1.
The air was warm and clear and the city was waking up as I walked through it. It was the end of July and I hadn’t written in some time. I was walking from the library to my car after picking up another Ellis book. The sequel to one of the most horrifying books I have ever read. I was hoping for inspiration and kept glancing at the cover as I walked. There was a middle aged man on it with devil horns, all in silhouette, and I thought; What a great cover.
You could smell fresh cut grass in the air and someone’s oil was burning and already people were at the bistro tables of the small wonderful restaurants in this part of town, talking, eating, reading. Being people, beautiful, strange, and better at it than me. I shuffled my beaten tennis shoes down the sidewalk and wondered why I parked so damned far and my hair fell in front of my sunglasses and I caught a glimpse of myself in a storefront window and couldn’t tell how other people saw me and didn’t think about that again. I saw my car. It was red. Old and missing hubcaps and when I unlocked it, got in and turned it over it was loud. I was certain the roars and grinds echoed off every building and far down the streets to the bistro tables and I was a stain on the peoples beautiful town and I drove to the stoplight and turned down South Street, where all the bars and bums were and felt better about myself. A burned Fleetwood Mac CD sometimes skipped in the player and I thought; Thunder has almost nothing to do with rain. I took a few turns, narrowly avoided hitting an ambulance and another few turns and pulled into my driveway and my car roared to my entire neighborhood “He’s home!” I shut it up and off and went inside. The house smelled funny. I had just cleaned it yesterday. Fucking bleached the floors and freshened the carpets and everything. There was no garbage in the house and I wondered if my cat had killed and stashed another fucking mouse somewhere. Last time it was under the couch and it smelled like old garbage simmering in the July sun and I had thought I was going fucking insane until I moved the couch to vacuum and discovered the half rotted corpse of the biggest fucking mouse I had ever seen stinking up my damned living room. I only vacuumed under the couch once a month or so and I thought cats were supposed to eat mice.
My downstairs neighbor could have been making some strange east European food. I looked under the couch and saw nothing. I gave up, pored a coffee and went into the back room to write.
I got an email from Marie.
“Don’t forget to go to the college.”
I opened up the word processor and let the cursor blink for a while. Marie wanted me to get an English degree. Become a teacher and maybe later a professor. I liked the idea. I was bad at most everything besides reading and writing but I wasn’t getting anywhere with it and you know what they say, ‘those who can’t do…’. On top of that, I had had a plan since I was barely a teenager that I wanted to leave this town. I wanted to see the world. Live in R.V.’s and do the whole wandering worldly romance. An English degree, a teaching degree, could land some helpful positions were I to end up overseas. It was a fair amount of effort, and I suppose I could just lie overseas and who cares, but I was getting to an age where dreams were losing their color and I wanted to keep dreaming, but all around me I kept hearing about this fucking thing called ‘practicality’ and though it never appealed to me, it appealed to people I cared about. So I was going back to college. For a third time.
I let the cursor blink a few more times and shut out the word processor. I cleaned myself up and somehow looked older in the mirror than I had when I woke up.
Funny thing about saying you look older. It actually means you look sad and tired. I thought I looked older.
2.
I sat in the counseling office at the college and stared up at a flat television with CNN on
under an overlay of poor-signal static and fuzz. I thought I could probably fix it, but didn’t. A small, pale, thin man with dyed red hair was in court. He looked scared. More scared than I thought I had ever felt. He was vaguely my age. He had shot up a theatre full of people. Killed twelve. Injured fifty-something. The reporter was saying that before entering the courtroom he had been behaving erratically. Spitting on people and mumbling. They were calling it “odd behavior“. I thought it seemed perfectly reasonable for his situation. He was fucked.
He probably should have killed himself in the parking lot instead of leaning up against his car and smoking in a Batman costume or whatever the fuck he was doing.
It was all that any of the news channels were showing at the moment. It was a nice break from the Penn State sex scandal.
A chubby girl sat across from me and smiled at me. I smiled back and wondered when someone would see me. I had to pick Marie up from work at two, and it was after one already.
