Rainbortion (Part 10: Laughing In The Abbatoir)
Before leaving for New York, Ben and I were eating breakfast at our favorite diner, when he said: "You always order the Eggs Benedict, and you manage to get like three quarters of the way through breakfast without cracking the yokes. That's damned impressive."
Later that night, during a poetry event, Zuzu asks "Are you aware of how many times you mention Ben's name in a sentence."
"Only about once a sentence, thank you. It's just that I usually run said Ben sentences together."
My grandmother called today to let me know that my grandfather just got out of the hospital, and that my dad, who I haven't seen since...let's not speculate on that one...is staying with them for a while. So I'm going to Connecticut. Connecticut, place of my birth and adoption, where I nearly grew up, but for my father being transferred to Cape Cod when I was six.
Ben plans on arriving sometime early this morning, possibly giving him enough time to sleep before he goes to work. I leave at fuckall o'clock tomorrow morning, so that my grandmother can cook a meal large enough to cover the two years since we've seen each other: potato pancakes, waffles, bacon, and Eggs Benedict.
There's a variety of reasons why I haven't gone to visit them since I moved back from Arifuckenzona. They've been dealing with a sick relative (my not so great great uncle), selling off a house (my great grandparents'), and spending as much time waxing the floors of God's house as their local church allows. I've been busy with work, moving, writing, sodomy, and coming up with excuses why I can't go visit them. There's never enough time. But there's nothing like the possibility of imminent death to inspire family members to take personal time off from work to de-guiltify.
Before I go, I make a run to the grocery store to buy jello, soy milk, and rice. Things Ben likes that I don't. It doesn't occur to me until I'm back at the house that I'm hungry but I haven't bought anything for me. I don't know whether I neglected to buy groceries for me because I knew I was leaving tomorrow and didn't want to waste money or because I've never been good at putting myself before others. You're more or less than welcome to draw your own conclusions, just draw them with pencil because you may change your mind later.
Celeste calls during my walk home to let me know that yesterday, someone broke into the coffeehouse and stole the cash register. In addition to the physical presence of the register, they also got away with all the money inside of it. Approximately forty cents in pennies. Somewhere, there's a very winded, very pissed off thief. I'm presuming they ran, because it's hard to look nonchalant when ambling around Boston with a cash register under your arm or trenchcoat.
I'm tired now, but not sleepy. I've got a million things to write about, but can't seem to get them to lineup properly in my mind. I'm still hungry, but not motivated enough to go out and get something to eat. Tomorrow is a banquet. I will eat every bite that's offered, and with any luck, won't crack until the very end.
***
When I get back from Connecticut, and Ben gets back from New York, he is all apologies and duct tape band aids. He takes me out to the movies. We go to the Different Twist for dinner with Trick and Celeste. He tells us about his trip. "It was awful. I decided to try two hits at once, and I ended up spending most of the night outside, trying to talk to the rocks or some shit. When I came back in, I borrowed Lissabelle's cell phone to call you, but you didn't answer. Thank God. Anyway, I gave the phone back to her, or at least, I thought I did. When we were getting ready to leave this morning, she said she couldn't find it. So I cleaned the entire commune. Twice. No phone. I unpacked all my stuff, and repacked it, and unpacked it, and repacked it. No phone. She kept screaming at me and telling me what a terrible person I was. And I wanted to find the phone, not just to shut her up, but so I could call you, because I desperately needed to hear someone say something nice to me."
Trick coughs conspicuously. Apparently, Celeste told him about the I Don't Love You Conversation.
"Anyway, she had one of her friends hypnotize me, to see if that would help me remember what I did with the phone. I didn't. And when we finally gave up, Lissabelle put her coat on, and the phone was right there in her pocket, and the bitch didn't even apologize."
"Wait," Trick says, "you thought to get hypnotized in order to find her phone, but you didn't think to have her check her pockets. Why not just burn the house down and use a metal detector to find it?"
"Booooo. Anyway, we're going back next week because I was only able to get a dozen hits, and I have friends coming down to visit tomorrow. Oh, Celeste, can Safey stay with you while my friends are in town?"
I flinch. Trick flinches. Celeste rolls her eyes. "Of course. Did you think of, I don't know, asking Safey how he felt about it before asking me."
And he dribbles forth more apologies. And he pays for my pizza. And whatever.
At work, the next day, I am so far beyond overtired, that I strongly suspect the ASL sign for coma was invented to describe the way I feel. Ben calls the work phone around eight to ask me to bring him some food. I say "Sure thing, baby, I'll see you when I get home."
Things wrong with that statement:
1. Baby? What the hell?
2. Ben's apartment is not home.
A few minutes later, one of the new waitresses, Hill, taps me on the shoulder and says "Ben is on the phone for you again."
I decide to be funny, to go way over the top with the whole baby thing, so I put on my sexy phone voice and say "Hey, baby," (shudder) "what's up?"
"Baby?" Says Ben my boss, not Ben my future ex-boyfriend. "It's Ben."
And I say "Uhhhh....Hey?"
And when I weasel my way out of that conversation, David (my almost mutual infatuation partner), who's been standing around the corner the whole time says "Baby? Who's your baby?"
And I say, "No one. I'm just really drunk." And it's true, four Peachtree Schnapps, Smirnoff, Peaches, Chambord and Champagne will do that to you. But, given how stressful this week has been, the solution seems to be, drink more. So, after work, David and I take the T together, discussing everything but the word baby. I get off the T and head to Ben's house where we take loads of digital pictures, change our LiveJournal layouts, and drink Rated X liquor, thus keeping everything I've drunk, a fluorescent shade of pink. And while we drink and take pictures,we play En Vogue's Funky Divas album.
