A summer breeze rustles tree leaves, scattering shadows across the hardwood floor——invisibly billowing the curtains, bringing with it a breath of summer that’s scented with lilacs. It feels good to be here alone in the quiet of my garden. My cat meow’s at me and rubs up against my legs. Dogs are loyal, but they require praise, attention and reassurance ———-Cat’s don’t give a shit about all that, they don’t need a fucking thing from anybody. They’re contented living in a world of their own making. Their ferrel nature will never allow them to be domesticated, as proof of that, I have scratch marks up and down my forearms. That little vixen means business; she’s her own cat. There are indulgent dog owners and then there’s placating lovers of cats. You can own a dog, but a cat owns you.
I don’t feel close to anyone except for my lazy ass cat. Something in her eyes lets me know, that she knows, that I know, what she knows. We agree that dogs foolishly allow themselves to be leashed, cats say “fuck that”.
Nature really doesn’t give a shit about what happens to us. A meteorite could vaporize earth and the sun would still display beautiful sunsets and brilliant sunrises, for no one. But in spite of such pending calamities, we’re expected to carry on.
None of that bullshit upsets my cats afternoon naps——-she’ll dream up her own worlds.
There’s a change of season in the air. The scent of rain spattered pavement rides a breeze into my garden. The pitter patter of the raindrops begins their crescendo as thunder crackles in the distant gray skies. A storm is moving towards me, inside me. I should follow my cat into the protection of the house, but I just sit here. I mumble to myself, “Bring it on——— mother nature”.
People come into your life with good intentions, then they leave without warning——offering up phony whispered apologies——saying their goodbyes as if all the good-times were always intended to be temporary. I’ve learned that love is transcendental, truth malleable, life existential, but none the less, we’re all fucked in the end, because nothing makes any sense what so ever, everything is out of our control and no one knows how much time they have left. Getting old is cruel, but it’s second to its alternative.
When the world becomes too terrible, dreadful and unbearable the crazed ones create their own worlds. Some may say, they do this to hide away in their make believe world —— Creativity is born from the horrors of a cruel world. And my God, this world can be oh so cruel.
Michael behind the wheel driving back home for the holidays. HIs wife Lyne is in the passenger seat. The radio is playing “Have A Holly Jolly Christmas”.
Michael, “Why do they have to start playing Christmas music two days before Thanksgiving? Can’t we just enjoy each holiday and celebration before the next one is being shoved down our throats.”
Lyne, “It’s what they call a business plan. Some people like to get their Christmas shopping done before August. Maybe it’s an Amazon or Walmart conspiracy.”
Michael, “Christmas suppose to be a sacred holiday. I swear, I think it’s a capitalist conspiracy to keep us in a constant state of unfulfilled desire. Always wanting the next thing, the new iPhone, that new gadget or gizmo that’s gonna make you complete. (Spoken with sarcasm) Its gonna make life easier. I swear, Alexa and Siri know more about me than god does. Everyone’s chasing trends and the next big thing. Definitely not living in the present.”
Lyne, “I didn’t know that you felt Christmas was such a spiritual celebration. You use to tell me how you and your buddies would play poker and get drunk on Christmas eve and then all head off to midnight mass. (Sarcasm) How Catholic of you and the boys. Now that does’t sound so holy or Christian like.”
Michael, “Maybe it wasn’t the mass as much as a tradition. I miss having traditions. I remember after mass walking across the frozen field back to my mom’s house. The December air was crisp and the stars seemed to be burning brighter than normal. The Milky Way Galaxy making me feel small, yet alive and grateful. Just glad for no particular reason. That’s the best kind of happiness, nothing attached to it. Me and my buddies just goofing and laughing. It was a god-felt moment in time.” (Shakes his head). Traditions, good times.”
Lyne, “Maybe we can start our own traditions.”
Michael, “I’m a middle age white guy. I don’t belong to a shared culture with ancient traditions and heroic struggles. Black guys have that whole slavery thing to bond over. And the Mexicans, well they invented taco’s. The Irish got their drunken pub songs, while drinking Genies and Jameson. I tried that “ancestory.com” thing in the hopes of finding my roots. I was hoping to discover a proud heritage, maybe I was a distant relative of President Lincoln. Fat chance, it turns out that my ancestors were potato farmers——-share croppers who lost everything in the great dust bowl. They were Okies, desperate dreamers who believed California would be their promised land.”