“You going to school here?” the girl asked me.
“I will be.”
“Cool. Me too. What are you going for?”
“I don’t know. I want to be an English teacher, so, that, I guess.”
“Oh. I don’t know what I want to take. I love everything, you know? I just can’t decide. I don’t know how people know what they want to be. How did you know?”
“My wife told me.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I took a small book off of the coffee table in front of me. There was a not-great oil painting of a nude woman on the front. It said “2012 Adirondack Literature Journal”. I flipped through it. Read some of it. It was all terrible and I was easily better than all of these people. They all seemed to be trying on their parents oversized darkness and bullshit and all of the things they think serious poets and writers need to write about and none of them were good at it. I was pretty sure I recognized a verse in one of the poems and wondered if it was stolen and if it was then how did the professor not notice it? Or, maybe that was part of the art? Like sampling beats in hip hop? Sampling verses? Laziness as art. I set the book down and the chubby girl had one leg over the other and I thought she had decent legs.
“James Martin?”
I looked up. “That’s me.”
“I figured. I’m Karen,” she said. “I’m one of the counselors here.” She was plain and wore a beige sweater over a different shade of beige blouse over a third beige skirt that came down to her pale ankles and brown shoes. A more boring woman I had never seen. “What can we do for you today?”
“Well, I’m looking to go back to school.”
She smiled. “I get that a lot.”
I wasn’t sure if she was joking. I hoped she was.
“Have you been here before?”
“At this school?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Yes. Twice, actually.”
“Okay. Are you looking to finish a degree or…”
“No, I’m starting fresh. Again.”
“Okay then. Why don’t you follow me down to my office and we’ll get you all set up.”
“All right.”
“Bye,” said the chubby girl from behind me. I thought that was strange.
3.
I left the building at 1:55. I had five minutes to get across town, pick up Marie and get her to her hotel bartending gig. There was no service in the building and suddenly my phone exploded with texts all saved up on some satellite somewhere and shot down to me the moment I was spied in the open world.
“Hey, could you bring my phone charger when you pick me up?
“Also, can you get me a little early? I want to get a drink before I head in to work.”
“What the heck? I tried to call you but it went straight to voice mail! Where are you?!”
I wasn’t getting a good feeling from that last one. I called her as I climbed into the car and turned it over.
“What the hell?” she said.
“What?”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?! Where were you?!”
“I was at the college. There was no service in the building. Christ. Fucking relax.”
“Whatever. Just get here.” She hung up.
I was caught off guard and had no idea what that was all about but I figured it’d be best if I didn’t think about it. I drove across town and was late.
Marie was waiting outside and didn’t look at me. She got in.
“So are you going to be pissed at me now?” I asked.
“Just drive.”
We drove and I felt like I had missed something. After a few miles the tide dropped or the winds changed or whatever awful nature metaphor you want to use. “So how’d it go?” she asked.
“Fine. I’m officially a creative writing major.”
“Creative writing? I thought you were doing the teaching thing?”
“I am. But I have to get a bunch of pre-requisites before I can, namely, either a liberal arts degree or a creative writing degree. I liked this one better.”
“Oh. You’re still doing the teaching thing though, right?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t say yes like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re annoyed with me. I’m just making sure we aren’t wasting our time.”
“Okay. I didn’t mean to sound annoyed with you. I apologize if it came off that way. Do you still want to get a drink before you go in?”
“No,” she said. “I’m already late as it is.”
“Sorry.”
“Well, Jesus, you had five hours today to get it done.”
“Okay.” I drove to the bar and Marie got out. “I’ll see you later,” she said.
“Have a good night honey. I love you.”
“I love you too.” She leaned in and I kissed her cheek and she slammed the door and I still had no idea what the fuck was going on.
4.
I went home to complete tuition grant paperwork. They wanted information I didn’t have. Tax stuff. I have always been awful at keeping track of paperwork and records and I had no idea where my tax information was. I filled out what I could and decided to finish it the next day. I’ve always been particularly good at procrastinating.
