This little thing called 'life,' it's either red or blue. and it gives you head, then it kills you
I can lie here and listen to The Creatures and subconsciously transport to a time where, back at the first apartment, when it was just Nathan and me and Storm. I was stepping out of the bathroom, the slight glare of afternoon sun shown through the balcony windows reaching its way in as I got dressed in my funny colored jacket and multicolored-laced boots. Letting the grease in my head have its way to styling my hair. I can remember the smell of cleanliness throughout the apartment. The feeling of humidity emanating from the just used shower, stepping back into the bathroom to brush my teeth. All the while listening to "Slipping Away". All the time, almost every day listening to that damn The Creatures album. I was obsessed. And every time I listen to some track from that CD, it always puts me back into the memories of that apartment. Like the night Storm came home late in the night after his first shroom trip, me blasting his stereo with "Exterminating Angel" and "Prettiest Thing". Or "The 2nd Floor." I would dance to that track in the living room till I broke out in sweats. From that track 8 to the end 12th.
And I remember the nights that I would spend alone, feeling like I was going out of my mind, watching "The Machinist" alone, wearing my kilt with no underwear on underneath. Hours passed in the night while I stuck a Stereolab CD in to bide the time and pass out in the recliner chair because the cot in my room was uncomfortable. I was the only one without a decent bed in that place. Even Storm, who resigned in the living room had a mattress at the very least. I was either on the couch or the chair every night. "Metronomic Underground" would emanate. "Sudden Stars" would bring me joy. The CD "Instant O In the Universe" was short but sweet. I'd blast it while I set up Charlie Radiohead on the couch. I always claimed him to be 'resident', but he was just my tiny grey CD player/stereo that had speakers on either side of it, resembling eyes. I'd place that on top of some dirty clothes of either mine, Nathan or Storm's. I'd arrange it all very neatly with a shirt, overshirt, gloves, pants, shoes. It would resemble a person sitting on either the couch or the chair, one arm hanging laying on the back cushions while one arm was on the armrest. The gloves would imitate hands and I'd always put a note in between the fingers. Notes saying that we should watch "The Bourne Identity" when everybody gets home, or a note to tell Storm to quit doing coke, or just stupid notes with no reason. Of course, Charlie Radiohead would only exist when I was the last one in the house, and the last one to leave.
And oh man, once Storm brought home Genghis Tron's "Board Up The House" CD...it became my new obsession. Now every time I listen to "City On A Hill" or "Won't Come Back Alive" I'm put back into my old shoes, planted firmly in the cushions of the couch, high out of my mind, sitting in the darkness playing that awfully frightful game "Condemned 2".
Got damn, video games were the absolute peak of my obsessions in that old place. I burned myself out on them so bad. The night Chris came home (when he too moved into the tiny 2 bedroom) with "Skate," he and I could not put that shit down. We weren't content until all our magazine pictures were perfect, we weren't satisfied until all our skate tricks looked realistic and not blown out of reality by the likes of Tony Hawk impossible 20+ combo schematics. I was the only one between us two that made it to the XGames, and by that time, I was already playing that game straight for 12 hours some nights. Not an ounce of rest and I had to go work at the hospital, my eyes burned red, my fingers scorching stiff with temporary tendinitis.
I was finally glad when I couldn't finish that one impossible downhill race. Who knows, I'd probably be sent to a psych ward by now or at least lab-ratted up at a sleep clinic.
Many claim that the sense of smell is the greatest sense tied to memory. I could agree, there have been times that I have smelled something vaguely familiar and was transported...not necessarily to a place, but a wave of emotions attributed to some certain place or event. It's really quite remarkable. But I think sound has a big thing to do with it too...for me, especially in music. It's all I seem to do. Ever really seemed to do.
Countless times I have just sat there listening to music and have these visual journeys of little stories.