Lyne, “They must have been tough, a proud clan of hard workers.”
Michael, “I didn’t get the hard worker gene, I got their dreamer gene. I was thinking about last Christmas. I can’t even remember one gift I received. It’s kind of ridiculous. We run around in a mad frenzy buying gifts no-one needs, wants, or will even remember. I definitely think it’s a capitalist conspiracy. They, the man, the one percenters, they keep us working at jobs we hate so we have money to buy shiny distractions we don’t need. QVC, Amazon, consume, consume. What kind of tradition is that?”
Lyne, “We can start whatever tradition we like. We can bake fruitcakes, take turns making toasts at the dinner table, create unreasonable new years-eve resolutions.”
Michael, “I got to find my tribe, something to belong too.”
Lyne, “Well, we’re headed back to your hometown, you’ll be seeing old friends and family. That’s your tribe, your people——-right?”
Michael, “I have mixed feelings about going back home. I get this weird nostalgic feeling, a kind of dream like melancholy. It’s like visiting places and things I can never get back. When I drive by the old ballfields, the high school or a house I once lived in, it’s like visiting an old friend who’s now a stranger. It’s like I left little pieces of me in these once familiar placers. As I drive by these old haunts I pick up younger version of myself. I end up with a carload of ‘use to be’s’ and ‘what might have beens’.”
Lyne, “You’re sure being awfully depressing. Maybe you ought to see a therapist, get an antidepressant prescription. You can never enjoy yourself, you’re constantly over thinking stuff.”
Michael, “Nobody wants to be melancholy or sad, or sentimental anymore. They equate it as being weak and treat it as if it’s some kind of sickness, or an illness. Here, take a pill and feel better. I want to feel melancholy sometimes, even sad sometimes. I’m not depressed, I’m just old fashioned sad. Life can be sad and also happy, you can’t have one without the other. Yen and the Yang, sweet and sour. I hate phony smiles and all that ‘happy happy’ bullshit. (Sarcastic) ‘Have nice day’. I’ll have whatever kind of freakin day I want.”
Lyne, “You’re too sensitive. Get over it, move on with life.”
Michael, “Yeah right, fuck it. Sorry I told you how I feel. Why do you always have to say I’m sensitive and shit like that. I swear, after all these years, you don’t really know me.”
Lyne, (Uncomfortable silence). You don’t ‘get me’ either. Let’s just get through the holidays. It’s stressful enough as it is. (Spoken with an irritable tone) You’re driving awfully fast. And, did you turn down the heater before leaving the house? (She absent-mindfully rattles on) I should have made a hair appointment. Does my hair look okay? Don’t drink too much tonight at the party. You aren’t listening to me are you?”
Michael, “Yes I am. (Pause) I’m sorry, what did you say again?”
Lyne, (Takes a deep breath). “Whatever.” (Turns up ‘Silent Night’ playing on the radio).
Living room with eight people chatting while enjoying hors d’oeuvres and drinks. There is a knock at the door. Michael’s sister Matty answers the door.
Matty, “Hey, look who we have here. Come on in, let me take your coats. Get yourselves a drink and have something to eat.”
(Michael makes his way to the buffet table and fixes himself a drink. Shawn walks up behind Michael and pats him on the shoulder).
Shawn, “Look what the cat drug in.” ( They give each other a hug). “It’s been a few years. How the hell are you doing?”
Michael, “Doing good, doing just fine. How bout you?”
Shawn, “Yeah, life is good here too. Time is going by too fast.”
Michael, “I’m fixing a Jameson Ginger ale, can I make you one?”
Shawn, “Thanks but I had to give it up. Traded my garage beer fridge in for a treadmill and a set of weights.”
Michael, “Good for you. As for me, I’ve been drinking more but enjoying it less. If you don’t mind me asking, what made you decide to give it up?”
Shawn, “I use to drink as a kind of coping mechanism, but then it went from stress relief to a way to cover up all the shit building up inside me. I could only stuff my anger and frustration down so much before it started to back up and come out in unhealthy ways. Alcohol was only making things worse.”
Michael, “It’s easier to be mad rather than honest.”
