The day was gone. It was dark. Color was dead and my room was grey again. My heart beat fast triplets. The hiss of the radiator, the tick of the clock, the traffic…. I was once again in the real world, with the ability to hear the thoughts of others. But to do so, I had to leave my house.
I thought about that freakish, riddle-of-a-dream I had just awoken from. At this point, nothing was to be disregarded, nothing was to be brushed aside as mere quirks of an average day. Every detail was important, everything that happened to me. I would take notice of all. I would accept each unusual circumstance, and I would have faith that each minute would be full of meaning as well as be a catalyst for new hope in my life. I had faith that whatever it was that gave me this power had intended me to live it as true and brutally alive seconds. To build a new time, a new being of myself that could destroy all memory of the old Bear, the powerless Benny Bouchard. I would be postured in a perpetual lurch that would only step forward to a new future, one that I could never predict because the days would change with each soul I came in contact with. My days would be as diverse as us…. I was excited to be alive.
I stared at my grey walls. The streetlamps outside made my windows, that were murked with road dust, glow yellow and near opaque. I didn’t want to stay in bed any longer. I asked God for strength, for the strength to overcome any other fits of sickness. No more pain, or passing out. Life was urgent, and I had magic to perform. I needed to find the old man. His mind was already committed to murder, so he was already a murderer, and I was the only one who knew, I was the only one who could enforce moral on him. There were rules, and I knew that murder was a carnal disregard of such rules. But I had to hurry, because I knew there was a chance that I was already too late. I hoped not, because I was up to the task. Two lives were now my responsibility, the murderer’s and the victim’s.
…..
“What were you thinking…Tell me…How could you…Don’t you…What were you thinking!!! Jesus…What were you thinking?”
My mother’s rage. The spit stung. Hot, dense water, chaos tossed from her mouth. The spit exploded in the air and covered the hot five inches that separated her chin from my eyes. I felt a pinch every time a lucent drop collided with my skin.
She looked at me.
I was the pain and fear in her eyes that blazed hate down the slant of her face. I could only look up at her for a second before I was scared again and looked away.
I thought, I tried to imagine something else, something less frightful than a mother who hates her son.
“What were you thinking,” she screamed again.
My arm still hurt from where she had grabbed me and dragged me through the alleys of the condo-land, through our front door, and onto the living room floor…
I had never hurt my mom. I was scared. I was scared of each second that would come after, for the rest of my life. I knew then that my mother could hate me, too.
She shook. And I was just thirteen, scared as I cried…as I thought…It was only a stupid frog.
…..
The day had seemed to pass quickly, and I wanted each moment left to be rich and fulfilled. So to hear every thought, every secret of every mind, every dream I could borrow and adventure, every meditation I could house and hope to understand, everything new that made me more lean and hungry for the twisted meaning of ‘reflective reason’.
But I wanted an audience, too…. I needed to tell Max. I needed to tell someone.
I threw off the sheets that were laved with sweat and lucid nightmare. My room smelled dank. Outside I heard a motorcycle roar past, and someone on the street yelled ‘Woo’.
I got up, out of bed, and walked to the phone. There was one message. I let the counter blink, and picked up the phone to call Max. I dialed, it rang. I let it ring about ten times before I hung up.
Max didn’t believe in answering machines. He argued that if something was meant to get to him, it would, without any intervention of technology. He saw an answering machine as a third party that robbed him of surprise and spontaneity. Anyway, he didn’t answer the phone, which meant that either he wasn’t home or he was painting. He also believed that art should never be interrupted, because it has successfully kept us from a utopian way of life. Max could help me. Who knew, he might have been able to tell me what the phrase meant. He was a creative dreamer, and I only dreamt.
It was already nine o’clock and I couldn’t wait until eleven to meet him. I needed somebody to hear me. Even though I felt joyous and powerful, I also felt too separate from reality, to disconnected.
Surprising for a man who now possessed a gift that brought him to the most intimate of contact with people.
I felt dirty and uncomfortable, and that would not pass. I represented the spiritual and the mysterious now…and I needed it to show as neatness and cleanliness in my appearance, so if someone were to see me they would say, “There goes a clean man, comfortable and never caught short of anything. A man to watch, an example of the right way.” But at that moment I felt like my appearance would deceive them. I was disheveled and clammy. It itched, the sweat from the horror…the dream.
