great guitar player but Joe always liked the anonymity of being behind something. In this case behind three other guys and a wall of drums. On this particular night, Joe left enough space between his equipment and the “Big Other,” the audience, to see if a flash of color and curves crossed this makeshift peephole. For much of the band's set, Joe's eyes stayed focused on the drums themselves. Inconsequential moments passed when his neck was permitted to straighten for a quick glimpse into a neutral blur in front of him. Sweat had infiltrated his eyes. His heart beat increased further and further until his vision reddened.
The song was over. Joe's head and neck rested into that comfortable space where his plain black t-shirt could more closely and lovingly wipe his brow, as his mother would have. In the distance, at the entrance to the club was a figure in white. A familiar black circle wrapped and segmented the figure into two glorious halves. The figure came into focus revealing a longer, whiter, cotton dress, adorned with sleek modern black high heels, hair curled and floating in heavenly arrangements, flowing all the way down to a familiar black belt. The figure moved slowly, looking at each new detail of the room, stepping lightly and with caution in random directions, awaiting instruction, and perhaps preparing for unfamiliar smells. The figure found a face behind a small fortress of wood and steel that directed her movement in a purposeful manner. A smile emerged.
“Joe. Hey, there's someone I'd like you to meet.”
Another figure, in dark clothing, emerging from nothingness, out of “the real,” never fully establishing human shapes and characteristics, barely seemed to exist as it blurred like a rock in the distance, directly in front of Joe.
“Joe, this is my friend Manny. He really liked your band.”
Joe didn’t know Manny, what he was to Susan, or what to say to either one of them. He loved that he didn’t know.
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