Shawn, (Laughs) “Got to the age where I realized I wasn’t going to get that promotion I’d been waiting on and working for. I started getting passed over by younger guys. Me and the wife had lost any sense of intimacy. I kind of found myself in a dark place. All the things that once mattered or made me happy was gone. My life was getting harder to manage, and the hangovers seem to get worse. The pain out weighed the pleasure. It doesn’t hardly seem fair, you only got one life to get it right. When I was young I thought I had forever, but you start getting older and the options seem to close in on you.”
Michael, “Getting old is hard. You end up with fewer options, fewer folks you can hangout with or count on. You have more to lose but less it matters. I guess alcohol is like a lot of things, It works until it stops working. Fuck it! I’m gonna go out on the back deck and smoke a bowl. Do you still smoke a little weed?”
Shawn, “Well, not really, but I think tonight I can make an exception. Did you see Marlena? Man, she’s still hot. Didn’t you and her once have a thing?”
Michael, (Lights his pipe and takes a big hit) “Yeah, we did, a long time ago. It’s funny, When you’re younger you go chasing the next shiny thing. You always think you can do better. Then you wake up one day and you’re middle aged and realize that all the things you were running from were probably the best things you ever had. Yeah, it’s true, It don’t hardly seem fair. You only got one life to get it this shit right.”
Shawn, (Takes a hit off the pipe) “So much of life is boring details; minutia. You wake up one day and you’re old. Where the fuck did the time go. Did I make the right decisions, right choices? Maybe I should have stayed at that job teaching scuba diving at the resort. Can you imagine spending all day with hot chicks in skimpy bikinis——drinking beer and getting laid left and right. But, I went off to college and got my MBA and became a financial adviser. A fucking financial advisor. My job consists of making old fat white guys, richer and fatter. I should have stayed being a scuba instructor. I’m a tie dye guy wearing a suite and tie every day. And that neck tie gets a little bit tighter every day. (Hands the pipe to Michael) That’s some good shit. How are you and Lyne doing?”
Michael, (Takes a hit) “I guess fair. Probably as good as any couple who’ve been together for what feels like eternity. Marital bliss——-now that’s a fucking oxymoron. (Shakes his head). Sometimes before we hang up on the phone she’ll say ‘I love you’——- I swear it takes every once of strength to respond with ‘Love you too’.” I know that sounds shitty and pathetic, but I can’t help it. Marriage counseling, now that was a waste of time and money. Paying a stranger sixty bucks an hour to try and fix something that’s beyond repair. Her fault, my fault? It doesn’t matter. I swear, sometimes I can’t breathe.”
Shawn, “Hell, it’s a lot easier to un-love someone than it is to re-love them. All it takes is a small hole below the waterline to sink a luxury liner.”
Michael, “Do you think it’s ever too late to love someone again?”
Shawn, “It’s like this. This is my curdled milk theory. You wake up one morning and go to the fridge and pour yourself a glass of ice cold milk, right? You take a big swig and immediately spit it out cause it’s gone sour. The very next day you go back to the fridge and pour yourself another glass of milk——guess what, It’s still fucking sour. Maybe love has an expiration date. Some loves may last a month while another may last fifty years. But once that shit begins to curdle, well you better try churning it and hope it can be transformed into butter.” (Laughs) “Did you ever consider divorce?”
Michael, “Yeah, I did the math and it ain’t a pleasant scenario. We’d have to split up all of our shit, sell the house and cash in our 401k’s. She’d get half of my pension. I’d end up like one of those poor old fuckers having to go back to work. Probably end up swabbing down tables at Starbucks and taking coffee orders from spoiled-ass ‘twenty somethings’. Kids these days don’t even have the courtesy to look up and say ‘thank you’. Instead, they’re be incessantly scrolling through their goddamn cell phones or laptops. Then there’d be the proverbial pimply faced shift supervisor who’s prodding me to pick up the pace and smile more.” (Takes another hit). “Trade one hell for another hell.”