…..
I need to be clean, my body must feel perfect to me. I must smell like Old Spice. Nobody should ever be wary of shaking my hand. Clean hands, so that every fleck of filth that I may have once been covered in is gone, and there is no evidence that I was ever dirty. Nothing can come back to me. I am now holy and blank. But my memories…my memories are stains. I can see their blotches. I will study them, dissect everybody’s mind…but a surgeon must wash before operating.
…..
I brought the radio into the bathroom so I could listen to music as I showered. I undressed and kicked my dirty clothes into a pile on the floor. I turned on the shower and let the water warm-up. As steam crept out from the stall I walked over to the mirror and stared at my naked body.
…..
The first dinner I had at the college was at best disgusting and at worst, gross. It was an awful cheeseburger with soggy fries. Max and I ate quickly, and then we went back to our room, put on some music, John Coltrane’s ‘Lush Life’, and played some dominoes.
After about five games we heard the knock at our door. Max raised his eyebrow, stood up and walked over to answer the knock. He opened the door slowly.
“Hello ladies,” he said. “C’mon in.”
I stood to greet the girls. Lauren had changed her shirt. It was a blue, tightish, button down. She looked like she had put on more make-up, and she definitely smelled like she poured on the perfume.
Emma had changed too. She had on a black, lycra, V-neck shirt that was tight to her belly, and really made her breasts look humongous. The girls walked in and sat down on Max’s bed.
“You guys want a gin and tonic,” said Max.
“Sure.”
“Sure.”
“Benny?” he said.
“Sure.”
Max fixed the drinks in plastic cups, with the lime, the ice and all. He brought them to us and we all drank, not sure how to start, or what to say.
The conversations were pretty plain for a while. More talk about our hometowns, our probable majors, etc. The girls were very interested in Max’s paintings and asked him a lot about his process. He talked very vague about his interest in tornadoes, his process, and his theories. He didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it though.
So we had a few more drinks, a few more rounds of bullshitting, the mild and obviously edited get-to-know-you conversations, and then Max asked them if they wanted to go up to the roof. I had no idea that we had access to the roof, but Max was certain that we could get there. We all stood up, and each of us had a little trouble with our balance. We laughed together about how we all swerved when we tried to stand still. Max grabbed a tin flask from his bag, filled it with whisky, put it in his pocket, and led the way out of the room.
“Try to be cool,” he said. “The RA’s got to be around here somewhere.”
But we made it down the hall, to the stairway without being spotted by him. The dorm wasn’t quiet though, rather, it was alive with clamor. The stairs were full of people going either up or down. We went up, and it was a six story climb that we made drunk and giggly behind Max. When we got to the top the door was locked.
“Is anyone behind us?” said Max.
“Nope,” I said.
“Alright, you keep watch Benny.”
Max pulled his new school ID out of his pocket. He worked it between the lock and the molding, and in a matter of seconds the doorknob turned and the door was open. Lauren and Emma smiled big as we stepped out onto the roof.
“We’re not going to get locked up here?” I whispered to Max.
“No. I’ll put a piece of paper in the door.”
It was a great night out on that roof. It was warm and bright moonlight lit a rich blue everywhere. The stars seemed like painted white dots above a black outline of the mountains.
“This is great,” said Lauren.
“Yeah it is,” I said.
Max pulled out his flask, took a sip from it, and said, “To college,” as he passed it to Lauren. We all took a slug of whisky and then went and sat down near the edge of the roof.
“So…. You guys ever done anything crazy?” asked Max.
“What do you mean by crazy,” Lauren said.
“You know, something you thought you’d never do.”
I think Max was tired of boring conversation.
“Well,” said Lauren, “Once…I gave a guy a blowjob on a bus ride to New York City.”
“Did you know the guy?” said Max.
“Well, of course, he was my boyfriend at the time. It’s not that bad. We were in the back seat, and the bus was pretty empty.”
Max smiled and nodded his head.
“Not bad,” he said.
“How about you?” she asked Max.
Emma and I looked at each other, as if to acknowledge that it would be our turns soon.
“Yeah, but mines not sexual though.”
“So what,” Lauren said.
