I sat at a picnic table across the patch and smoked a cigarette. The lovebirds were still shopping. I went in and found them talking over which bottle of wine to buy. I could have cared less. I left and sat on the car hood. Eventually they came out. I slid off the hood and stood next to the driver's side fender. E showed me her choice of vino, while pressing her knee against my shin. She handed me the bottle to examine and brushed her hand across my belly as she reached to take it back. I wondered if Mr. Long Beach had seen any of this. As we drove off, he tried to hold her hand. She pulled it away.
Our next stop was in the small town that was hosting the pumpkin festival. We parked in a lot, and E made a comment about if she should put up the top, because she was afraid a brown person might steal her car. I told her that a brown person would be the first person the cops in this town would suspect, and that I was sure the brown people knew this as well. She agreed and we three walked along the quaint main street.
I let the two lovebirds walk in front, and I followed a few steps back.
Her car isn't inconspicuous. Only a true daredevil of an almost insanely reckless nature would even think of stealing her car. I actually thought about stealing it myself as we kept walking. I could have said I wanted to check out a shop and that I would meet them somewhere. Then I could have started the car and moved it across town, hooking up with them afterwards. We would return it where it was supposed to be and I'd exclaim, "Oh my! You were right! You should have put up the top! I bet it was that guy over there sweeping the sidewalk in front of the grocery store! His skin looks suspicious to me! Quick, call the police!" But since I don't know how to steal a car, I simply followed behind the lovebirds, trying to remember why I was pretending to be E's brother.
Mr. Long Beach was a surfer, so we went into a surf shop where I found a rubber wet suit that I really liked. It was marked down in price, which made it even more appealing. I don't surf, so I couldn't figure out where or when I could have actually worn the thing. Perhaps I could have worn it on casual dress Fridays at work.
thirteen
The only other store worth mentioning was a new age place that had crystals, jewelry, and animal toys. I bought a rubber gecko, and struck up a conversation with the cute young white girl with nice hips working the register. She told me that my gecko was the item of the day. Apparently, they were quite popular and she couldn't quite understand why. I almost told her it was probably because it was the least expensive item in the place, at least that was why I bought it, but instead, I told her that this weekend was actually "Celebrate the Gecko" weekend and that was why she was selling so many. Because she was so young, she couldn't tell if I was kidding or not, so when she asked, “Really?” I smiled and left.
I waited for the lovebirds on a small wooden bench with a few brown people. Eventually they came out and showed me the crystals and jewelry they bought, and then we walked back to the car and left.
E wanted to show Mr. Long Beach one of our favorite spots from when we were kids, and drove us along the coast, stopping on the shoulder of the highway in front of a high metal gate. There was a sign that said no parking. I wrote a note on an envelope saying that we were out of gas and put it on the windshield.
E asked me if I remembered all the fun times we had at this place, and I told her, of course I did. We stepped down the hill and made our way around the gate, and began climbing the deteriorated cement stairs that led up the hill to an old rusted metal lookout tower. Apparently, it was used during the last world war to keep watch on the coastline for enemy attack.
Mr. Long Beach mentioned something about being scared of heights as I climbed the rungs that led to the top. You had to watch where you stood at the top because there were areas that were rusted through, making holes in the flooring.
E hollered that she was coming, and I stepped over to watch her as she climbed. Mr. Long Beach said he would be staying on the ground and neither of us tried to convince him otherwise. There was a tall tree growing up along the tower, and it sheltered our view from the bottom. We hid in its branches and kissed. E laughed, and whispered about how she couldn't believe that we were actually getting away with everything, and I lost myself in her pretty face.
We moved to where Mr. Long Beach could see us, and leaned on the railing looking out at the ocean. It was beautiful. E mentioned that maybe we could have a picnic here sometime, softly so Mr. Long Beach couldn't hear, and I nodded, thinking about how it would be great if we both suddenly turned into birds and flew off out over the cliffs.
She stepped into the branches and I followed. We kissed one more time before we made our way down.
Mr. Long Beach said he needed to go to the bathroom, and to wait before heading back to the car, which we did, using the opportunity to enjoy another kiss. When he returned, E called me Jim, and asked me if the place was as cool as I remembered and I told her that it was.
When we got to the car, E removed the envelope note that I put on the windshield, and we headed to the city. I was to be dropped off at my friend's house, where I would be spending my last night in town. I was once again sitting on the ridge where the top folded down, with my feet dangling down behind the front seats. E had her stereo blasting some soundtrack to one of the many nineteen seventies disco glorification movies that had been released that summer.
She kept the volume high as we made our way into the city, which was kind of embarrassing, especially as we made our way along Mission Street. As we drove along, the brown people in front of the stores and churches looked at us like we were intruders, and I felt humiliated.
E asked if we had time to go somewhere before she dropped me off at my friend's, and I told her I couldn't hear her because the music was too loud. She turned it down and asked again, and I said, sure, we could go somewhere, and I directed her to the Kilowatt on 16th Street.
