As I sat there, I reminisced about many of the great times we had, the trips we took, our mutual hatred of the most narcissistic man who ever lived. A man, so deplorable that I can’t bring myself to even think of his actual name. We referred to him as Cadet Heel Spurs. I somberly thought, the good times, I’ll never get them back.
I didn’t quite finish the beer as it was getting warm. I paid Mr. Friendly, with no words in his direction. He received a small tip.
The rain had let up a bit as I drove home.
Ordinarily, I would have been greeted at the door by Dermy, our one-eyed rescue dog. Her real name is Harriett, but I nicknamed her Dermy, short for taxidermy. Which I would threaten her with every time she was bad. We got her at a shelter. They said she was rescued from a kill shelter in North Carolina. When Cat first laid eyes on her, it was love at first sight. She was about three months old, white with tawny patches. She looked up at us hopefully, with her one beautiful light blue eye. They told us she was born with only one eye fully formed. We could care less about that, that’s for sure. We had so many good times with her. She was hyper, to say the least, and liked to get the stuffing out of anything she could, but also, she was extremely affectionate. At this moment, I could have used some of that affection, as I wiped the tears from my eyes.
I opened a bottle of Chardonnay, planning to drink the whole bottle, poured a glass, and sat down to watch MSNBC. The next thing I know I hear my alarm going off but it’s distant. I open my eyes, and I’m laid out on the couch. The alarm is upstairs still buzzing in the background. The bottle of wine is almost full, and my wine glass is about half empty. The TV is off.
I ran upstairs to stop the alarm, and I’m racking my brain as to how I could have fallen asleep on the couch no less without waking up at least once. And I couldn’t remember turning off the TV either.
One thing I knew, I had to piss like a racehorse. After that five-minute ordeal, I decided to brush my teeth, comb my hair, get dressed and head on over to Starbucks.
As I drove there, I thought of the earlier part of last night. That young pretty girl, Tac, and how strange that whole scene seemed to me now. Maybe I dreamt the whole thing.
I parked my car on the far side of the street. There was a light rain going on and my glasses were getting spotty due to the lack of an umbrella, and the damn, Don’t Walk sign at the corner. I entered Starbucks for what was now the first time in days. For some reason, it felt slightly different, Like the color of the place or the lighting.
Colleen was there as usual, and she had already poured my Grande, half Blonde, half Pike. This lady was definitely my favorite. A cancer survivor who had fought that damn disease off like a Tasmanian devil. “Haven’t seen you in a few, Frank. Is everything copacetic?” Just like her, always concerned for others.
“Sure, just wanted to ditch these crazies for a few days.” She laughed at that, as I walked into The Room of Broken Toys, another name I gave this place a few years back after I had joined this early morning coffee klatch, consisting of the old and feeble. Average age about seventy-five, I reckon.
The area we sat in was separated from the rest of the place by a narrow opening in a partition. I found my usual hard seat which was always stationed next to the Mahoffs soft chair and sat down. “Mornin G,” Ed, the judge said. Everyone in the room referred to me as G, for my middle initial, because a few weeks after I became a regular, the other Frank in the room, Dr. Frank, a professor at Rutgers University who preferred the title with his name. It was his thinking that it would be too confusing to have two Franks in one room, even though there are at least three Johns. It was immediately after he said that, I piped “In my younger days, some of my family members referred to me as Frankie G.” And so it was, I was Frankie G for a time, till they more or less shortened it to G. “So G, where the hell have you been for the last week?” Ed asked. “You hardly ever miss a day here in the room.”
“Well, I kinda hit my head, and I’ve been a little out of it, so I just took a few days off.” I wasn’t yet ready to tell them about Cat walking out on me. They all loved her even though she was not a regular here.