"This is so gay. You're not allowed to tell anyone about this." Ben says. "Especially not the part about how I got really into it and sang the lyrics in the most sincere way possible."
"Ok." I say. "I won't."
Later that night, during a poetry event, Zuzu asks "Are you aware of how many times you mention Ben's name in a sentence."
"Only about once a sentence, thank you. It's just that I usually run said Ben sentences together."
My grandmother called today to let me know that my grandfather just got out of the hospital, and that my dad, who I haven't seen since...let's not speculate on that one...is staying with them for a while. So I'm going to Connecticut. Connecticut, place of my birth and adoption, where I nearly grew up, but for my father being transferred to Cape Cod when I was six.
Ben plans on arriving sometime early this morning, possibly giving him enough time to sleep before he goes to work. I leave at fuckall o'clock tomorrow morning, so that my grandmother can cook a meal large enough to cover the two years since we've seen each other: potato pancakes, waffles, bacon, and Eggs Benedict.
There's a variety of reasons why I haven't gone to visit them since I moved back from Arifuckenzona. They've been dealing with a sick relative (my not so great great uncle), selling off a house (my great grandparents'), and spending as much time waxing the floors of God's house as their local church allows. I've been busy with work, moving, writing, sodomy, and coming up with excuses why I can't go visit them. There's never enough time. But there's nothing like the possibility of imminent death to inspire family members to take personal time off from work to de-guiltify.
Before I go, I make a run to the grocery store to buy jello, soy milk, and rice. Things Ben likes that I don't. It doesn't occur to me until I'm back at the house that I'm hungry but I haven't bought anything for me. I don't know whether I neglected to buy groceries for me because I knew I was leaving tomorrow and didn't want to waste money or because I've never been good at putting myself before others. You're more or less than welcome to draw your own conclusions, just draw them with pencil because you may change your mind later.
Celeste calls during my walk home to let me know that yesterday, someone broke into the coffeehouse and stole the cash register. In addition to the physical presence of the register, they also got away with all the money inside of it. Approximately forty cents in pennies. Somewhere, there's a very winded, very pissed off thief. I'm presuming they ran, because it's hard to look nonchalant when ambling around Boston with a cash register under your arm or trenchcoat.
I'm tired now, but not sleepy. I've got a million things to write about, but can't seem to get them to lineup properly in my mind. I'm still hungry, but not motivated enough to go out and get something to eat. Tomorrow is a banquet. I will eat every bite that's offered, and with any luck, won't crack until the very end.
***
When I get back from Connecticut, and Ben gets back from New York, he is all apologies and duct tape band aids. He takes me out to the movies. We go to the Different Twist for dinner with Trick and Celeste. He tells us about his trip. "It was awful. I decided to try two hits at once, and I ended up spending most of the night outside, trying to talk to the rocks or some shit. When I came back in, I borrowed Lissabelle's cell phone to call you, but you didn't answer. Thank God. Anyway, I gave the phone back to her, or at least, I thought I did. When we were getting ready to leave this morning, she said she couldn't find it. So I cleaned the entire commune. Twice. No phone. I unpacked all my stuff, and repacked it, and unpacked it, and repacked it. No phone. She kept screaming at me and telling me what a terrible person I was. And I wanted to find the phone, not just to shut her up, but so I could call you, because I desperately needed to hear someone say something nice to me."
Trick coughs conspicuously. Apparently, Celeste told him about the I Don't Love You Conversation.
"Anyway, she had one of her friends hypnotize me, to see if that would help me remember what I did with the phone. I didn't. And when we finally gave up, Lissabelle put her coat on, and the phone was right there in her pocket, and the bitch didn't even apologize."
"Wait," Trick says, "you thought to get hypnotized in order to find her phone, but you didn't think to have her check her pockets. Why not just burn the house down and use a metal detector to find it?"
"Booooo. Anyway, we're going back next week because I was only able to get a dozen hits, and I have friends coming down to visit tomorrow. Oh, Celeste, can Safey stay with you while my friends are in town?"
I flinch. Trick flinches. Celeste rolls her eyes. "Of course. Did you think of, I don't know, asking Safey how he felt about it before asking me."
And he dribbles forth more apologies. And he pays for my pizza. And whatever.
At work, the next day, I am so far beyond overtired, that I strongly suspect the ASL sign for coma was invented to describe the way I feel. Ben calls the work phone around eight to ask me to bring him some food. I say "Sure thing, baby, I'll see you when I get home."
Things wrong with that statement:
1. Baby? What the hell?
2. Ben's apartment is not home.
A few minutes later, one of the new waitresses, Hill, taps me on the shoulder and says "Ben is on the phone for you again."
I decide to be funny, to go way over the top with the whole baby thing, so I put on my sexy phone voice and say "Hey, baby," (shudder) "what's up?"
"Baby?" Says Ben my boss, not Ben my future ex-boyfriend. "It's Ben."
And I say "Uhhhh....Hey?"
And when I weasel my way out of that conversation, David (my almost mutual infatuation partner), who's been standing around the corner the whole time says "Baby? Who's your baby?"
And I say, "No one. I'm just really drunk." And it's true, four Peachtree Schnapps, Smirnoff, Peaches, Chambord and Champagne will do that to you. But, given how stressful this week has been, the solution seems to be, drink more. So, after work, David and I take the T together, discussing everything but the word baby. I get off the T and head to Ben's house where we take loads of digital pictures, change our LiveJournal layouts, and drink Rated X liquor, thus keeping everything I've drunk, a fluorescent shade of pink. And while we drink and take pictures,we play En Vogue's Funky Divas album.
"This is so gay. You're not allowed to tell anyone about this." Ben says. "Especially not the part about how I got really into it and sang the lyrics in the most sincere way possible."
"Ok." I say. "I won't."