You’re welcome.
—Dave
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: My dorky poem
Okay, so I got kind of inspired or whatever after the concert. I decided to write a poem, which I know is probably horrible, but since you gave me a painting with this on it, I thought I would send you my pathetic attempt at poetry. Which I am also going to give to Westerberg for extra credit or something because I figure if I can cultivate a tortured artist image with him it can only help my grades. (And yeah, doing some math homework would help my grades too, but that doesn’t seem to be happening.)
Anyway, here’s my poem:
Girl in a Cage
Girl in a cage
Guards her own grave
She’s safe from the wind and the rain
They carved her from rock
And set her on top
She’s a monument to their pain
While six feet below
Where the coffin-worms go
There’s a cage of a different kind
With some shards of bone
And a scrap of her dress
Which is all that she’s left behind
Two girls in two cages
But there’s no girl at all:
To say that she’s here is a lie
No cage can protect you
The future neglects you
And everything ends when you die.
Okay, so maybe that is a little bit morbid or depressing or whatever, which is kind of funny because I am not feeling too morbid or depressed right now, but anyway, there it is.
Tell me what you think, unless you hate it.
—R
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: My dorky poem
Ros—I really liked it! I think it is really good! I don’t think it’s dorky, and I don’t think it’s too morbid, but then I draw skulls and go to the cemetery all the time, ha ha. Thank you! Can I send it to my cousin Jamie? I think he might like it.
Hey Jen invited me to go to hang out with her and her boyfriend at her house tomorrow after school. Do you want to go? I kinda don’t but I would feel bad blowing her off, but her boyfriend is kind of creepy and I would like some company. So what do you say?
—Kate
New text message!
From: Rosalind cell
4:30 pm
911 PLS CALL MY CELL N ACT MAD, WHRE THE HLL AM I, ETC.. IN A BAD SITCH. I NEED AN EXIT. THTS A MATRIX JOKE.
Dear Fluffy,
Greetings from the New Jersey Turnpike! Sean is in line at Sbarro and I am sitting here with dorks staring at me like they never saw a girl typing before, which maybe they haven’t.
Anyway, Sean is kind of my hero even though we are now doing something weird and I kinda wonder if he’s losing it. So me and Kate and a bunch of other people went to Jen’s boyfriend’s house and it was cool I guess but Kate is right the guy is creepy which I guess news flash that some twenty-five-year-old dating a junior in high school is creepy, but he just made me really uncomfortable but I didn’t feel like I could leave and then they got high and I kind of passed it past me if you know what I mean because I was wicked uncomfortable and I wanted to be in control because like I said this guy Carsten was creepy and he had other creepy pedophile buddies there and even some older girls who were like gonna claw our eyes out because we were on their turf like we wanted those gross guys or something. Anyway after the weed which I noticed Kate also passed up, Carsten was like well now let’s make it interesting and he starts fishing out some little plastic bags which I don’t know what was in them but it wasn’t something I wanted to be involved in and Jen was like frenching him and horrible Polish punk music was playing and I was like I have to get the fuck out of here but I don’t know how to do it so I sent Sean a text message like call me and act mad and he did a great job.
Well, he did a terrible job acting mad because he was all like “Are you safe, what’s going on?” and I had to be like, “God! I told you I’m just in the basement, I can’t hear the house phone, stop calling me every five minutes!” and he was all like “should I call the police?” and I’m all “NO! I am in the house, I swear!” And he was like, “Okay, I’m coming to get you, where are you, and I was like all sarcastic, “Yeah, okay, I’m going to run down to Ashmont and get the T so I can get home before you’re off work, because I’m out partying in the middle of the afternoon!” and he was like, “I will be at Ashmont in ten minutes,” and I felt so relieved but I had to be like, “Fine!”
So then I was like hey everybody I’m technically grounded and I have to actually bust my ass home and Kate jumped up like she shouldn’t walk to Ashmont alone so I will take her and we like ran out of there and then Sean pulled up at Ashmont and Kate was like oh my God you set that up and that is so cool your dad is so cool to come and get you, blah blah blah and I swear she ought to move in with him and I will go be less loved than the twins and her folks probably wouldn’t even notice.
Damn that pizza line is long. I am starving. And there are like a million screaming little kids in here.
Anyway, we dropped Kate off and then Sean was all I’m so proud of you for calling me and I liked your Matrix joke and I’m glad you feel that you can count on me and all this stuff which I was just like shut up.
And then it was all why are you in this situation on a Friday afternoon, did Kate invite you there, were people getting high, you smell like weed, were you getting high, and I was like, look, I called you because I wanted to get out of that situation which maybe shows that you should trust me!
He was like, yeah, okay, but let’s go home and pack because we are going to Philadelphia for the weekend. I guess we are going to see my famous stoner grandpa so I will be scared straight or something which is so dumb because I already just said no and even if I didn’t it’s not like meeting some old guy is going to make me change my evil ways. Sean says no, he was planning this anyway and I was like yeah, that’s why you never told me but whatever.