When I was in Jr. High, I had dozed off somewhat listening to Faith No More's radio single, that ending piano piece, so beautiful. A scene played out in my head of some lady in a house getting strangled to death by some guy in a trench coat behind her. The weapon was piano wire. It matched with the music so evocatively, I couldn't ignore it. By the time the piece was over, so was the story. Then we were given assignments in literature a few days later to write a 5 page story of anything. Needless to say, the visual became the backdrop for my story. Five pages of very loose story involving the murder of some detective's husband in her own house. When she came back to the crime scene alone, to pay her respects, that's when some guy came out of the shadows. The detail of the murder was much more concrete than the story. It revolved around graphic account of the woman's tears mixing with the blood, cutting off sound and breath. Falling dead with her husband. The ending I believe was that the killer was never caught. It was a very bleak ending.
That was the first time I got referred to the office and had a counselor question me if I was alright. Really, I was caught so off guard. I never saw what the big deal was.
But people will worry.
Music is easily one of the best ways to connect with people. What people listen to reveals who they are. And for a while, I was on this kick. Some summers ago, I started burning CDs for random strangers. Well, not random. More like people I would meet, and figure I'd like to get to know them better. I had burned two CDs of Apocalyptica for Storm one day, but I ended up crossing paths with an air-drummer at a bus stop. The guy and I got on the same bus and I kept watching him. He was really enjoying himself. Eventually, the guy got off to get home, and I got off with him even though the stop was miles away from my destination. I had a brief chat with the guy asking him what he was listening to. Metallica, he replied. And out of sheer "coincidence," I had these Apocalyptica CDs. They are pretty famous for covering Metallica songs in their own heavy metal violin orchestra get-up they do. So I gave one CD to the guy, he had never heard of them before. I informed him there were some Metallica covers on it and he rode his bike home happy.
When Apocalyptica came to town last year, I was hoping to make it, but didn't have the time or the money. I wonder if I ever would've seen the guy there. Probably. Metallica was headlining. Phh, almost forgot.
Then I started burning CDs for girls. Never one stable genre, always mixed up. I think the first I gave to was some girl named Sarah who worked at the Robeks Juice at the Foothills Mall. I thought she was cute, so I figure maybe this would be cool. Turns out she only liked country and pop. I never would have guessed.
Then back at the TMC last year, Jenna, a diet-tech who started working back in the diet office with Nathan. Super cute, I burned her a couple of CDs, to discover she appreciated the April March and the Stereolab on some of them. So I burned her a "French Mix" that consisted more of Stereolab and April March's french language songs. She liked it, and later on I found out she was more into techno. Found out that she too was vegetarian, so we hit up Lovin' Spoonfuls a month or two later. She had never been.
Then there was that 14-year-old who started coming in. I was burning her CDs left and right. No matter her age, we were attracted to each other. She enjoyed the stuff, but I found out even though she was into metal, she was a huge fan of Maroon 5. I didn't care, we were making out every day in the cafeteria when nobody was looking. Especially when her mom wasn't looking. Fucking shameless at the time.
Then come around the time Storm's sister started showing up at the apartment with her friend Candess. Damn, that first night when I was using her computer, she was rubbing my ass. Trouble immediately. But nonetheless, I burned her a mix CD as well. She gave me her long bracelet. I had to compensate. Then come around the time Alexa's 17th birthday party hits, her, another girl, a couple of guys and Candess are at the apartment with Nathan, Storm, Chris, and a fridge full of booze. Candess was already pretty buzzed, and she was all over me appreciating the music I gave her, and then we started talking about "Hard Candy" and how artsy and fucking awesome it is. Meanwhile I was sharing her my thai food and drinking her wine coolers and liquor. Then she starts getting all over me. All over me as I'm playing the guitar, then all over me when I'm done. I took her to the room and we were all over each other for the rest of the night.