Shawn, “Yep, if I were your financial advisor I’d probably tell you to stay married, adopt a rescue dog for companionship and find a pro for sex, ya know, a skilled call girl. It’s cheaper than the alternative. Well, while we’re swopping confessions, I’ve been having my own struggles. Penny and I don’t really argue anymore, we avoid that, we share meals and a house but we kind of live like roommates. We’ve become courteous strangers, polite acquaintances. I never thought we’d end up like those old couples you see at restaurants eating entire meals without saying a word to one another. Everything that needs to be said, I suppose has already been said. We’ve learned to avoid pressing each others buttons—- it only lead to the same stupid arguments and hard feelings.”
Michael, “I suppose if it works, at least it’s better than arguing and saying mean shit you can’t take back. I mean, after all these years you still don’t want to hurt each other.”
Shawn, “Is anger deferred better than just being honest? (Snickers) Man, I’m getting some of those cool stoned thoughts.”
Michael, “I guess sometimes it’s easier to stay silently mad rather than come out and admit you’re wrong. Remember how when we were in high school and we’d get high and go down to the park at night and talk about life, dreams, god, girls and aliens . Anything and everything was on the table. As for girls, I still don’t understand them.” (Laughter).
Shawn, “I don’t have anyone to talk this shit over with anymore. Do you mind if I keep talking about love or lovelessness, cause another stoned weird thought just popped into my head?”
Michael, (Getting excited) Yeah, yeah—-tell me, go ahead man.”
Shawn, “There’s this chick at work who’s got this thing that I can’t explain. She’s in her early thirties, not what I’d call classically beautiful, but there’s something really hot and sexy about her. Just watching her put a scrunchy in her hair is sexy—-When she looks me directly in the eye I’m overcome with this uncontrollable magnetism. I feel electricity shooting through my body. I don’t know if it’s love or pure animalistic sexual arousal. Man, sometimes I just want to lean over and kiss her sweet mouth.”
Michael, “So, what are you going to do?”
Shawn, “Fuck, I don’t know, but at this stage of the game, this might be my last chance to have something special in my life. She has sex appeal and she knows how to use it. It’s dirty, it’s nasty, she can turn the mundane into magic.”
Michael, (Fires up the pipe). “Dude, you got it bad, but that’s good. Or, you got it good and that’s bad—-man I’m high. My advice, don’t marry a woman cause she’s pretty. Get a woman who knows how to flirt, knows how to be a freak in bed. Someone who’s fun, smart, has a good sense of humor. It’s all an illusion anyway. Only a few women know how to sustain the illusion, know how to make you do crazy shit. I’ve only been in love one time. I mean real love. The kind that makes you wanna do stupid shit, like write poetry, or hold her hand when walking down the street.”
Shawn, “I suppose that one time wasn’t with Lyne?”
Michael, “Nope. She’s practical. No nonsense. She still does’t appreciate my humor——she thinks anything other than missionary position is kinky. I need someone to turn my my mundane into magic.”
Shawn, “You ought to go say hello to Malena. Maybe there’s still a little magic hidden there.”
Michael, “What am I gonna say?”
Shawn, “What do I got to lose, that I haven’t already lost.”
Michael, (He heads back into the house. He stares directly at Melina. She responds with a flirtatious wink. He points to his drink and nods for her to meet him at the liquor table).
Melina, (They hug). “You smell good, you smell familiar.”
Michael, “Your hug feels familiar. Somethings I suppose never change. I was hoping you’d show up here.”
Malena, “Part of me wanted to not come, but something or someone drew me back.” (Offers a heartfelt smile). I see the whole gangs here.”
Michael, “I’m sorry to hear about Jesse. He was a great guy. He was a hell of a guitar player too. We use have a blast playing all those little bars and coffee houses.”
Melina, “He made a killing in the stock market, but I think he would have traded all the money, cars and fancy trips to just be a guy who played gigs at the pizza parlor. Happiness and success are hard things to measure. Circumstances may change, but at some level we are who we are. Jesse was unique, in a world where everyone is trying to follow trends and be the same, he was brave and unafraid to be different. I loved him for that.”
Michael, “Yeah, and if you try and be something you’re not, it will eat you alive. The best kind of friends are the ones that let you be yourself. Some people want to put you in a box and that is stifling.”
Melina, “I miss Jesse. What I really miss is the Jesse I knew when we were younger and not constrained by all the bullshit that comes with growing up. You trade little pieces of yourself away for security and possessions. Instead of you owning them, they end up owning you. You think you’re buying security, but what you’re really doing is bargaining away your passion, your freedom, your sense of wonder. I must sound like some old hippy chick.” (They both laugh).