We parked across the street from the police station in the bright sunshine, and I almost had to physically grab hold of my tongue to keep from asking if maybe she should bring the top up and lock the car to keep the brown people from stealing it. After all, this is their part of town, my part of town. There is no telling what kind of felonies we are all capable of committing. But I refrained, and led the lovebirds to the bar, saying my friend brought me here the last time I was in the city and I thought the place was pretty cool.
Inside, I found the Fringe Folks, and I felt relieved. I sat the lovebirds down at a table near the back, across from the pool table, and got them each a beer. They looked extra white put against the general unkemptness of my kind, and as I brought them their beers, I wished I had sunglasses to cut their glare.
Mr. Long Beach and E both called me Jim and told me thanks. E looked around at the multi-colored hammerhead shark and fliers of the local shows on the wall near the pinball machine, and told me she liked it here and scooted next to me. Mr. Long Beach had been more or less silent since we left the observation tower, but after a couple of beers he was inclined to tell E and her brother about his friends back home.
Apparently he and his friends showed their affection for one another through violence, because he detailed several brutal fights they had with each other over the most trivial matters. After each story, he laughed about the good-natured fun they had shared bloodying each others faces.
I was stunned, and told Mr. Long Beach that his buddies sounded like swell guys. E asked why she hadn't been introduced to these gentlemen yet, and he said she would. I could tell E was equally taken back by this revelation and she didn't say anything for quite awhile. She looked at him while he accounted more of his merry adventures to me, oblivious of the actual horror of the situations he was describing. He stopped talking long enough to go to the bathroom and I noticed E was sitting very, very, close to me. She muttered something and asked me to hold her hand, which I did.
When Mr. Long Beach returned, I challenged him to a game of pool. He was quite chipper. It seemed like relating his many friendly adventures had lifted his spirits.
We played several games and the lovebirds had more beer. I couldn't tell if Mr. Long Beach was a good loser or not. I intentionally played poorly in order for him to win and stay happy, which he did. After our last game, I noticed the lovebirds were both quite drunk, and when Mr. Long Beach left to use the bathroom, E pulled off her tight sweater, revealing an equally tight red tank top. I ran a finger along her ribcage and told her she should take the tank top off as well, and she punched me very, very, hard in the stomach, saying incest wasn't best.
I let her be while I got my breath back, and after several minutes, rejoined the lovebirds at the table. I guess she wasn't as drunk as I thought. Her anger attack sobered her. She was now totally alert and able to drive. I told her it would be great if she took me to my friend's.
Mr. Long Beach was so happy it scared me. He held E's hand and rocked it back and forth like a child on a hobby horse. E told me that it was a shame I hadn't had a chance to visit Grandma, since she wasn't doing well, and I told her that I would call.
The sun was very bright and my stomach now ached almost as much as my head. I was quite relieved when E pulled up next to the deli with the mural near my home.
I grabbed my bag, kissed Sis good-bye on the cheek, and shook Mr. Long Beach's hand, telling him to stay out of trouble. He called me Jim one last time. I watched them speed up the hill, and heard E turn up the disco music as she stopped at the corner, letting a young brown woman pushing a baby stroller cross the street.
fourteen
I'm waiting in line at the fast food burger place by my job with a co-worker. I swore to myself that I would never eat here again because of the rough atmosphere, yet I'm here. It's lunch time and the place is packed. The seating area is filled with all the down and outers and crazy folks, nursing their cups of water. It's noisy with street talk. I try to not let it get to me and listen to my co-worker talk about hockey. He orders some sort of combo meal and I do the same.
While we're waiting for our food to be prepared, I strain to ignore the gangster in line behind me. He changes his order at least three times, and then harasses the yellow girl working the register over ten cents. I am tired of him and place a dime on the counter. The gangster keeps making a scene, and removes a big roll of twenty-dollar bills from his pocket, peels off one, and slaps it on the counter. He gets his change and moves on, still talking to the cashier, not respecting the fact that I put down a dime in order to shut him up, so I comment on the fact that here he is with a big roll of bills, arguing over ten cents.
It is the wrong thing to say.
The gangster blows his top and puts his face right up to mine, screaming like a maniac. I don't budge and try to glare him down. He calls me a white devil and tells me to mind my own mother-bleeping business, and then he steps back and goes over to the counter that has the extras, grabs a handful of straws and throws them in my face. The manager leans over the counter and begins yelling for the gangster to go, and after getting his food he does, but not before threatening my life.
I watch him leave, and the manager apologizes to my co-worker and I. I tell him it was my fault, I said something I shouldn't have and not to worry about it. My co-worker is basically in shock, and I have so much adrenaline coursing through my veins right now I feel like a grizzly, and force myself to try to act cool, as we leave and walk the few doors to our building's entrance. We get to the lunchroom and my co-worker tells everybody what happened.
I need to learn to keep my big mouth shut.
Seriously.