And then come around the time I meet Jeordie. Well, I met her briefly way before any of this underage girl nonsense starts. I bought a shoehorn. For a weapon, I'm sure, at the Shoe Pavillion that used to exist on Broadway and Craycroft. She had the right idea when I bought it. "Great for beating little kids," she says. Her dark auburn hair was so short, like an inch and a half at most, with these tattoos on her arms and that strange name on her nametag. I see her briefly for 2 minutes that day as I purhase this thing and eventually I get hooked. I spot her at the Park Place Mall. Usually reading a book I notice whenever I pass through. Either that or surrounded by a bunch of kids with long hair, dark clothes, piercings. Eventually I decide to burn her a CD the week that I quit the TMC. I drop off asking her for an app and then place the CD in front of her, "This is for you." The track listings on the back. She says to come back in 7 days to pick up an app. I wait 8. By the time I'm there, I can see the excitement in her eyes. She tells me that she couldn't stop listening to the CD, and she opens up her CD player and there it is. "The mix for the girl with the nifty name."
I fill out the application, turn it in to her and she has me plant down on the stool to talk to her. I'm sitting there with my bright yellow shorts, my Freddy Krueger striped knee high socks and my mismatched boots. For the life of me, I can't remember what the hell we talked about that day. I'm pretty sure it was an informal interview. But I know I didn't stay long. I walk away, content knowing that I already start in a week. I walk back though, I get the idea to ask for her number. I go back and ask, "This may be a jump, but could I get your number?"
She writes it down on a sticky little pink post-it and hands it over. Later that night, I ask her if she'll be available the next day for a date. A movie and food. But just a movie.
The next day, I walk over at around 4, the time she gets off. She's wearing this black top, straps, blue jeans that fan out on the bottom and contain this interesting flower rip design along the sides. Black heels. Red lipstick. The eyes behind her glasses, the eyelids are half black, half white. Stunning.
I'm wearing my purple corduroy pants, green long-sleeve shirt, I have my jedi braid braided and my dark red white and blue beanie on. Who knows if I was stunning.
We wait for the "Pineapple Express" showing to start, we're outside talking. She tells me she was raised on a farm and such. Just little details that make her who she is, this first night, little things.
We watch the movie and enjoy ourselves. After it, we head to the tunnels and we lay on the concrete in the darkness, darker and darker as the sun sets. We're talking, my heart is racing, you can hear it, we lay on top of each other soaking up silence before I tell her to kiss me. She does and before long, we're slowly dozing. We get waked by some horrible scream. I swear it sounds like somebody is getting murdered. We both shot up and I climb my way out to see around the parking lots, but I can't tell where it came from, and the scream never came again. We decide to split, she invites me to her place to watch her favorite movie. "The Labyrinth". I get introduced to her family that night, and I see her change into a simple top and short shorts, meanwhile I'm still looking how I did. I'm poking fun at David Bowie's bulge the whole movie, her and I just laughing. When it's over, it's already 10 or 11 something at night. She asks what I'm going to do. I tell her I can walk home, no problem. But I don't even know where I was. That side of town was completely new to me. She invites me to stay. I go to her room and she climbs in bed, opening the covers for me to join. We sleep that night. The next day, kid you not, is her 21st birthday. We get up, only two in the entire house. I tell her that we'll do whatever she wants. She's already dressed in her Marylin Monroe white dress and heels. Her hair is all shot up spikey. She wants to go to 4th avenue. I say sure, we catch a bus ride there. She picks up some jewelry and we meet up with some of her friends. This is the day I find out the majority of her friends are gay guys. After some wandering, and after she goes into an abandoned building to get high, and after I'm through blowing my guts out in a bathroom of some random store, we meet up with Rod. He joins us on the ride back to my place. Me and him play a few rounds of KOF and I tell him to leave. My friends come back home to see the girlfriend I got, and then her and I have the rest of the night together. It's this time that I give her the best present I could offer anybody at the time. Oh boy, it's packed full of fun. And all the while, music is always playing.
Around this time, Jenna came back with a burned techno CD for me. Vitalic's "Okay Cowboy". Wasn't half bad. Jeordie and I both enjoyed it.
Things go well, we're having fun. We go out and get tattoos together. She gets my name tattooed on her. My name is entwined in the design of a butterfly wing. She thinks I'm the one.