Soon after my arrival, The Mahoff entered the room. This was as much a ritual, as it was an event. Jack was his real name, but Big Mahoff was what I called him. A former Mayor of Happyfield, and very popular. The only thing that was larger than his popularity, was the loudness of his voice, Booming, would be a good start. He traversed the room daily, in this fashion: First fist-bumping all the men and hugging and kissing any girls in the room, the most often regular females being, Cheryl, Jane, Beth, and Suzanne. After that ritual he would go back to the counter, retrieve his morning tall Coffee, and for some reason, known only to him, he would go around the room again bringing each of us a napkin to place under our cups, a second entrance if you will.
Rounding out the regulars were Mark, Ed, and Lance, all lawyers, Colin, a writer, Dennis, retired, three rotating Johns, known to the room as John, J 1 and J 2. The John, without a number, another lawyer, came in almost every day and had not arrived yet. The other two Johns were not as regular.
There was a pecking order for seating in the Room of Broken Toys. There were only three soft leatherette chairs. They were laid out and reserved as follows: Center of the room chair, The Mahoff. Soft chair against the long wall for Cheryl, and the third soft chair, and only soft chair on the short wall belonged to the regular John.
I spoke up. “Where’s John?”
“Well, you know John since the accident. You never know if he might show up, or what he might do, if he does.” Cheryl said
“What accident?” I said.
“Haha, right, G, what accident?” laughing loudly Dr. Frank said.
Before I had a chance to respond, my attention was averted by something happening outside the broad front window. A brand-new Jaguar F Type slid to a stop on the rainy street, right in front of us, in the no parking here to corner section of Kings Highway, no less. Out popped a very fit, tall man with what appeared to be some kind of Mohawk hairstyle. He was wearing a burgundy sport coat with a light pink open-collared shirt, grey sharkskin pants with matching grey sneakers with no socks. He closed the car door quickly and bolted to the entrance. What he did next was nothing short of amazing. He whirled around as he entered the room of broken toys singing a perfect rendition of Joe Cocker’s, She Came in Through the Bathroom Window. The Mohawk was unbelievable, it was paper thin, about six inches above his head, and was dyed in stripes depicting all the colors of the rainbow. He continued to whirl about, making individual eye contact with each and every one of us. The old, the dead and the dying, arose from their designated chairs and thrashed about, something they no doubt thought to be dancing. As he sang the last note. He ducked out of the room, went back out the door, ran to his car and zoomed off.
Everyone was laughing and buzzing except me. When they simmered down a little, I exclaimed, “What the hell was that? Was that who I thought it was?”
“Ha-ha, very funny again, and what is up with you G?” Suzanne said laughing. You know as well as any of us here, that our presence has just been graced by, none other than, J, the lead singer of J and the Happyfielders.”
Now I’m thinking, maybe this is one of John’s famous April Fool jokes, which he hasn’t pulled off for at least ten years, even though it’s not even close to April and they’re all in on it except me. “Okay, you got me, but whose body was he using and where did he get the wig thing?”
“G, G,” The Mahoff bellowed, “How bad was that bump to your head. You don’t expect us to believe you can’t remember John’s, I mean J’s, heroic rescue of that little girl - about three years ago - ring a bell?”
I was getting really dizzy as I looked around the room and saw all the worry on the ancient faces. “Come on G, you know what John did, he saved that little girl’s life and took a shot to the head in so doing. He’s been, you know, a little d
ifferent ever since, but you know that.”
“Not feeling so good, I think I better get going. I’ve got some things to do anyway.” I said.
“Well you better see a doctor G,” Dennis said. I glanced over at Jane. She said something in a whisper without moving her lips as usual. I smiled at her and nodded. Everyone was staring at me, so I thought I’d better say something.
“Yeah, I should, somethings not quite right since the bump on the head. I have a good friend, she’s a neurologist. I’ll try to see her today; maybe she can get me in” I slinked out of The Room of Broken Toys.
So that’s what I did. I called my friend Melissa the neurologist who had become a big fan of mine on Facebook and vice versa. She managed to fit me in, almost right away, due to a cancellation. I headed over to her office.