“Ok. Once I went to see the New York Philharmonic, and…I was sitting in the last row of the balcony, as far back as I could be. I was pretty isolated because the balcony hadn’t filled up for that performance. Actually, there weren’t more than…fifty people, and they all sat in the front rows of the balcony. Below, now the good seats were full. Anyway…so the orchestra was playing Shostakovitch’s Seventh Symphony, which is a pretty grand symphony. The first movement really builds up to this tremendous high point. So, I’m sitting in the back, and I’m waiting for this high point. I mean, the low brass is rumbles you, and the trumpets are blaring, strings whirring away, it’s getting louder and more intricate, the hairs on your neck start to stand, and right as it comes, this peak moment…I pull out this navel orange, and throw it, as hard as I possibly can, right at the stage. Now you have to believe me because what I’m about to say is absolutely true…”
“OK,” we all seemed to say together.
“Well…the orange flies, great arch to it, in air for a few seconds, and it lands….it hits the conductor…right on the side of his head as he jumping, flailing his arms, directing this tremendous high point. Smack, right above his temple.”
“No fucking way,” I said.
“Benny. I told you this is true…. Now, it hits the side of his head and ricochets right into one of the violins?now not the violinist, it hits the violin. It was such a quick…chaos…. Boom, the conductor’s whole body jerks, his head flops to the side, he throws the baton and falls to one knee, and at the same time the violin gets knocked right out from under the chin of the violinist, and breaks in half. And then the conductor…the conductor is practically on the floor, and the violinist is like, grabbing his mouth and chin, because, apparently, he bit through his lip when the violin got knocked out?But it gets crazier! The front four rows jump up, practically screaming, but the orchestra doesn’t know what to do because they’re at this high point of the opening to a monster symphony and their conductor is practically knocked out, and one of the principal violinists is bleeding. Most of the orchestra stops playing, but some kind of continue. For a few seconds the music turns into this cacophony, the orchestra slowing stopping, a few instruments at a time while the crowd gets louder, screaming their disgust and rushing up to help the maestro.”
“That’s incredible,” I said.
“Did you get caught,” Emma said.
“Yep.”
“How?” Lauren said.
“Well, I guess the security guards pretty much figured out that it had to have been thrown from the balcony…so before I could run away…they were all over the place. I maybe could have escaped if I had used my head start, but I was too fixed on the chaos below that I had created. So as I’m watching everybody scramble, one security guard notices me sitting alone in the back and he comes up to me. He just grabs my bag, which I had left unzipped. He starts screaming at me. ‘Did you throw it, did you throw it?’ and I say ‘excuse me.’ So, now get this, this is a smart security guard. He grabs my right hand, pulls it hard into his face…and he smells it.”
“What?”
“Yep, he smells it. I was caught then. It smelled like orange…. They dragged me out of there real quick, because the small crowd in the balcony started to scream, and some even tried to come after me,”
“What happened then?” Emma asked.
“I got a big fine, some community service…and I had to sign a statement that bind me to lifelong banishment from Lincoln Center.”
“You can never go back?” I said.
“I don’t have to.”
We were pretty silent for a few moments. We were shocked, and finally when the silence couldn’t last any longer…we burst out, and roared with laughter.
After a while we finally caught our breaths.
“How ‘bout you Emma? What’s your crazy story,” Max said.
“Well…that’s a pretty hard for one to follow, and mine’s not as crazy as yours…but…once…at this party in High School…I got completely naked and walked around that way for the rest of the night.”
I immediately began to salivate. Max raised his eyebrow.
“So what? You were drunk, right?” Max said.
“A little,” she said, “But I mostly just felt like getting naked…. It was pretty funny. Most of the girls at the party were disgusted, and most of the guys had to avoid me because their boners were really obvious….”
“Hmm,” said Max.
“I guess it’s kinda like Max’s story…. I just wanted to see what would happen,” she said.
Man, did something deviant come over me. There was nothing more I wanted at that moment than to see that girl naked.
“But you wouldn’t do that again, right?” I said.
“What do you mean? Right now?” she said.
“No…that’s crazy, C’mon. I mean…it was a one time thing I’m sure. You found out what you wanted to.”
“I don’t know…. I’d do it again.”
“Doubt it,” I said.
“Yeah?you just want to me to get naked…right here.”
“No…well…c’mon, of course I wouldn’t mind if you did, but you just met us, and I can’t believe you’d do that,” I said.
“I might,” she said.
“Then do it.”