Later on, later later on, we start divulging secrets to each other. Around the same time we're making promises. She's beginning to tell me of all her fucked up events in her past. How her dad used to kill the animals she loved, how her mother used to have men come in and rape her, how she started getting personality splits, and was angry at everything that was happening to her. How she had to go through therapy in order to get passed it all. Meanwhile, I tell her how I used to abuse animals, how I was molested, how I used the internet in order to exploit certain people. All these around the same time we were promising to always stay with each other. Promising to grow old, start a band, travel to Europe. Frankly, there should've been ground rules...and at least some time in between the secrets. We were telling each other one a day it seemed. And then winter hit, the season she says she gets "depressed." By this time, we were wrapped up in some sort of dark tunnel. Or maybe it was just me. So I cried some nights, worrying about the worst. The fucking worst. I let it eat me up and I tell her that I have "fantasies" of killing her. "Fantasies"...what a poor choice of word. What a poor choice of decision.
A week later, the gravity of the situation pulls her down and she informs me that she tells her folks what I said. This is right before Thanksgiving. "Thanks for giving me this worry, Alex." It feels like, in retrospect.
One night, she can't sleep with me in her bed anymore. With all the stuffed animals on her bed, she scoots them away and she doesn't get comfortable. I don't find out until later that it's because she keeps thinking I'm going to pull one of her stuffed bears or cats, or skunks, cute little and big things and smother her in her sleep. It fucking still kills me knowing this.
Around this time she tells me to see a therapist or we're through. She takes Koda away. She takes some of her stuff away from my apartment.
Slowly, but surely, feelings of hers dwindle, meanwhile I'm still holding on. To what? Nothing really, just some hope of something better, but it never shows up.
I try to see the therapist, I talk about the things I said. The mistakes. Meanwhile these people in their turtleneck sweaters and their clipboards, they ask me questions with no feeling behind them. In these offices. Silence between me and them. Scratches of pencils and pens on paper. Droning hums from air conditioning units and computers. The walls have no color, just blank with calendars advertised of drugs I have never heard of. I'm standing on weight scales looking down. More advertisements of unheard of drugs. Same bland colors of green pastures and blue skies. Then to top it all off, the therapist goes behind me into this giant cabinet packed full of boxes of different drugs. He's laying them out on the counter, writing prescriptions, telling me how many to take, when to take.
Taking all this in, I figure this too, is a giant mistake.
I quit, Jeordie's through with me, the therapists keep calling on my phone telling me to return.
People worry.
All this around Christmas.
I'm listening to Boyd Rice. His songs "People" and "Disneyland." It's all so fitting.
Now, gas got shut off for the apartment, Nathan has already moved out, Chris is nowhere to be found. Storm moved out months ago. None could bother to help. I have no more of Jeordie's stuff. She has nothing of mine. I'm spending the last few weeks in an empty apartment, a cold apartment. I quickly end up catching one of the worst colds of my life. I'm hacking up half a lung every night, and not getting more than 4 hours of sleep a night, if that. The only thing that kept me from going and destroying that place was cleaning that place. By myself. With sleep deprivation, my immune system down, my spirits down, I still had to keep myself up. Still hanging onto that hope.
In between cleaning, I had myself set up in Nathan's room wrapping presents. Specifically everything I got for Jeordie. Well-rounded at close to 200 dollars worth of stuff. Everything she said she wanted. Accumulated stuff, some even before the complication.
They say creativity is the cure to insanity. Well, I say that. But maybe creativity is a by-product of insanity. I'll never know.
I spent a good amount of time wrapping this entire box inside and out with this felt silver wrapping paper, making everything look pretty. All her presents were wrapped up so nicely. I eventually found the time to purchase some tap blacklights and paint that glowed under aforementioned blacklights. I drew all these different designs inside the box and all over the wrapped gifts. I was able to fix the blacklights to the lid of the box. You tap them on, close the lid, open it, everything inside the box glitters and glows with dragonflys, patterns, swirls, planets, stars, pentagrams, worms. I would have to say that I was very proud at it all.
By the time I finished with it, it was already Eve. I decided to personally deliver it to her place while she was working. I even had the time to fashion my own lock system on the box. Making it so the only way you could get to the stuff inside was to break the box or use the keys I provided.