Michael, “Here, let me get you a glass of chardonnay.” (Pours a glass of wine and hands it to Melina).
Melina, “Time goes by fast and it’s easy to lose the people and things that matter the most to you. (Pauses) When Jesse and I first met, travel was our thing. We’d be in a strange country and all we had was each other. It brought us together, made us closer. We went to Europe, China, Brazil, and it was exciting and fun. But something happened. I don’t even know how and or when it happened. Our traveling felt more like a search for something we lost, rather than sharing a new adventure. It was if we could find that special vacation place again, it would bring us back to that feeling of closeness. But it wasn’t the place or time, it was something dreadful that followed us wherever we traveled. We’d lost our connection. We became strangers in strange lands. And knowing what real love felt like, made it even harder when we tried to fake it or manufacture it.”
Michael, “I know that feeling. There’s no faking love. It’s either there or it’s not. And to watch it slowly slip away is excruciating. It’s hard to try and love someone——cause love isn’t a thing you have to try to do.”
Melina, “Jesse didn’t do anything wrong, it was (Pause) I don’t exactly know what it was. I think as he got older he became more cautious. Ironically, the thing that attracted me to him was his risk taking, his carefreeness. I think he regretted having to grow up and become a responsible adult, but his minister father ingrained in him that scarfing ones self is next to godliness. He started delaying gratification, putting money away in 401K’s, working long hours. It was like he was trying to earn his way into heaven, or at least please his folks. We were always making plans to go to Italy and rent a little house in Tuscany. I don’t know if once that feeling is gone if there’s anyway to rekindle it. Maybe that’s why we never went, maybe it wouldn’t turn out the way we hoped it would. Maybe it would confirm what we already knew. Maybe the chasm had grown too wide, the distance between us was too far to reach one another. And then after all the putting off of pleasure he gets cancer and fucking dies. Maybe cancer was only a symptom of a worse disease, losing faith, losing your self. Life can be fucking cruel”
Michael, “Yeah, a lasting love is illusive. Sorry about Jesse, (Pause) sorry about (Pause) the death of a love too.”
Melina, (Put her hand on Michaels shoulder) “Oh, wait. I almost forgot. I brought something special for you. It’s in my car, come on.”
Melina, (Melina is the the drivers seat and Michael in the passenger seat.) “Close your eyes.” (She reaches into the backseat). “Okay, open your eyes.” (She hands him a guitar).
Michael, “What the (Pause). This is Jesse’s Martin guitar. This was like a part of his body. I have so many great memories of him playing this guitar at parties, jam sessions and in dark living rooms On Sunday afternoons we’d hangout at San Brannon Park drinking Ripple and playing music. Are you sure you want to give me this? This is a huge part of his legacy.”
Melina, “He’d want you to have it. He wouldn’t want anyone else to play it but you. He always said that guitars were shaped like a woman’s body. And, that’s what made him want to hold his guitar in his arms and caress it. He was romantic that way. I use to keep it on a stand in my living room, but (Pause) but it was like holding on to something or someone that was never coming back. I finally put it in its case and slid it under my bed. It was like sleeping with a ghost. Go ahead and exercise those old ghosts, give it light, give it life again, hold it, love it——let it make beautiful music.”
Michael, “I was pissed at Jesse for a long time. I blamed him for taking you away from me.”
Melina, “He didn’t take me away from you. You left me to go to LA and become a rockstar. You said you had a record deal and you’d probably be going on the road and you needed some space so you could get your music career going.”
Michael, (Shakes his head as he reflexes on the past).“I never got a record deal. The Record company said I’d have to go on the road and build up a following before they’d risk putting money into me. I ended up doing gigs in shitty little bars from Southern California to nowheres-ville Arkansas. I thought touring would be glamorous and exciting. There’s nothing further from the truth. You can only play ‘Johnny Be Good’ so many times and put your heart and soul into it. The last gig I played was at a Veterans of Foreign War hall for a bunch of drunk bikers. A big fight broke out with some opposing biker club. I heard a gun go off so I picked up my gear and ran for the door. That was it, I was through with my rock and roll dream. After that, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was lost. I probably wrote you a dozen letters, but I couldn’t find the right words to say. I tried calling but I guess your number had changed. I messed up. And what hurt the most is knowing it was my ego that cost me my future with you.”