Here he comes with pizza, finally.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: On the Road Again
Greetings from the New Jersey Turnpike! I am at this internet kiosk in a service area between the Sbarro and the convenience store. Why am I here, you ask? I’m taking Ros to visit Dad, which he and I had spoken about, but also because Ros gave me this emergency call to get her from some drug den this afternoon, and I just felt like she needed to see what several decades of drug use can do. Or else maybe I’m impressed by her courage and I’m taking her to do this thing I don’t want to do because I want backup. Okay, I have no idea why I’m doing this. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
Even though I was incredibly proud of her for messaging me to come and get her and I did actually believe her when she said she was not high. She also made this joke in the message—well, anyway, I loved that she made the joke, I loved that she called me when she was in trouble. Basically I love this kid so much it’s scary.
And she is glaring at me now, so I suppose we should go. I will let you know how it goes with the old man.
Dear Fluffy:
It is Saturday morning and I am alone in this gross apartment which I kind of can’t believe Sean grew up here because he is so neat and everything. Sean and Niall are out getting breakfast or so the note says and I am calling him Niall because I met him last night, well, anyway, let’s see.
We got in here at like midnight and Sean found the key where it was hidden and he was like it’s amazing nobody has broken in here, that’s my key that I hid here in 1984. He said his dad couldn’t get off too early because of the short notice but told us to come in and make ourselves at home.
So we like clear a space on the couch and start watching TV, and I swear to God Sean was asleep in like five minutes. At like one o’clock Niall who I guess is my
grandfather came home and he was pretty much like Sean described him with this gray beard and everything.
He was like, so I guess you’re Rosalind, and I was like so I guess you’re my famous stoner grandfather, and he laughed and laughed but Sean didn’t wake up, and so he was like, I’m starving, you wanna go get some cheese fries, and I’m like, okay, fine.
So we go to this place which is like full of drunken frat boys and me and Niall which is what he told me to call him, and we get these cheese fries, which were really good so we actually got two orders, and he was like, “So, do you hate him?”
And I was like, “Sean?”
And he’s like, “Yeah, because he hates me for being the one who lived,” and I was like actually I think he hates you because you were high all the time or anyway that’s what he says.
And he got kind of sad looking and he was like, yeah, I did a shitty job, but Sean is an old soul, he didn’t really need any parenting, the kid parented himself right into law school, where I’m a really young soul and so I needed to kind of follow my bliss for a few years.
I didn’t really have anything to say about that. But I said I don’t hate Sean but he does get on my nerves and I miss my moms a lot.
He was like, yeah, well, this will define your life for a while but don’t let it get in the way of following your bliss, because your bliss is still there.
I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but I kind of nodded because I liked hearing him talk. He said how he doesn’t actually smoke anymore and asked me did I smoke and I was like well, I haven’t but I am keeping my options open, and he was like that’s so good, don’t close yourself off to experience, but then he was like he felt like this fog in his brain lifted when he stopped smoking and how he was writing this novel that he thinks is what he was always meant to do or something.
Then he told me some stories about Sean as a little kid that were pretty funny. Then I was tired and really thirsty from all those fries, and I was like I need to hit the sack, and so we went back.
I don’t know—I like him. I mean, I don’t know what Sean thought was the point here, because I was not like oh my God this is so horrible I never want to turn out like this guy or anything. It’s not like he smells and lives in a shelter or something. He’s just this old guy who I guess is a little more cool than most people’s grandfathers. I mean it’s not like he falls asleep and golfs which is what I think grandfathers do, but I guess I only know that from TV, since Mommy was excommunicated or whatever by her parents and obviously I never met Grandpa Joe but he did die on a golf course so there you go.
TRUTH IS BEAUTY BAR AND GRILL
A NOVEL
BY NIALL CASSIDY
Chapter 24
It was four o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon. I was drying glasses. I was just about to wrap my brain around the depths of Tarkus that had always been obscured when a girl who couldn’t have been seventeen came in and sat down at the bar. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t imagine how I knew her. I saw a kid this age about once a year in here, and I always abused the hell out of them, like I was about to do to her.
“You know, this is just depressing,” I told her. “What are you, about sixteen? And you’re about to whip out some piece of shit fake Missouri license or something, right? Can we just skip this part? Isn’t there some latchkey kid’s basement you could be drinking in?”
“Well, I guess he got the asshole part right,” she said. “Listen, Jack, I’m not here to drink. You are Jack, aren’t you?”
“I don’t think I know you. Should I?”
“Probably. I’m your granddaughter.”
Well, that would explain why she looked familiar—those were her grandmother’s eyes boring into me. She might not have been here to drink, but now I damn sure needed one. I poured myself a Maker’s Mark and took a gulp. “I guess Alan’s been busy since I saw him last,” he said.
“Kind of. It’s a complicated story. Anyway, he says you’re an asshole and a drunk. I guess I wanted to find out for myself.”
“Well, I guess I’m guilty on both counts. How is Alan doing, anyway?”