I got to her place only to discover she was already sleeping with somebody else.
Talk about gifts.
Talk about the icing on top of your crappy cake.
Really, talk about your holiday fruit cake.
Yet, somehow, I still managed to keep a straight-face when I told him to have a good Christmas--him in her pajama clothes.
You cannot imagine the rage I felt inside of me after that Christmas. After all that trouble, not even getting a 'thank you' when I saw her face to face.
It took everything I had to not make the same mistake I made with Alex. Not to take it out on her, not to hurt her. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. All I could do was bash my own brains out and piss her off. But thankfully, I had one friend who I could count on.
Abe helped me through the final stages of moving out and cleaning that apartment. Me still sick, we found the time to throw all the unused furniture down the flight of steps. It feels really good to bash a metal pole against cabinets and box spring mattresses.
The unused mattresses we took to my mom so she could sleep better.
Doomriders' "Ride or Die" was playing that night.
If there is anything to be learned from that 2008 experience, it's (but not limited to):
1.Never jump in head first into shallow waters.
2.If you want something done, not even done right...just done, you got to do it yourself.
3.If you do something and expect something in return, and you don't get anything, if it upsets you; best you live a life of virtue.
4.And never tell your girlfriend you have fantasies of killing her.
-
Jump a two months after that.
To now, where I'm just sitting on my bed at my dad's place. My headphones are on, listening to The Creatures again. Reminding me of simpler times in the first apartment.
Friday was a good day for me. I got back in touch with Jenna. We went and saw "Push" which really fucking blew. Don't see it unless you're into great concepts being dragged through the mud by poor plot design and not enough action.
We went to Sushi Garden that night where I pigged out on all-you-can-eat sushi and she had a vegetable medley with rice. Smart girl.
She drove me home, we were listening to the April March she put on a mix CD of hers for when she traveled to Sedona over the Christmas time. Then we were listening to Aqua "Barbie Girl" and a few 80s songs. Both our favorite era for music. I hopped the brick fence of home only for me to discover that I was locked out of my own place. Nobody was due home for another 9 hours. I had no key. Abe picked me up and I spent the night at his place.
Today I went out by myself to mail out some books to Jay who now lives in Phoenix. Crazy. She's been getting into Palahniuk, which is surprising. So I mailed her out "Survivor" and "Lullaby". I also mailed her out Garland's "The Beach." Both the movie and the book are top notch. I proceeded to the gem show to pick up some stuff for me, my mom, and Jenna.
I'll probably only ever see Jenna once in a blue moon, so I figure I'd get her something to remember me by.
After all, it's a little tough to forget somebody who likes Aqua, especially when you wake up with that song in your head.
She's so busy with school and working with fat children.
That is all.
Make some music, dipshits.
And I remember the nights that I would spend alone, feeling like I was going out of my mind, watching "The Machinist" alone, wearing my kilt with no underwear on underneath. Hours passed in the night while I stuck a Stereolab CD in to bide the time and pass out in the recliner chair because the cot in my room was uncomfortable. I was the only one without a decent bed in that place. Even Storm, who resigned in the living room had a mattress at the very least. I was either on the couch or the chair every night. "Metronomic Underground" would emanate. "Sudden Stars" would bring me joy. The CD "Instant O In the Universe" was short but sweet. I'd blast it while I set up Charlie Radiohead on the couch. I always claimed him to be 'resident', but he was just my tiny grey CD player/stereo that had speakers on either side of it, resembling eyes. I'd place that on top of some dirty clothes of either mine, Nathan or Storm's. I'd arrange it all very neatly with a shirt, overshirt, gloves, pants, shoes. It would resemble a person sitting on either the couch or the chair, one arm hanging laying on the back cushions while one arm was on the armrest. The gloves would imitate hands and I'd always put a note in between the fingers. Notes saying that we should watch "The Bourne Identity" when everybody gets home, or a note to tell Storm to quit doing coke, or just stupid notes with no reason. Of course, Charlie Radiohead would only exist when I was the last one in the house, and the last one to leave.