“You think this is going to work…this reverse psychology?”
“What? You brought it up, not me. Forget it. I only wanted you to admit that you wouldn’t do it,” I said.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she said.
“Forget it.”
“No. Why not?” she said.
“Because you know I want you to,” I said.
“You want me to?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Too bad.”
“That’s fine. I knew you weren’t going to anyway. I was right.”
Max and Lauren stayed quiet. Emma looked at me, very focused for a minute.
“You think I’m pretty?” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“And when I do this?”
She took off her shirt.
“Yes.”
“And this?”
She undid her bra. They were the largest breasts I had ever seen in person.
“Yes,” I said.
“How about this?”
She undid her zipper, and pulled off her jeans.
Max leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Man…you’re cooler than I thought.”
“What did he say do you,” Emma asked me. She stood up, and only had on her red cotton panties.
“Max said that he and Lauren were going downstairs for a while,” I said.
Max grabbed Lauren’s hand, stood up, didn’t say goodbye, and they both left the roof. He made sure to leave the paper in the door.
Emma sat down on my lap, and pulled off my shirt. I was so excited that it was almost tiring, holding that stoic unconcerned façade while this pretty, voluptuous, mostly naked girl sat on my lap…on the roof of my dormitory, while luke-warm breezes covered us on this, our first night of college life.
“So…What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done,” she said.
Her arms folded around my neck and her nipples were not to far beneath my chin.
“Nothing. I’ve never done anything crazy,” I said.
…..
The bathroom was misted with a massage of steam. ‘Me and Bobby McGee,’ was finishing over the radio as I stepped into the strings of hot water.
I felt an almost euphoric emptiness as I worked myself over with oatmeal soap lather. The song ended, and the weather report jingle came next.
“Classic one oh three six Weather (sung)…Well…it was a warm one today with a high of sixty-one degrees. Quite a nice break from the cold we’ve been experiencing these last few weeks. But, enjoy it while it lasts. Lows tonight will range in the mid to low forties, and by tomorrow…cold again with highs just barely reaching the freezing point. That’s right…winter’s coming back and it’s here to stay, so dress warm and remember to take lots of vitamin C, especially if you plan on watching the lunar eclipse tonight. The moon will start moving into the earth’s shadow at ten-fifty, which means, since it takes about one hour for it to travel the span of the earth’s shadow…totality should occur at about eleven fifty-seven?But good luck getting a clear shot of it. The Weather 103.6 satellite predicts a chance of heavy fog in the Cleartone Mountain Region. Shucks…but don’t lose hope. You might get a few good looks if you stick it out. Anything can happen?Honey, make some cocoa ‘cause this weatherman isn’t missing a total lunar eclipse. No sirree Bob…. This is Destin Wolfcrier for Thunder 103.6, the Cleartone Valley’s first choice for classic rock. I return you now to Butch Silver’s top one thousand and thirty-six songs of the second millennium. That’s right, it’s gone, and so…am…I.”
The next song was “Black Magic Woman.” Shampoo got in my eye, the sting was irritating. I held my face up to the water flow and held my eye open with my fingers.
…..
Mr. Crawford, my boss at the bank, walked me through the cubicles my first day there. My collar felt tight. My suit, no matter how I walked, waddled or strode, stood or sat, it felt uncomfortable the way it hung. The sounds of the office were repetitive clamor, computer keys clicking, small desk radios playing the hits with static, the random phone conversations. “Yes, sir, I understand,” or, “I do understand that, sir, but…” or, “It isn’t a matter of whether or not I believe you, Mrs.?” Nobody smiled, every one was busy. It seemed like relaxation was a state far away. It seemed futile to waste the bank’s time thinking about it.
Mr. Crawford showed me to my desk, my square. There was a phone and a computer there, and a rack to file papers in, and a small cup full of pens, and a calendar pinned to one of the felt walls of the cube. “This will be your workstation.” He made it sound so important. A workstation. A station. A place where a person is assigned to stand, a place from which a service is provided or operations are directed, a social position even. I didn’t want to think of it that way. To me it was only a stopping place, a depot, a single dot on a mapped out, much longer route.
…..