Melina, “I’ve often wondered what life would be like if things had turned out differently. But, I guess things worked out alright for you. You have Lyne and you have a good life.”
Michael, “Like I said, when I came back home I didn’t really know what to do with myself. I got a job framing houses for Lyne’s dad and he kind of took me under his wing. He introduced me to his daughter and we started dating. I got my contractors license and the next logical step was marriage. Love and logic are two opposing ways of approaching life. Logic is using your brain, love is following your heart. I think I should have followed my heart.”
Melina, “I wasn’t sure if I should give this back to you.” (She reaches back into the backseat). “You left this flannel shirt at my apartment a million years ago.”
Michael, “I use to call that my lucky shirt. I was wearing it when I first met you.”
Melina, “This is kind of weird to say, but when you first left, I use to wear it to bed. It was soft and warm and it smelled like you.”
Michael, “And what do I smell like?”
Melinda, “You smell like the woods, like a forest. It’s a scent of pine needles, a tad bit of desert sagebrush and fresh rain on earthy mud.”
Michael, “Hum, I smell like earthy mud? That doesn’t sound too appealing. I suppose it’s better than sweat and grime.” (Both laugh).
Melina, “Well having a piece of someones clothing is kind of an intimate thing. It’s holding something that was once against their skin. Their body movements leave wrinkles imprinted on the cloth, the fabric still carries their scent. Sorry if that sounds crazy to you.”
Michael, “It’s a funny thing, I came back home after all these years and everything and everyone seems strange and different. The only thing that feels familiar to me is you. (There’s a reflective pause) I think I’ve always loved you and alway will. You’ve had a hold on me. Through the years I’ve fantasized about you a thousand times. Sorry if that sounds weird or creepy.————.”
Melina, (Puts on a devilish smile). “I guess I’ll take that as a complement.”
Michael, “I suppose, once you distance yourself from a place, a time or a person you realize a lot of things. Sometimes the long way is the only way home.———(Silence) Do you have the case I can put the guitar in?” (They both reach back at the same time and their heads slightly bump into one another’s).
Melina, (They both laugh at the awkwardness of the situation. There’s an emotionally charged silence.) “You can touch me if you want.”
Michael, (Slowly leans into Melina to give her a kiss. Theres an abrupt tapping on the fogged window).
Lyne, “What are you guys doing out here? It’s freezing out here.”
Michael, (Shakes his head in frustration as he rolls down the window). “Melina and I were sharing some old memories. She wants to give me Jesse’s Martin.”
Lyne, “Why don’t you bring it in the house and everyone can jam.”
Michael, “Yeah, sure.”
They come back in the house. Michael sits down and starts to tune the guitar. Everyone is feeling buzzed. The guests begin to clammer, “Play something, come on, play something for us.”
Michael, (Smiles) “Shawn, give me a beat on that cajon.” (Shawn sits on the cajon and starts playing a medium groove. Michael starts playing the guitar and singing ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’. The guests sing along. Michael can feel Melina’s eyes on him. Song ends, everyone applauds while hooting and hollering).
Michael, “Let me get a drink and then we’ll do another one.” (Makes his way over to the liquor table where Shawn is standing).
Shawn, “Nice jam bro. Isn’t that Jesse’s old Martin?”
Michael, “ Yeah, Melina gave it to me. She said Jesse would have wanted it that way. It’s almost like I can feel him when I play it. There’s worn marks on the fretboard where his fingers once played. It has a few nicks and scratches, but don’t all old things have a few scars.”
Shawn, “For sure.”
Michael, “You won’t believe what almost happened. Melina took me out to her car to get the guitar and we started talking and stuff. Something just happened. It wasn’t planned or like some kind of drunken hookup. I felt this thing I haven’t felt for a long time. I haven’t felt it sense I was with Melina all those years ago. It a feeling I forgot even exists. We were almost gonna kiss and Lyne came wrapping on the car window. It’s as if she knew something was up. I swear she has some kind of radar that tracks my every freakin move.”
Shawn, (Smiles and shakes his head). “Dude, that kind of soulmate energy permeates a room. Everyone’s buzzed and having a good time, no ones gonna say anything. But, I think everyone can kind of pick up on that thing between you two; even Lyne.”