When I was sixteen years old, my family and I were on one of our annual summer road trips. This time we were on our way back from the Lake of the Ozarks, somewhere in Missouri.
My Mom and Dad knew someone who ran this resort and we stayed at this swanky place, bowling, swimming, and eating. The main thing I remember was that it was oppressively hot and humid, and extremely green with vegetation.
Anyway, we were on our way home in our truck and camper, locked into the vacation driving marathon, where my parents and I would take a shift driving, allowing each other to sleep in order to be clear headed enough to take the wheel. It was about two in the morning and I was driving. Everyone else was asleep and I had the vents of the driver's side window cracked open, directing wind to my face to help keep me awake. A truck with a camper on it is different from a car, in that you are top heavy and any sudden turn can cause you to rock, as in shake, and even bring your wheels off the road.
So there I was, barely sixteen, a scrawny kid in charge of captaining this big vessel through the waters of a two o'clock Missouri morning. We weren't on the interstate highway. We were on a two-lane blacktop short cut road and it was pitch black.
All of a sudden things changed. I could feel the air get warmly metallic. And from out of nowhere, lightning started crashing out of the sky. Great booms of thunder clapped and a strike hit a telephone pole just off to my right, causing it to catch fire. I was in the middle of some kind of electrical storm and all I could think to do was keep driving.
My Dad, who was asleep in the back of the cab, was now awake and he joined me in the front seat. I was terrified. I gripped the steering wheel so hard my hands were numb. My Dad reassured me that I was doing fine and told me to keep my eyes on the road. His calmness was quite a contrast to the scene outside. Lightning was zapping all around us. The way it lit up the sky reminded me of bombing scenes in war movies.
The storm subsided. I pulled over and let my Dad drive. I sat and looked out the passenger side window. Eventually the sun rose, causing everything to be bright and safe again.
fifteen
After my weekend of pretending to be E's brother, I noticed my withdrawal symptoms of not being with her had lessened. I still had an aching and wanting to be with her, but it wasn't as painful as it had been before. It was almost a pleasant sensation.
I knew what I had done was strange, but it was also a great deal of fun, and when E called me a couple days later, we both laughed and recounted some of the events. She was kind of hard on Mr. Long Beach, and told me she had no intention of seeing him anymore. I said that I thought he was a nice guy, even though it seemed that he had undesirable friends. She said he was a loser. I was a shocked at her condemnation of the guy, but I just set it aside and listened to her outline the plan for our next date. We were going to see a play in the city.
Her grandma was recovering from a fall, and E would be at her place looking after her. I was to take a taxi there, and we could go to dinner and then the play. I asked how her grandma was, and E said she was sharp as a knife.
She kept saying that she couldn't believe that Mr. Long Beach didn't catch on to our fine bit of acting. After we said good-bye, I hung up the phone and sat thinking that if she had lied to Mr. Long Beach, what was to keep her from lying to me? A slight panic swept over me and then subsided. After all, she did trust me enough to include me in her little scheme. And besides, she was pretty.
When the day for our second date came, I had a heck of a time getting a cab. I called well in advance, but one never showed. I went and stood in front of the gate of my complex and watched the traffic, trying to figure out what to do. Luckily, a cab passed on the other side and saw me wave. A few moments later, it returned. Apparently, it dropped off a fare and came back to get me. I thanked the driver and asked why was it so hard to get a cab. He said that there was a problem with the dispatcher and nobody wanted to come to my part of town. I said I understood, even though I didn't, and promised him a nice tip.
He took me on a winding route. We made it to Market Street, where we followed it all the way to Twin Peaks, until we got to the part of the city that really isn't a part of the city. People live in houses where the outside walls don't touch and where they have lawns.
That's not living in the city.
The cabby found the house and I gave him the nice tip I promised and got out. I rang the doorbell. A young yellow man answered and let me inside. He said that I must be here for E and told me to ma
ke myself at home. I stepped in, and sat on the sofa, saying hello to the young yellow woman curled up in a ball, reading in the recliner near the window. The young couple looked very, very, scared and I made an effort to be extra friendly, to try and put them at ease. After sitting for several minutes in silence, I got up and had a look around.
The place was nineteen seventy-three and very clean. The kitchen had a yellow rotary phone. I yelled upstairs to E and she said she would be right down. When she came bouncing down the stairs, I could see that it was her that the young yellow couple was scared of, because they both noticeably tensed and withdrew even more when she entered the living room. She was extra cheerful, wearing velvet slacks, a tight sweater, and was in a hurry to go.
I told her I wanted to say hello to her grandmother and I think I caught her off guard, because she couldn't formulate a clear reason why I wasn't allowed to. I stepped up the shag carpeted stairs, asking which room was hers. She darted past me and knocked on the door at the end of the hallway, telling her grandma that she had a friend she wanted to introduce.
I stepped inside the room, and instead of finding the mentally sharp, fit as a fiddle grandma E had described her to be, I found a withered and confused shell of a woman.
Derek Henkel - Dirty Red Kiss.txt Page 6