Marie sent me a text. “If you come up to the bar can you bring my phone charger? It’s seriously going to die.”
“Sure. I’ll be up in a little bit.”
I didn’t hear back and I didn’t quite realize until later, but the whole day felt strange.
5.
The bar was Hawaiian themed and nearly empty. I sat at one end of it and an older lady sat about halfway down. She had ordered a margarita and Marie made a little too much and gave me the remainder. I drank a lot of remainders there and spent very little money. I was working my way through it and reading the book.
Duane Eddy came on the jukebox. “Stalkin’”. All slinking, dark and sexy. Marie began to swing her hips behind the bar and the lady watched and smiled and said “This song is so damn sexy.”
Marie didn’t hear her or didn’t care. In perfect rhythm she stepped toward me, hips rocking from one side to the other, her eyes bolted to mine, her tight black shirt and pants screamed to let go. She leaned over the bar slowly and her chest filled and nearly spilled out of her shirt and she whispered to me “Another drink, sexy?”
“Fuck me. Yes ma’am.”
She bit her lip and looked at me over the top of her black framed glasses and a man came running into the bar.
“Someone’s had an accident at the pool!”
Marie whipped around. “What?”
“Someone,” the guy said, panicked, “fell in the pool and they dragged him out and, CPR!”
The lady got up from the bar and ran out side. The man left again, almost running. Marie followed and walked quickly and I set my book down and stood and followed also.
The backdoor of the bar led to a patio and the pool laid just beyond it. The sky was overcast and the smell of barbecue was everywhere and there were twenty or thirty people in a small crowd on the side of the pool and there were two small children in lifejackets still swimming.
I saw the man.
He was still and dark skinned and he was a little overweight and he wasn’t moving. A woman in a bright green swimsuit was pumping his chest and counting and breathing in his mouth. There was no sound. A hotel worker jumped over the fence on the far side of the pool and rushed to the ladies side. They spoke but I couldn’t hear.
“Did anyone call 911?” someone asked near me.
I don’t hear an answer. I looked Marie and she began to walk inside.
“You need to call 911,” I said.
“I’m calling the front desk.” She went back in and I stared at the man’s legs. Thin. Not moving and I heard someone say he dived in the shallow end and stopped moving and they had to drag him out.
The lady in green was still pumping his chest and I couldn’t hear her counting now but I thought I could.
I felt like clay, cold and thick and nearly useless and I hoped he didn’t die because he must have been there on vacation with his family and his kids I hoped they weren’t the kids still swimming in the pool. I looked around and I saw a young girl, maybe fifteen and a few yards away taking pictures of the scene and smiling and I wanted to scream at her. She saw me looking at her and turned around and pretended to take pictures of the hotel. I saw her later that night and when she noticed me she turned around and left but that was after a few more drinks so who knows what she saw.
I couldn’t stand around and watch anymore. I felt like trash. Spectating. Not helping. I was certified in first aid and CPR but I couldn’t remember any of it and I felt so terribly useless and I hoped he didn’t die. He was alive an hour ago, and I didn’t think he was then.
I went back into the bar and took out my notebook and began to write everything down. Tried to make sense of it all. I drank the rest of my margarita.
Marie was somewhere else. Maybe at the front desk. The owner of the hotel walked through the bar and went to the pool. He was a thin man. Middle eastern. He wore an obvious hairpiece. I could never remember his name and sometimes called him “Handkerchief”, I wrote everything down. I couldn’t get the image of the man’s legs out of my head. The kids in the pool. The girl with the camera. I heard an ambulance pull into the parking lot.
The owner came back through the bar and looked at me. “Hmmm,” he said. “Excitement.” He walked back to the hotel.
He disgusted me.
Marie came back and looked at me and she looked like everything was over. “That guy just died.”
“He did?”
“That lady brought him back, but, I mean, you saw how long she was out there with him. If she wasn’t there, he would have died. I just served him. Like twenty minutes ago. I just served him and then he died.”
She went silent.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I don’t think so.”
All I could hear was the owner and his perfect detachment.
Hmmm. Excitement.