And oh man, once Storm brought home Genghis Tron's "Board Up The House" CD...it became my new obsession. Now every time I listen to "City On A Hill" or "Won't Come Back Alive" I'm put back into my old shoes, planted firmly in the cushions of the couch, high out of my mind, sitting in the darkness playing that awfully frightful game "Condemned 2".
Got damn, video games were the absolute peak of my obsessions in that old place. I burned myself out on them so bad. The night Chris came home (when he too moved into the tiny 2 bedroom) with "Skate," he and I could not put that shit down. We weren't content until all our magazine pictures were perfect, we weren't satisfied until all our skate tricks looked realistic and not blown out of reality by the likes of Tony Hawk impossible 20+ combo schematics. I was the only one between us two that made it to the XGames, and by that time, I was already playing that game straight for 12 hours some nights. Not an ounce of rest and I had to go work at the hospital, my eyes burned red, my fingers scorching stiff with temporary tendinitis.
I was finally glad when I couldn't finish that one impossible downhill race. Who knows, I'd probably be sent to a psych ward by now or at least lab-ratted up at a sleep clinic.
Many claim that the sense of smell is the greatest sense tied to memory. I could agree, there have been times that I have smelled something vaguely familiar and was transported...not necessarily to a place, but a wave of emotions attributed to some certain place or event. It's really quite remarkable. But I think sound has a big thing to do with it too...for me, especially in music. It's all I seem to do. Ever really seemed to do.
Countless times I have just sat there listening to music and have these visual journeys of little stories.
When I was in Jr. High, I had dozed off somewhat listening to Faith No More's radio single, that ending piano piece, so beautiful. A scene played out in my head of some lady in a house getting strangled to death by some guy in a trench coat behind her. The weapon was piano wire. It matched with the music so evocatively, I couldn't ignore it. By the time the piece was over, so was the story. Then we were given assignments in literature a few days later to write a 5 page story of anything. Needless to say, the visual became the backdrop for my story. Five pages of very loose story involving the murder of some detective's husband in her own house. When she came back to the crime scene alone, to pay her respects, that's when some guy came out of the shadows. The detail of the murder was much more concrete than the story. It revolved around graphic account of the woman's tears mixing with the blood, cutting off sound and breath. Falling dead with her husband. The ending I believe was that the killer was never caught. It was a very bleak ending.
That was the first time I got referred to the office and had a counselor question me if I was alright. Really, I was caught so off guard. I never saw what the big deal was.
But people will worry.
Music is easily one of the best ways to connect with people. What people listen to reveals who they are. And for a while, I was on this kick. Some summers ago, I started burning CDs for random strangers. Well, not random. More like people I would meet, and figure I'd like to get to know them better. I had burned two CDs of Apocalyptica for Storm one day, but I ended up crossing paths with an air-drummer at a bus stop. The guy and I got on the same bus and I kept watching him. He was really enjoying himself. Eventually, the guy got off to get home, and I got off with him even though the stop was miles away from my destination. I had a brief chat with the guy asking him what he was listening to. Metallica, he replied. And out of sheer "coincidence," I had these Apocalyptica CDs. They are pretty famous for covering Metallica songs in their own heavy metal violin orchestra get-up they do. So I gave one CD to the guy, he had never heard of them before. I informed him there were some Metallica covers on it and he rode his bike home happy.
When Apocalyptica came to town last year, I was hoping to make it, but didn't have the time or the money. I wonder if I ever would've seen the guy there. Probably. Metallica was headlining. Phh, almost forgot.
Then I started burning CDs for girls. Never one stable genre, always mixed up. I think the first I gave to was some girl named Sarah who worked at the Robeks Juice at the Foothills Mall. I thought she was cute, so I figure maybe this would be cool. Turns out she only liked country and pop. I never would have guessed.