Michael, “Man, I’m so sick of pretending and doing without. It’s fucking exhausting. I just want to feel that feeling again. I want to fucking feel alive again, to feel understood, loved——-to have real sex with someone who enjoys it. Is that fucking asking too much?”
Shawn, “I don’t know man. I think most of the dudes I know would love to have a ‘do over’. Life without compromises is a young man’s game. Ya gotta ask yourself, when does the hug become a choke hold.”
Lyne, (Approaches Shawn and Michael). “We need to leave soon, I have a nail appointment first thing in the morning.”
Michael, “Hey, we’re having some fun for once. Let’s just hangout for a little while longer.”
Lyne, (Looks over towards Melina). Yeah ‘we’re’——- or should I say you, are having a lot of fun. In a half hour I’m leaving. If you don’t want to come home, then get a ride with one of your (Spoken with sarcasm) friends.” (She turns and walks away).
Michael, “Goddamn ultimatums. It’s taking every single fiber of my being to not just say fuck it, fine——I’m going home with Melina.”
Shawn, “Loves a powerful drug bro. It’s done in many a good man. Like you said, It’s really not fair that you only get one chance to get this life right. What are you gonna do?”
Michael, “I don’t know man. But I know one thing, true love never dies. It’s a hard thing to explain. There’s something about the way she talks——the tone of her voice sets me at ease. I could listen to her voice for hours. I would never be afraid to tell her anything, cause I know she’d understand. There’s something familiar in her laugh. I like how her body moves through space. Graceful, like a dancer who needs no music.”
Shawn, “Regrets a hard thing to have to live with. Lookout bro, here she comes.”
Melina, “I’m gonna be leaving. It was really great to see you again. (She gives Michael a hug). “Oh, I left the guitar case in the back bedroom where they put everyone’s coats. I miss you.”
Michael, “I miss you too.”
Lyne, (She’s wearing a stern look on her face). “Get our coats and let’s go. I’m cold, I’m tired and I’ve got a headache.”
Michael, “You’re always cold, tired and have a headache.”
(He heads to the back bedroom. He opens the guitar case to put up the guitar. He picks up a note that was left in the case). ‘Michael, I left you a little something to remember me by. Something that’s been close to my body and against my skin. I hope I smell like the things I know you love, peppermint ice cream, Jameson Irish whiskey and second chances. P.S. Damn, it’s gonna be a bit cold driving home commando style, Ha Ha.”
(Michael retrieves a pair of red panties from the guitar case. He puts them to his face and inhales deeply. He shakes his head in disbelief and starts to laugh. He then says out loud). “Second Chances?”
The song “In Spite Of Ourselves” by John Prine begins to play.
These times are strange, no they’re a mess. There’s this constant background hum coming up from my backside. I don’t know if it’s coming from inside my head or is it a demon creating this lingering static in the ether. There’s always been horrors, but today it grinds on and on through social media, newscasts and radio talkshows. People are angry, living on the edge. We’ve become victims of a constant bombardment of bad news filtering into our psyche. People on the street wear the mask of emotional fatigue on their drawn faces. Where do we go from here? Everyone’s looking for a way to turn down the static.
This is what pushed the pioneers west, the thought that somewhere,, somehow, someplace—-things have got to be better than this—-All the same, we tote our clutter and emotional baggage along with us. No matter where we go——there we are. There’s no escaping this house of mirrors. There’s no out running our shadow, but we can always change the stories we tell ourselves. We’re the star of our own life, why not make it a comedy rather than a tragedy. There’s no better time than now, no better place than here. The static grows louder. I swiftly turn around, but there’s no one there——-“Huuuuummmmmmm——“
You’d think that after all the laws, politic’s and religion we’d be more civil and kinder to one another——-fat chance. We have no choice but to seek solace in one another. We’re awful, deceitful, jealous and——-mean vermin. But at the end of the day, it’s too hard to go it alone. It’s only through tolerance and acceptance that we keep our companionships alive. We’re all uniquely the same——in irony there is truth.
One time strangers become our friends and lovers, but then they slip away becoming strangers once again. The longer we know someone the harder it is to see them anew. The rags of our past distorts “what was” with “what is”.