The air was warm and clear and the city was waking up as I walked through it. It was the end of July and I hadn’t written in some time. I was walking from the library to my car after picking up another Ellis book. The sequel to one of the most horrifying books I have ever read. I was hoping for inspiration and kept glancing at the cover as I walked. There was a middle aged man on it with devil horns, all in silhouette, and I thought; What a great cover.
You could smell fresh cut grass in the air and someone’s oil was burning and already people were at the bistro tables of the small wonderful restaurants in this part of town, talking, eating, reading. Being people, beautiful, strange, and better at it than me. I shuffled my beaten tennis shoes down the sidewalk and wondered why I parked so damned far and my hair fell in front of my sunglasses and I caught a glimpse of myself in a storefront window and couldn’t tell how other people saw me and didn’t think about that again. I saw my car. It was red. Old and missing hubcaps and when I unlocked it, got in and turned it over it was loud. I was certain the roars and grinds echoed off every building and far down the streets to the bistro tables and I was a stain on the peoples beautiful town and I drove to the stoplight and turned down South Street, where all the bars and bums were and felt better about myself. A burned Fleetwood Mac CD sometimes skipped in the player and I thought; Thunder has almost nothing to do with rain. I took a few turns, narrowly avoided hitting an ambulance and another few turns and pulled into my driveway and my car roared to my entire neighborhood “He’s home!” I shut it up and off and went inside. The house smelled funny. I had just cleaned it yesterday. Fucking bleached the floors and freshened the carpets and everything. There was no garbage in the house and I wondered if my cat had killed and stashed another fucking mouse somewhere. Last time it was under the couch and it smelled like old garbage simmering in the July sun and I had thought I was going fucking insane until I moved the couch to vacuum and discovered the half rotted corpse of the biggest fucking mouse I had ever seen stinking up my damned living room. I only vacuumed under the couch once a month or so and I thought cats were supposed to eat mice.
My downstairs neighbor could have been making some strange east European food. I looked under the couch and saw nothing. I gave up, pored a coffee and went into the back room to write.
I got an email from Marie.
“Don’t forget to go to the college.”
I opened up the word processor and let the cursor blink for a while. Marie wanted me to get an English degree. Become a teacher and maybe later a professor. I liked the idea. I was bad at most everything besides reading and writing but I wasn’t getting anywhere with it and you know what they say, ‘those who can’t do…’. On top of that, I had had a plan since I was barely a teenager that I wanted to leave this town. I wanted to see the world. Live in R.V.’s and do the whole wandering worldly romance. An English degree, a teaching degree, could land some helpful positions were I to end up overseas. It was a fair amount of effort, and I suppose I could just lie overseas and who cares, but I was getting to an age where dreams were losing their color and I wanted to keep dreaming, but all around me I kept hearing about this fucking thing called ‘practicality’ and though it never appealed to me, it appealed to people I cared about. So I was going back to college. For a third time.
I let the cursor blink a few more times and shut out the word processor. I cleaned myself up and somehow looked older in the mirror than I had when I woke up.
Funny thing about saying you look older. It actually means you look sad and tired. I thought I looked older.
2.
I sat in the counseling office at the college and stared up at a flat television with CNN on
under an overlay of poor-signal static and fuzz. I thought I could probably fix it, but didn’t. A small, pale, thin man with dyed red hair was in court. He looked scared. More scared than I thought I had ever felt. He was vaguely my age. He had shot up a theatre full of people. Killed twelve. Injured fifty-something. The reporter was saying that before entering the courtroom he had been behaving erratically. Spitting on people and mumbling. They were calling it “odd behavior“. I thought it seemed perfectly reasonable for his situation. He was fucked.
He probably should have killed himself in the parking lot instead of leaning up against his car and smoking in a Batman costume or whatever the fuck he was doing.
It was all that any of the news channels were showing at the moment. It was a nice break from the Penn State sex scandal.
A chubby girl sat across from me and smiled at me. I smiled back and wondered when someone would see me. I had to pick Marie up from work at two, and it was after one already.