I got out of the shower and turned off the radio while the DJ was talking. I hated Butch Silver. I had met him once in my store. I recognized his voice as he was talking to my clerk. He was not what I expected. He was hideous, about four hundred pounds, his face pockmarked, and it was obscene how yellow his teeth were. On the radio he had created a suave character, always talking about his numerous girlfriends and how their breasts looked, and how wild the sex is with each of them. But in real life, slouched in my grocery store, he was a squirming reject, trying to decide between a box of Twinkies or Devil Dogs. I remember feeling cheated. By knowing the truth I was supporting a man’s lie. I’ll support my own lies, thank you.
I walked naked to my room and put on a clean pair of jeans and a green sweater. It was going to get cold, so I grabbed my thin brown jacket and my keys. The answering machine blinked ‘1’, and there was a broken glass on the floor. I stood and stared at it, the shards, the dust-like sparkle around the stem. I wanted to pick it up, to clean the mess, but I left it…there awaited a greater way, outside, for me to spend my time. I opened the door, locked it behind me, and walked down the stairs.
…..
Why am I still afraid of the dark. I hate this fear. I want it gone. I’m not afraid, make it dark, I’m not afraid. Demons, ghosts, come here, shut off the light. I AM NOT AFRAID. I will not panic. I’ll see you coming. I can see through the dark now. I am calling you, demons. Act, come for me. I will fight you, finally. I repel the fear. I am ready. Shit, send the devil if you must. It’s dark.
…..
At the bottom of the stairs I paused before opening the door to the street. I took a deep breath and focused on the tasks. Find the old man, thwart the murder, find the phrase, and firstly…go tell Max. If anyone would hear me, and help me, it was Max. He was open to anything, no matter how bizarre. He was imaginative. He once told me, “The imagination is the most brutal form of truth. What you dream is what you truly are.” With my gift, by hearing thoughts, I became a common dream, a dream or wish that most have made. I was the truth, I was the possessor of all human’s dreams. And according to Max that made me the true form of all mankind.
However, I should have paid more attention to the word ‘brutal’.
Outside was cold-warm and humid. I felt the approaching cold come in low from the right and the warm blow over my hair from the left. Moisture was building, and the streetlamps made everything glisten with burnt shades of yellow. The sky was bright navy and low in it was hung a full, orange moon. Its face, its man, was screaming.
Max lived a mile away so I crossed the street and walked, swinging my arms, to the parking lot where I had left my red Plymouth Neon.
I saw a man walking. He was thinking about the kind of sandwich he was going to have for dinner. He was stuck, deciding between cheeses. Would Swiss or American go better on Virginia Ham. Swiss, yes. Everything’s changing. I can’t believe I’m moving.
Not too far from him a couple was walking out of Starwishers Coffee. The boy was worried that he had run out of things to say. This is awkward, um, what could I tell her. The bagel story? The girl was wondering when he was going to ask about her life. He’s nice, but, if I have to hear one more story?should I interrupt. I bet he’d like to hear about France.
Mullah was standing in front of Frank’s Meats. He smoked a cigarette while he stared at the ground. What is America. It’s just another country. More people, less war, fine. But I’m stuck in it. Did I do something wrong…I only want a wife.
There was a drum circle on the corner. Their thoughts…the individual rhythms they beat with their hands, and the occasional ouch.
I passed a tall, student girl. I should just move home and try to model. I’ve had no luck here, and…Jack’s great, but we’re not…sexually compatible. Ha…I can’t believe he blew it all over my parents’ couch. It was only in my mouth for a second. He was pretty embarrassed…. I know I’m gonna hurt him. She was my height, with very long, strawberry hair.
After she passed, a shorter, male student passed me. He had on a denim shirt. I can’t wait to fucking graduate. This town is beat and I’m not sticking around. Just get a job, move to New York, and play drums as much as I can?Nice chick. She’s too tall though. He blew cigarette smoke with a wide-open mouth.
A few days before, I had found huge dents in the doors of my car. I first thought that it had been sideswiped, but it looked more like some drunk kid had kicked it. Once, there was a slice of pizza smeared all over my windshield. My car. It’s was fucking damaged now, and I knew it was silly, but it bothered me so much. I had wanted to keep it in perfect condition. I always cleaned it, polished it and vacuumed it. It was a clean car…with dents now.