“He’s okay, except I guess I’m giving him fits or something. I’m some kind of problem child. I guess I’m kind of fucked up since my moms died.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, kid. How old was your mom?” I was sorry for the kid. I hated to see my dead wife’s eyes looking sad. I was also sorry for myself for everything I didn’t know about my son. He lost a wife and didn’t even invite me to the funeral? Not that I would have wanted to go, but I would have liked the invite.
“One was forty-two, the other was forty-six.” I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. My world in here was pretty small, but I suppose that outside, things were different. I couldn’t imagine what the arrangement was here, and it seemed like a waste of time to try and figure it out.
“I’m sorry. I guess losing one mom is hard enough.”
“I don’t have to tell you, do I? Look what it did to Alan. And you. Or anyway, Alan says your wife bit the dust, you upped your drinking a notch, started chasing pussy like they were about to make it illegal, and generally fucked up your life.”
Well, that hurt. I suppose if I had really thought about it, I would have figured that was what he thought of me, but it was still kind of shocking to hear it right out there like that. “I guess that’s more or less right. The pu … uh, the ladies actually pursued me, but I guess I found out what they were really chasing when I stopped dealing weed. All of a sudden I was a lot less interesting. Then I woke up one day and found I had gray hair and this.” I patted my substantial gut. “But I don’t have any regrets about the life I chose. Now Alan, on the other hand, puts on a tie every day, puts on that uniform of conformity and American ‘success,’ marches in to serve his corporate master, and lets other people run his life. He lives for money and the approval of a corrupt society. I live for myself. You tell me who’s fucked up.”
She looked at me with those sad, familiar eyes and stood up. “If you ask me, old man,” she said, “you both are.”
Without saying good-bye, she walked out of Truth Is Beauty and into the hot Philadelphia afternoon.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: My big weekend
Well, it is Sunday night and we are back from Philadelphia. It was a hell of a trip. I hardly know where to begin. All right. I will begin with the most important part. I seem to have reconciled with old Niall. On Saturday morning Rosalind was sleeping in, and we went out and ate scrapple and just talked things out. Or, rather, I talked and he listened. I said that I felt bad for not talking to him, that having Rosalind around has made me reevaluate things, and one of the things I’ve decided is that I don’t want to be a stranger. I didn’t say this, but I have been feeling increasingly embarrassed about my estrangement from Dad since Rosalind arrived. How do I explain that I have a living parent that I choose not to speak to to someone who lost two? It seems wasteful.
I then laid out this catalog of his parenting failures, and he nodded calmly and did not dispute any of what I had to say. He asserted that he has a young soul, whereas I have an old one, and that if I look at my life I seem to have done okay, while he is still in pretty much the same place he’s been for thirty years, with the exception of some semi-autobiographical novel he claims to be writing.
I think what he was essentially offering was the “Boy Named Sue” defense: I resented him, but his neglect helped make me strong and successful and to realize that I could not depend on other people. I suppose I can see that point of view, but I think it’s a cop-out and a fraud on his part.
But, surprisingly, I didn’t say that. I just said that I wanted to stop dwelling on the past and have a future with my daughter in which he was a part of our lives. But that he was not allowed to ever talk to me about Tarkus again. He appears to be able to live with that.
Now, of course, the
question is whether I can. As much as Rosalind’s presence reminds me that I need to have some contact with him, every time I make an attempt to be a parent to her, I feel the anger that he didn’t make the effort for me.
Rosalind says she believes he actually did the best he could, but that, to judge by the condition of the apartment and the information she gleaned about his last twenty-six years, his best simply wasn’t very good. Perhaps that’s true too. Apparently they had some sort of late-night heart-to-heart, and she came away from it really liking him. He told her to follow her bliss, and she seems to be contemplating what exactly her bliss is. I suppose this is an okay activity for a teenager, as long as she arrives at different conclusions about the nature of her bliss than old Niall did.
We spent a fair amount of time walking around the old neighborhood, just the three of us, looking at all the old sights. It is difficult to find a lot of the stuff I remember because Penn has done so much construction in the last few years. Fortunately, the law school is much the same, so we walked over there, and I remembered sitting on the steps with Dad waiting for Mom to come out of class. That was a nice time. Or so it seems. Perhaps everyone thinks that way about when they were seven. I must confess that I did get somewhat annoyed with old Niall. It seems that every block in Philadelphia contains a Niall Cassidy History Spot, and so he was regaling Rosalind with tales of the party at this house, the crazy woman he dated who lived down there, the time he was shot at over there, et cetera. Objectively speaking, it was entertaining, but I couldn’t help thinking that he was out getting material for his wonderful geriatric tales while I was home by myself trying to be my own parent.
But, as I said, I am trying to put that behind me. It is just much easier said than done.
In any case, we agreed to get together for Christmas, and he promised to write regularly. I offered to get him a computer, but he said that he was too old a dog for such a new trick. (I resisted telling him that personal computers have been around for more than twenty years and therefore hardly constitute a new trick.)
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