“You going to school here?” the girl asked me.
“I will be.”
“Cool. Me too. What are you going for?”
“I don’t know. I want to be an English teacher, so, that, I guess.”
“Oh. I don’t know what I want to take. I love everything, you know? I just can’t decide. I don’t know how people know what they want to be. How did you know?”
“My wife told me.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I took a small book off of the coffee table in front of me. There was a not-great oil painting of a nude woman on the front. It said “2012 Adirondack Literature Journal”. I flipped through it. Read some of it. It was all terrible and I was easily better than all of these people. They all seemed to be trying on their parents oversized darkness and bullshit and all of the things they think serious poets and writers need to write about and none of them were good at it. I was pretty sure I recognized a verse in one of the poems and wondered if it was stolen and if it was then how did the professor not notice it? Or, maybe that was part of the art? Like sampling beats in hip hop? Sampling verses? Laziness as art. I set the book down and the chubby girl had one leg over the other and I thought she had decent legs.
“James Martin?”
I looked up. “That’s me.”
“I figured. I’m Karen,” she said. “I’m one of the counselors here.” She was plain and wore a beige sweater over a different shade of beige blouse over a third beige skirt that came down to her pale ankles and brown shoes. A more boring woman I had never seen. “What can we do for you today?”
“Well, I’m looking to go back to school.”
She smiled. “I get that a lot.”
I wasn’t sure if she was joking. I hoped she was.
“Have you been here before?”
“At this school?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Yes. Twice, actually.”
“Okay. Are you looking to finish a degree or…”
“No, I’m starting fresh. Again.”
“Okay then. Why don’t you follow me down to my office and we’ll get you all set up.”
“All right.”
“Bye,” said the chubby girl from behind me. I thought that was strange.
3.
I left the building at 1:55. I had five minutes to get across town, pick up Marie and get her to her hotel bartending gig. There was no service in the building and suddenly my phone exploded with texts all saved up on some satellite somewhere and shot down to me the moment I was spied in the open world.
“Hey, could you bring my phone charger when you pick me up?
“Also, can you get me a little early? I want to get a drink before I head in to work.”
“What the heck? I tried to call you but it went straight to voice mail! Where are you?!”
I wasn’t getting a good feeling from that last one. I called her as I climbed into the car and turned it over.
“What the hell?” she said.
“What?”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?! Where were you?!”
“I was at the college. There was no service in the building. Christ. Fucking relax.”
“Whatever. Just get here.” She hung up.
I was caught off guard and had no idea what that was all about but I figured it’d be best if I didn’t think about it. I drove across town and was late.
Marie was waiting outside and didn’t look at me. She got in.
“So are you going to be pissed at me now?” I asked.
“Just drive.”
We drove and I felt like I had missed something. After a few miles the tide dropped or the winds changed or whatever awful nature metaphor you want to use. “So how’d it go?” she asked.
“Fine. I’m officially a creative writing major.”
“Creative writing? I thought you were doing the teaching thing?”
“I am. But I have to get a bunch of pre-requisites before I can, namely, either a liberal arts degree or a creative writing degree. I liked this one better.”
“Oh. You’re still doing the teaching thing though, right?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t say yes like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re annoyed with me. I’m just making sure we aren’t wasting our time.”
“Okay. I didn’t mean to sound annoyed with you. I apologize if it came off that way. Do you still want to get a drink before you go in?”
“No,” she said. “I’m already late as it is.”
“Sorry.”
“Well, Jesus, you had five hours today to get it done.”
“Okay.” I drove to the bar and Marie got out. “I’ll see you later,” she said.
“Have a good night honey. I love you.”
“I love you too.” She leaned in and I kissed her cheek and she slammed the door and I still had no idea what the fuck was going on.
4.
I went home to complete tuition grant paperwork. They wanted information I didn’t have. Tax stuff. I have always been awful at keeping track of paperwork and records and I had no idea where my tax information was. I filled out what I could and decided to finish it the next day. I’ve always been particularly good at procrastinating.