I entered the parking lot and saw my red Neon. I had thought that seeing the dents would make me crazy, but I had no capacity to deal with what I saw instead. MOTHER FUCKER. My car was being desecrated by a monster, by a dirty beast. Lester Jones was standing by the driver’s side mirror. He had a bottle in a brown bag in his left hand, and his member in his right. He was pissing all over my windshield.
…..
Every spider is venomous.
…..
I exploded and ran towards him. Each step pumped rocket fuel to the anger that was a silent, wanton fire in my chest. He was pissing all over my car, a long alcoholic piss. But there was no sense of relief in his mind, there was only scorn. That bastard can’t control my family. Who is he to contradict me? I always knew he was a faggot. That’s why he left that nice girl. He’d rather get a ‘rusty trombone’ than a good, normal fuck. Cock sucker. I rule my family, not some washed-up grocery store manager…yeah…on his hood.
I ran harder. I was excited and pictured the violence that I so wanted to seize him with.
He lost his balance and pissed all over his hand.
I was getting close.
“What the hell are you doing!” I screamed.
My fists were tight.
He jumped, backed off away from the car and tucked his member back in his pants. He wiped his hands on the ass of his gabardines.
“I rule my family!” he yelled at me.
I got up close to his face, stopped almost nose to nose with him, and stared into his eyes. His eyes, that with the wrinkles that surrounded them, looked like two sketches of a bloodshot sun, black in the middle.
“Irwin is my boy, my blood. The blood of a man and not some fairy. I decide what he does with my blood. I will not be dishonored. What makes you think that I’d allow you to give my boy any of your faggot money? Yeah…he told me, asshole. He came home and told me that you said that you’d co-sign a loan so he can go to that queer school. Well, forget it. He’s not going. Nobody respects a musician,” he said,
I kept still and listened to him. Not because I wanted to smell this snake’s breath, or stare at his frowning chapped lips. I needed time to control my rage, or else, I might have broken his neck…. I could smell his piss in the colding air. He continued to rant.
“Nobody succeeds like a man who is strong, and musicians ain’t strong.” He zipped up his fly. “Read about them. I do, in the magazines. They do drugs, fuck each other. They don’t care about people, average people.” He shook his hand and drops of piss flew off of it. “They think that their fucking lives are more interesting, more important than ours. They love themselves, and it’s us saps that pay good money to watch them be…vain. They are the bastards in the world. Sick fuckers?but listen. They’ll die off if you ignore them, and so will Irwin’s sax shit if we ignore it. Fuck music, and fuck you Bouchard.” He stopped and smiled at me. “Look, we’ve ignored you and you might as well be gone. You’re nothing now, and I won’t let Irwin be like you. He is my blood, and the Jones’ blood doesn’t get put in magazines and billboards. We are workers. We are the fucking backbone of all this shit. That’s how we exist Bouchard.” He pointed at me with his stained hand. “Bottom line…Irwin is my son and he will listen to me. He’s not going to be a faggot people laugh at.”
Lester coughed, hard, and spit at the ground. He stepped away from me and bumped into my car. He was sandwiched between me and my Neon. Alright Lester, hold your ground.
I looked insane. My eyes were beams of hate, and I knew because Lester was taking note, in his head, of how evil I looked.
“You are an awful man Lester Jones,” I said.
“Now listen?”
“NEVER. If I had to choose between listening to you or going deaf…I would rip off my ears in an instant. No contest, Lester. You…are…sick,” I said.
“Fuck you.” I’m not backing down. I don’t care if he was a boxer. Yeah, asshole.
I stepped closer and pushed my knee into his thigh.
“You provide nothing but entertainment for this town. Just like those people in the magazines. You…are a break in conversations, a cute joke so to ease the tension. There is always someone who saw you throwing up on the corner, or yelling at a tree, rolling in the dirt, or badgering young girls. You are New Guernsey’s most entertaining feature. You make us sad, angry, humored, disgusted, annoyed, and even concerned. You evoke it all, you filthy rag of a man. The only problem I have with taking you out and dumping you in the sewer to rot is the fact that the most talented and amazing young man I have ever met is walking around with your blood. And if your blood isn’t poison enough, you sicken his brain, you twist his dreams. You won’t let him love himself, or have any sort of self-esteem?Dammit, Lester. You hardly allow him a self. You want him to be you. That’s fucking stupid, you know?” I said.
Lester pulled his guard up to his chest, but he didn’t move his feet. Oh shit, I want to hit him. He looks fucking crazy, but he’s still a faggot loser.