In the waiting room, I was a wreck, literally freaking out in my mind. How could this happen? How could I not remember something like John rescuing a young girl and having such a drastic change in his persona? As hard as I tried to remember recent events, I was drawing a complete blank. The only thing I seemed to remember was Cat walking out on me the other day and meeting that strange young girl, Tac, last night at the bar.
Melissa was standing in the small examination room when I entered. Tall and pretty as ever, she gave me a hug, told me I didn’t look so good and bade me to sit down in one of the chairs. She checked my pulse placing her hand on my neck, and said, “You seem to be getting blood to your brain, that’s a good start, now tell me what’s troubling you.” I filled her in on the last few days including the bump to the head. She harangued me for not going to the ER and told me she was going to set up a series of tests for me to take. She also informed me that I might have suffered a concussion and that that, in and of itself, could give a person partial amnesia. I felt a little better as I left.
I headed to the ER with her prescription where I received cranial X-ray. She said she would arrange for other tests, and I would be hearing from her tomorrow. She also gave me a prescription for two valiums to be taken only if I experienced sudden anxiety.
I headed home and watched about an hour of MSNBC. The news feed was as it usually is, all Trump, all the time. Half of the world could be blowing up somewhere and they wouldn’t report it if Trump was not the cause of it.
I decided to call The Mahoff, to see if he could fill me in on this J and The Happyfieldians nonsense. I got him on the cell and asked him if he could relate the story of John’s accident and any such info on John’s strange behavior?
He began: “You know G, you really are worrying me, this stuff about John, his you know transformation, has been going on for about three years now. That must have been one heck of a bump to the head you took. But okay, I’ll give it all to you again if you have about ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Jack, I’m sorry I’m like this. I went to see a neurologist today, and I assure you I’m under her expert care.”
“That’s good G, so let me tell you the story, and it’s a doozy believe me. About three years ago, the old John is driving down Kings Highway toward your old neck of the woods, Audubon, when he sees a stroller in the street and woman all bloodied, lying half on the curb and half on the street. He’s about to stop when he notices a man up ahead holding on to a little girl and running down Kings Highway with a gun in his hand. Instead of stopping, he floors it and gets just ahead of this madman. He jumps out of his car, and with some kind of adrenalin rush, flings himself at the guy, whereupon the little girl goes tumbling onto the grass. And right about that same instant, the guy fires his gun, a 9millimeter Glock, point blank under John’s chin. The bullet exited the top of John’s head and should have killed him instantly. For whatever reason, it didn’t, and John got the gun out of the guy’s hand, stayed conscious, and held the guy on the ground till the cops arrived. It was just about then, that John passed out.
“They performed a lifesaving miracle surgery on him, and after about a week he came to, sort of. He would never be the old John again. He would from now on be J. You may ask what happened during the surgery? In order to save his life, they had to remove some damaged tissue. This tissue is known as the corpus callosum. Once this tissue is removed, the patient is changed forever. Sometimes in bizarre ways. In John’s case the side of his brain that used to be so thoroughly in control was forced to take a back seat, so to speak. The other side, the wild side, was now in complete control. And there’s more… Sometimes the old John gets a moment to pop out. We have seen it. About a month ago J comes bounding into the room and tries to take off his jacket. He removes one sleeve, and as he’s removing the other, John, who’s in there somewhere, is trying to put the removed sleeve back on. It was a riot to watch. Something like the Two Stooges in one brain. J admits to many such episodes when he’s alone. Like the new J likes to drink beer at home. He’ll pour himself a glass and as he’s about to take a sip with his right hand his left hand will knock the bottle onto the floor. He’s had to learn to take care, in order to thwart such episodes. ‘I must be always on my guard for an outburst from my old friend John’, J’s fond of saying. So, now you have the first part of it G, but it gets even better. He quit practicing law altogether and decided to pursue a musical career; I can’t believe you can’t remember any of this. Anyway, he has always had a great voice as you know. School choirs, church choirs, he was, so very often, in demand for his voice in the days his youth.
