Pablo and I Have It Out
Okay, first a little background. Pablo is an Unreliable Narrator, a fictional character with flaws. When you see something through their eyes, it is usually through the haze of a lot of issues and internal contradictions, thus, misunderstood and thus unreliable - if taken literally. Some famous Unreliable Narrators through history have been Huckleberry Finn, Addie in "The Sound and the Fury", Holden Caulfield, Private Yossarian, Humbert Humbert, and just about everybody in "The Fight Club".
The problem is they are perpetually out of work, always looking for a story they can tell. They go from writer to writer, invading their skulls, whispering in their ear and fogging their eyesight until someone finally gives them a world they can inhabit. In that sense they are the exact opposite of Muses. Muses are truth tellers. Whether they know it or not.
Why Pablo has settled on me, I do not know. He is everything, I am not: heterosexual, a parent (though not a very good one), a womanizer and a drunkard. He's shrewd without being terribly intellectual. And, worst of all - he's a Republican.
"Why not? I am a small business man. I hate taxes. I hate Obamacare. I made my own bootstraps."
"Are you a citizen?"
"That's a racist question. You wouldn't ask a Chinese person if he was a citizen, even though the odds are just as great that they're here on a student or an extended visa."
"How do you know all that terminology?"
"Oh, so you think I'm dumb? I couldn't possibly know this from paying attention to the news. I read. I have a good mind. Keep this up amigo, and I will take my skills elsewhere."
But, I will say this about Pablo. He worries far less about Crosby than I do. In fact, he doesn't quite understand the attraction.
"He's a sweet kid. But, still..."
"What?"
"He's not gay!"
This is true. Crosby hasn't given my gaydar any reason to beep or ring or buzz since he reached puberty. There was that little infatuation with the super self-infatuated Hope back in the "Hope and Crosby" days of high school. But, even that, I think devolved more to Hope's benefit than Crosby's. In fact, I think the whole Hope family made out like bandits when it came to St. Michael's, but, that's another story.
"It has nothing to do with sexuality.", I replied.
To which Pablo practically levitated, making me feel nauseous in the process.
"You forget I'm inside your head. You thought I was flirting with the Coffee Girl, but, I saw the way you looked up that boy's t-shirt every time he lifted an arm at Kitchen on Saturday. You're an armpit queen!"
I forgot about Crosby's armpit flash. It happened twice and, unless you're a connoisseur, you probably don't realize that armpit hair is the exact same texture as pubic hair.
"That. Will be. Quite enough. From you.", I replied in my best Katharine Hepburn imitation, "And, besides it will be winter soon and there will be no more armpits for a long while."
But, Pablo was just getting started.
"You're living in a fantasy, mi amigo. Some day you're going to wake up and he's going to be married with kids and living in Silver Lake."
"What's Silver Lake?"
"That's like Jersey."
"I hope I do live to see the day! That would mean, I've done my job.", I lied.
"Ha ha. Now, who's the Unreliable, liable..."
"Narrator."
The problem is they are perpetually out of work, always looking for a story they can tell. They go from writer to writer, invading their skulls, whispering in their ear and fogging their eyesight until someone finally gives them a world they can inhabit. In that sense they are the exact opposite of Muses. Muses are truth tellers. Whether they know it or not.
Why Pablo has settled on me, I do not know. He is everything, I am not: heterosexual, a parent (though not a very good one), a womanizer and a drunkard. He's shrewd without being terribly intellectual. And, worst of all - he's a Republican.
"Why not? I am a small business man. I hate taxes. I hate Obamacare. I made my own bootstraps."
"Are you a citizen?"
"That's a racist question. You wouldn't ask a Chinese person if he was a citizen, even though the odds are just as great that they're here on a student or an extended visa."
"How do you know all that terminology?"
"Oh, so you think I'm dumb? I couldn't possibly know this from paying attention to the news. I read. I have a good mind. Keep this up amigo, and I will take my skills elsewhere."
But, I will say this about Pablo. He worries far less about Crosby than I do. In fact, he doesn't quite understand the attraction.
"He's a sweet kid. But, still..."
"What?"
"He's not gay!"
This is true. Crosby hasn't given my gaydar any reason to beep or ring or buzz since he reached puberty. There was that little infatuation with the super self-infatuated Hope back in the "Hope and Crosby" days of high school. But, even that, I think devolved more to Hope's benefit than Crosby's. In fact, I think the whole Hope family made out like bandits when it came to St. Michael's, but, that's another story.
"It has nothing to do with sexuality.", I replied.
To which Pablo practically levitated, making me feel nauseous in the process.
"You forget I'm inside your head. You thought I was flirting with the Coffee Girl, but, I saw the way you looked up that boy's t-shirt every time he lifted an arm at Kitchen on Saturday. You're an armpit queen!"
I forgot about Crosby's armpit flash. It happened twice and, unless you're a connoisseur, you probably don't realize that armpit hair is the exact same texture as pubic hair.
"That. Will be. Quite enough. From you.", I replied in my best Katharine Hepburn imitation, "And, besides it will be winter soon and there will be no more armpits for a long while."
But, Pablo was just getting started.
"You're living in a fantasy, mi amigo. Some day you're going to wake up and he's going to be married with kids and living in Silver Lake."
"What's Silver Lake?"
"That's like Jersey."
"I hope I do live to see the day! That would mean, I've done my job.", I lied.
"Ha ha. Now, who's the Unreliable, liable..."
"Narrator."