“Listen you washed-up, faggot loser. You don’t know shit, and you’re sure as shit not worth listening to. I raised Irwin, took him away from the crazies. I protected him. I showed him what a strong man was. I got up every day at fucking four AM, drove that bus to that city with those pigs and degenerates in it. I dealt with all sorts of shit and came home strong so my son could see, so my son wouldn’t be a faggot getting a hand-job in the back of a bus, or a crack smoking street performer. I saw piles of shit every day and I kept it from my family. And he grows up wanting to be a part of that shit? Never. I will kill myself before I allow that. He’s going to be a man like me, not a piece of shit!”
“You are a piece of shit.”
“I don’t want to fight you Bouchard. I’m not stupid, but you make it very difficult…You, fat, quitting, woman hurting, lonely, sad fucking loser.”
He burped.
It was my turn to attack him.
“You are only a drunk, not a father. You have no more blood left. You have pissed it out clear. You only have alcohol inside of you and you don’t realize that you’re doomed. Irwin is the only chance you have to regain some of your blood. You don’t deserve him, Lester. He’s amazing?and I know you think it’s just noise and that’s because you have no heart. You are no man, sir! You are a withered body that booze has sucked dry. You can’t be saved. You don’t know anything, especially about people?and I know you think you do.” I pressed my finger into his chest. “But you don’t. People can’t be characterized as a whole. We are all separate characters. Your son is golden and you, sir, are the pile of shit?and you can’t be helped, because you’re thinking that I’m wrong, that the faggot loving world has destroyed my manliness. You suspect that I play with your son’s dick. You know Lester, you’re just like air. There is nothing I can do to change you other then let you fix yourself, or pollute you some more. You are only influenced by the evil of others and not the good?and I know you think you’ve seen more than I could imagine to see, and I’ll show you how wrong you are. You are the one who can’t see. You distort everything, because you are too drunk to fully understand what stands before you. You’ve tried to distort Irwin, someone perfect and beautiful and you’ve made him into a disease?and yes, he is your son and don’t think for a second that you have enough strength in that poisoned, alcoholic body to get any shot off at me. I am strong, and you are weak. You will always be nothing?and I’m glad that Irwin told you to go to hell and I don’t care if you think I’m an asshole and yes, I am crazy. But you are killing yourself, and nothing will follow you to the grave, and no family will feel for you because you have numbed them to you. You are sick, you smell, you are a joke. No I’m not?No he won’t. He won’t listen to you…. You have no defense but to sit there and scorn me with names like ‘motherfucker’?so, try it then. Do you think it’ll hurt me??And, no, your family does not love you because you do not love them. You are not a father or a husband. You are a drunk?and you should be wary of me, and you should get out of here, and this is happening. Do you want to know how I’m doing that?”
He shook. He was frozen, mouth agape. I smelled cheap rum.
“This is real, Lester, and I’ll tell you how I’m doing that…. Compared to the evil, sinful, painful, ugly, damaging, repugnant, unsupportable, self-indulgent, manipulative, degrading, unholy, putrid, gluttonous, volatile, slothenly and overall poisonous way in which you exist…I am God.”
I grabbed the bottle from his hand. I took it out of the bag and smashed it on the ground next to his feet. Glass and booze splattered over our legs. He was still frozen.
“You should be scared,” I said.
He was lost, afraid to think. His head swooned and kept fighting off any thoughts. He was trying desperately to keep his mind clear. Don’t think ,don’t think. His hands were shaking.
I kept staring at him, waiting for him to snap.
“Don’t think, don’t think,” I said.
He pushed off the car and ran away in a jagged path like an insect in flight. I watched him go.
I breathed slow and steady as if nothing had excited me. But I was excited.
I was power. I was a monster, bigger and more pure than then the sum of all the decency left in the scum of the earth. I felt unstoppable, like the final word, the end mark of every statement, the end all, the message. I was the catalyst that could make men repent. I was the mirror who showed you how ugly you could be. I had no call to assume anything anymore. In me seethed the truth, and even though I would never speak about my gift to others, I would have them experience it, and if their hearts were black then I would thrust the truth at them. I would give the wicked the burden of their souls, and take their euphoric ignorance away from them. I was the pure, the power of good, and as evil grew I matched it. I could balance gross villainy with infinite providence.