Marie sent me a text. “If you come up to the bar can you bring my phone charger? It’s seriously going to die.”
“Sure. I’ll be up in a little bit.”
I didn’t hear back and I didn’t quite realize until later, but the whole day felt strange.
5.
The bar was Hawaiian themed and nearly empty. I sat at one end of it and an older lady sat about halfway down. She had ordered a margarita and Marie made a little too much and gave me the remainder. I drank a lot of remainders there and spent very little money. I was working my way through it and reading the book.
Duane Eddy came on the jukebox. “Stalkin’”. All slinking, dark and sexy. Marie began to swing her hips behind the bar and the lady watched and smiled and said “This song is so damn sexy.”
Marie didn’t hear her or didn’t care. In perfect rhythm she stepped toward me, hips rocking from one side to the other, her eyes bolted to mine, her tight black shirt and pants screamed to let go. She leaned over the bar slowly and her chest filled and nearly spilled out of her shirt and she whispered to me “Another drink, sexy?”
“Fuck me. Yes ma’am.”
She bit her lip and looked at me over the top of her black framed glasses and a man came running into the bar.
“Someone’s had an accident at the pool!”
Marie whipped around. “What?”
“Someone,” the guy said, panicked, “fell in the pool and they dragged him out and, CPR!”
The lady got up from the bar and ran out side. The man left again, almost running. Marie followed and walked quickly and I set my book down and stood and followed also.
The backdoor of the bar led to a patio and the pool laid just beyond it. The sky was overcast and the smell of barbecue was everywhere and there were twenty or thirty people in a small crowd on the side of the pool and there were two small children in lifejackets still swimming.
I saw the man.
He was still and dark skinned and he was a little overweight and he wasn’t moving. A woman in a bright green swimsuit was pumping his chest and counting and breathing in his mouth. There was no sound. A hotel worker jumped over the fence on the far side of the pool and rushed to the ladies side. They spoke but I couldn’t hear.
“Did anyone call 911?” someone asked near me.
I don’t hear an answer. I looked Marie and she began to walk inside.
“You need to call 911,” I said.
“I’m calling the front desk.” She went back in and I stared at the man’s legs. Thin. Not moving and I heard someone say he dived in the shallow end and stopped moving and they had to drag him out.
The lady in green was still pumping his chest and I couldn’t hear her counting now but I thought I could.
I felt like clay, cold and thick and nearly useless and I hoped he didn’t die because he must have been there on vacation with his family and his kids I hoped they weren’t the kids still swimming in the pool. I looked around and I saw a young girl, maybe fifteen and a few yards away taking pictures of the scene and smiling and I wanted to scream at her. She saw me looking at her and turned around and pretended to take pictures of the hotel. I saw her later that night and when she noticed me she turned around and left but that was after a few more drinks so who knows what she saw.
I couldn’t stand around and watch anymore. I felt like trash. Spectating. Not helping. I was certified in first aid and CPR but I couldn’t remember any of it and I felt so terribly useless and I hoped he didn’t die. He was alive an hour ago, and I didn’t think he was then.
I went back into the bar and took out my notebook and began to write everything down. Tried to make sense of it all. I drank the rest of my margarita.
Marie was somewhere else. Maybe at the front desk. The owner of the hotel walked through the bar and went to the pool. He was a thin man. Middle eastern. He wore an obvious hairpiece. I could never remember his name and sometimes called him “Handkerchief”, I wrote everything down. I couldn’t get the image of the man’s legs out of my head. The kids in the pool. The girl with the camera. I heard an ambulance pull into the parking lot.
The owner came back through the bar and looked at me. “Hmmm,” he said. “Excitement.” He walked back to the hotel.
He disgusted me.
Marie came back and looked at me and she looked like everything was over. “That guy just died.”
“He did?”
“That lady brought him back, but, I mean, you saw how long she was out there with him. If she wasn’t there, he would have died. I just served him. Like twenty minutes ago. I just served him and then he died.”
She went silent.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I don’t think so.”
All I could hear was the owner and his perfect detachment.
Hmmm. Excitement.
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