I miss the peace that comes with silence. It feels as though this static is growing louder——do you hear it too? “HUUUUMMMMMM——”
Turn the dial, change your frequency, adjust the station, fine tune your antenna away from the static——–and find your music.
I can’t go back in time so I keep moving. My movement isn’t always forward, sometimes it’s backwards, sometimes in a circle. Movement offers me a false sense of progress. This life seldom dispenses second chances, it offers up lessons. I keep moving, I keep reaching out.
It’s a lonely quest, scavenging through life in search of purpose, love and someone to relate to. To be understood is to be loved. To expect to be understood is “crazy”. If you want to be loved in spite of all your weird idiosyncrasies and foibles, adopt a rescue dog. If you want to be exploited and abused, allow a cat to adopt you…Relationships are built on such subtle differences. Friends will change without telling you, others may ghost you for unknown reasons and some pass away never to be seen again———at least not in this life.
I worry, “Did I let everyone I love know how much I appreciate them in my life (Note to self, tell everyone I appreciate them in my life, excluding those occasional assholes). I fret over the thought that perhaps I never let my parents know how much I respected and loved them. We become so accustom to our parents unconditional love, that it’s easy to take this gift for granted. My parents stuck by me, in-spite all my stupid life decisions. Time goes by quickly, words are free, don’t hold back——let those you care for, know how much you love them.
These days I lack a meaningful connections with others,…….Maybe I could better define this malady as a disassociation syndrome. In other words, so many things no longer fit together—My “Why’s” far out weigh my “How’s”……..The veneer of this thing called reality is wearing thin. Everything seems so unreal and strange to me. I stumble about thinking, “Is this the way things are supposed to be?” “Is this the way I supposed to be?” We all have our own brand of craziness, we just become comfortable by wrapping it in our own private shiny distractions. If you don’t know how the trick is done, then it’s magic——misdirection, sleight of hand, illusion, Love?? Life??
It’s mid October, the season that gives way to the beauty that comes with the death of a fading summer. Leaves turn golden, red and purple before being swept away in the autumn winds. Outside its dark and cold, the sun surrenders its dominion over the sky earlier and earlier, this relieves me of the guilt of fixing myself a drink too early, but as we all know, there’s always an excuse for drinking. I hear the faint fizz of carbonation over ice cubes——my oh my, Jameson and Ginger-ale in my favorite tumbler.
It’s the season of tangled sheets, as ghosts whisper under beds and the hellhounds bay up at an angry moon. I swear I hear the footsteps of shadowy specters moving across the creaking hardwood floor. The doorknob to my closet appears to be slowly turning. I foolishly decide to step deeper into this nocturnal quicksand. There’s something bittersweet about allowing my darker angels to run loose. I flip through my playlists and click on “Sade”. God almighty, her music always takes me there. It’s got that hypnotic groove that’s made for soul searching, lovemaking——it’s drenched in unrepentant sensuality. The beat pulls me into a grinding pocket. I feel like having a cigarette, but I had to give that up over a decade ago, it’s always the hardest thing to give up on something that you know you’ll remorselessly love forever——and she taught me——forever is a long time!
Some woman know they have it from an early age and they carry it with them through old age. She has it, she knows how to use it——-she exudes a steamy erotic energy. It affords her an unfair advantage. “It” has nothing to do with beauty or flash, it’’s in the way her body moves through space, it’s that certain look in her hungry eyes. Her heated body radiates the fragrance of lust. When her hand nonchalantly brushes up against my skin, it’s as if a million volts of electricity convulses through my body. All those other bland pretty girls have no lightening in their soul; they leave no ache in those empty places, no burn in ones darkness.
The prisons and insane asylums are filled with men who’ve let this black magic rule them, clouding their better judgement and making them do the bad things they never thought they were capable of doing. I search through a junk drawer and find a single crippled cigarette, I rip off the bent filter and take a deep drag and then slowly exhale the blue smoke. It hangs in the air, mysteriously taking the shape of a maligned dragon. I feel myself going back on things I swore I’d never do. I scroll through my phone contacts and wonder if her number is still the same. The thought of her warm damp voice invades my nervous system with a shot of adrenaline, causing my hands to tremble. I hesitate with my finger hovering over the green call button. “King Of Sorrow” begins to play on my mix.