…..
That fat motherfucker hobbled up to me right as I was about to sign in for the championship. My coach had gone to take a leak.
This fat fuck with his oily hair halfway tucked under his New York Jets cap hobbled up to me, breathing heavy through his nose, loud, whistling and sometimes bubbling through it. He had on a stained, white button down shirt and black pants that were smeared with dust all over them. His brown overcoat was torn at the cuffs, and the belt of the coat swung like a horse’s dick behind him. I smelled him before I heard him speak.
“Hey son, got a minute?” he said.
“Can I help you, sir?” I said.
His breath smelled like sour mix and vapors, of what I imagined to be, a lifetime of past drinks. The odor seethed from his pores too. He was the fattest man I had ever seen in person, and he had an expression that looked careless and drunk. With his patchy beard, he looked like the most forgotten man in the world, a horrific fable one tells their kids in order to get them to exercise and eat their vegetables. He moved in close…and I stepped back.
“Well, son…looks like you got a pretty big fight tonight. You could be state champion…. Is that what you want?”
“Well I guess I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t,” I said.
I don’t know what was worse, when he breathed through his mouth and his sour breath took over the air, or when he breathed, whistled and bubbled through his nose.
“Good. Good…. I’ve kept a close eye on you. I’ve followed you in the papers…. I live around here you know.”
“That’s great, but I should go sign in now. I hope you enjoy the fight…Um…nice meeting you,” I said.
I started to turn away.
“The name’s Robert, and you haven’t heard what I want to ask you yet.”
I turned back around and faced him.
“What is it…Robert?… I don’t have much time,” I said.
“Well, son, you see…I’m not doing too well right now…well…I haven’t been doing well in a while. I’ve got a few people after me…they actually took over my home. They got this young punk staying there, and he’s throwing parties and trashing the place. You see…. I can’t go back there unless I give them what they want…. It’s money they want,” he said.
“Mister…I’ve only got five bucks in my pocket. You can have it if you want, but that’s all I got, OK?… Listen, I have to?”
“Son wait. If you really want to help me then…could you consider…losing?”
“What?”
“I made a bet?”
“You want me to lose so you can win a bet. What the fuck is your?alright, we’re done here. I gotta go,” I said.
I turned to leave.
“Why won’t you do me this favor, Bear. I read the paper. You’re set to enter the Golden Gloves, and most think you’re gonna win. It’s already set. What’s this meaningless championship gonna do to change that?” he said. “Hell…you’ll be pro in a couple of years.”
I stopped, turned, and stepped back in front of that fat loser…. I should have continued to walk away.
“Listen, man,” I said. “You’re ridiculous, coming up to a stranger and asking him to blow the biggest fight he’s ever had. I don’t know you, and I’m sorry that things aren’t going well for you right now, but that is not my responsibility. I came here to fight, and I’m going to fight with every intention of beating my opponent…and basically…I don’t owe you anything.”
“Take a deep breath son…because you do.”
“What could I possibly owe you. What?… Did you bet against me once before? Are you pissed because I’m a damn good fighter,” I said.
“No…actually…I’ve made a good deal of money betting on you. I just lost it all…on other bets. C’mon son…help your old man out.”
He grinned.
I seemed to lose all feeling in my legs before the rage set in. My temples felt like cigarettes were being extinguished on them.
“Excuse me,” I said.
I was very deliberate and consciously hushed my voice as I spoke.
“How’s Delia doing? Does she ever talk about me?” he said.
I tried very hard to restrain myself…but it was impossible. I could have killed him. I was angry enough.
I took one step and pushed him…very hard. He was heavy, but I managed to knock him over and he fell, and his shirt came untucked and his fat spilled over the floor.
I screamed.
“Get up you fat fuck asshole, you miserable loser. GET UP. You smell…DRUNK. I hope they burn your house with you in it. I hope you die you disgusting, fat, foul, drunk IDIOT. You’re an idiot. You’re nothing. Get up!”
He tried to get up, but fell down again. Someone came and attempted to help him, but it took a few more people to get him up.
Coach ran up to me.
“What the fuck, Bear, what’s the fucking problem,” he said.
“Get me away from this man,” I said.
…..
I was swelling.
I got into my car, forgetting about the drops of piss on my windshield, and began the short drive to Max’s house.