“Then on a bet he gets himself on America’s Got Talent. That’s when he first started with the mohawk thing. It was much shorter then, and not as finely tuned as the one he sports now, but out there, just enough, to get their attention. Low and behold he wins the goddamned thing. There has been no stopping him since.
“He hit the gym six days a week. Lost about seventy-five pounds and is now the sexy dynamo we see popping in and out of Starbucks. And there’s more. He formed a band known as the Happyfieldians, and he started writing music. They have had three mega-hits in a row: Nobody Knows Trains Like Me, Veni Vida Vice, his latest hit, and my favorite, Ad Infinitum. They’re booked at the Garden next month. We’re getting a bus to go up there, you’re already signed up and paid up. I can’t believe you can’t remember any this. Get that help G, and fast. Anyway, I gotta go. See ya 2molly.”
I sat on my couch for about a half hour just digesting what The Mahoff just told me. Then I went to the drug store to get those valiums.
I ran some errands took a nap and a shower. It was now about a quarter to five. As I stood in my underwear in front of my closet door mirror, I thought of three things: What was Cat doing at this moment, what should I wear, and will that young girl actually show up at Titos. I figured Cat was still at work. I had no idea where she was living. Would the douchebag pickleball guy pick her up at the High-Speed Line like I did every night? I dashed those thoughts from my mind as I didn’t want to feel so depressed that I might not even get dressed. It was warm, so I opted for a short sleeve Hawaiian-like shirt with my light gray slacks and my medium gray loafers which I wore sockless, thinking of John with his new look earlier in the day.
I entered Titos at about 5:10. A quick look around showed no sign of my little friend from the night before. No Briana either, just my new least favorite bartender of course. I never did get his name, and I doubt I’ll ask him for it. He got around to me after about ten minutes and said, “You’re the Miller’s Light guy, right?”
“Blue Moon on tap,” was all I said.
“Right, have you looked at the Happy Hour menu yet? Do you want to order anything at this time?”
“Not just yet.” I drank most of the beer and fiddled with my phone for a while. I caught up on some likes, on Facebook and checked my email. I decided not to eat there or have another beer. It was now about 5:50. I nursed the remaining portion of my now warm beer till six. I was just a tad sad that Tac had not kept our date. All that nonsense about her moving in with me I knew to be just silliness. It sor
t of fit in with her quirky personality. So, I paid the check, left a standard tip and drove home.
As I came onto my porch, I noticed the front window was open, and I could hear that the TV was on. I never open the windows in July, and I don’t remember leaving the TV on. I immediately thought to myself that it must be Cat. She must have moved back in. How should I deal with this? I looked over at the driveway and glanced up and down the street. I could not spot her car. But it must be her. I decided to open the door and act surprised.
And surprised I was, for sitting on my couch was not Cat, but Tac. She gave me a squinty smile as she chewed on a mouthful of potato chips that were sitting in a bag on her lap.
Still chewing she said, “I hope you don’t mind. I sort of snuck in. You had all the doors and windows on the first floor locked. I had to pee really bad. I noticed you had a step latter next to your shed in the backyard. I climbed up and got onto the flat roof and tried those windows. One of them was open, the bathroom window. I guess one could say, ’I came in through the Bathroom Window’”. Half singing the tune and giggling as she said this.
I guess my jaw was hanging open as she said this. I should have been mad or scared, or something, but she was so cute just sitting there, in her very short denim shorts and some kind of pink T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, that the whole scene seemed almost normal. “Uh, so you opted to come here instead of meeting me at the Titos, and how did you know where I live?” I said trying to sound like the normal one.
“I couldn’t afford the Uber fare, so I came in on the High-Speed Line, and your address was easy, I just Googled it. Aren’t you happy to see me?” She said all this in a smart-aleck tone, but with a big wide-eyed smile on her face. There was something about this young girl that made me feel uneasy, but needy at the same time. Sure, she had broken into my home, but I couldn’t get the smile off my face either.
She Came in Through the Bathroom Window Page 2