Then back at the TMC last year, Jenna, a diet-tech who started working back in the diet office with Nathan. Super cute, I burned her a couple of CDs, to discover she appreciated the April March and the Stereolab on some of them. So I burned her a "French Mix" that consisted more of Stereolab and April March's french language songs. She liked it, and later on I found out she was more into techno. Found out that she too was vegetarian, so we hit up Lovin' Spoonfuls a month or two later. She had never been.
Then there was that 14-year-old who started coming in. I was burning her CDs left and right. No matter her age, we were attracted to each other. She enjoyed the stuff, but I found out even though she was into metal, she was a huge fan of Maroon 5. I didn't care, we were making out every day in the cafeteria when nobody was looking. Especially when her mom wasn't looking. Fucking shameless at the time.
Then come around the time Storm's sister started showing up at the apartment with her friend Candess. Damn, that first night when I was using her computer, she was rubbing my ass. Trouble immediately. But nonetheless, I burned her a mix CD as well. She gave me her long bracelet. I had to compensate. Then come around the time Alexa's 17th birthday party hits, her, another girl, a couple of guys and Candess are at the apartment with Nathan, Storm, Chris, and a fridge full of booze. Candess was already pretty buzzed, and she was all over me appreciating the music I gave her, and then we started talking about "Hard Candy" and how artsy and fucking awesome it is. Meanwhile I was sharing her my thai food and drinking her wine coolers and liquor. Then she starts getting all over me. All over me as I'm playing the guitar, then all over me when I'm done. I took her to the room and we were all over each other for the rest of the night.
And then come around the time I meet Jeordie. Well, I met her briefly way before any of this underage girl nonsense starts. I bought a shoehorn. For a weapon, I'm sure, at the Shoe Pavillion that used to exist on Broadway and Craycroft. She had the right idea when I bought it. "Great for beating little kids," she says. Her dark auburn hair was so short, like an inch and a half at most, with these tattoos on her arms and that strange name on her nametag. I see her briefly for 2 minutes that day as I purhase this thing and eventually I get hooked. I spot her at the Park Place Mall. Usually reading a book I notice whenever I pass through. Either that or surrounded by a bunch of kids with long hair, dark clothes, piercings. Eventually I decide to burn her a CD the week that I quit the TMC. I drop off asking her for an app and then place the CD in front of her, "This is for you." The track listings on the back. She says to come back in 7 days to pick up an app. I wait 8. By the time I'm there, I can see the excitement in her eyes. She tells me that she couldn't stop listening to the CD, and she opens up her CD player and there it is. "The mix for the girl with the nifty name."
I fill out the application, turn it in to her and she has me plant down on the stool to talk to her. I'm sitting there with my bright yellow shorts, my Freddy Krueger striped knee high socks and my mismatched boots. For the life of me, I can't remember what the hell we talked about that day. I'm pretty sure it was an informal interview. But I know I didn't stay long. I walk away, content knowing that I already start in a week. I walk back though, I get the idea to ask for her number. I go back and ask, "This may be a jump, but could I get your number?"
She writes it down on a sticky little pink post-it and hands it over. Later that night, I ask her if she'll be available the next day for a date. A movie and food. But just a movie.
The next day, I walk over at around 4, the time she gets off. She's wearing this black top, straps, blue jeans that fan out on the bottom and contain this interesting flower rip design along the sides. Black heels. Red lipstick. The eyes behind her glasses, the eyelids are half black, half white. Stunning.
I'm wearing my purple corduroy pants, green long-sleeve shirt, I have my jedi braid braided and my dark red white and blue beanie on. Who knows if I was stunning.
We wait for the "Pineapple Express" showing to start, we're outside talking. She tells me she was raised on a farm and such. Just little details that make her who she is, this first night, little things.
We watch the movie and enjoy ourselves. After it, we head to the tunnels and we lay on the concrete in the darkness, darker and darker as the sun sets. We're talking, my heart is racing, you can hear it, we lay on top of each other soaking up silence before I tell her to kiss me. She does and before long, we're slowly dozing. We get waked by some horrible scream. I swear it sounds like somebody is getting murdered. We both shot up and I climb my way out to see around the parking lots, but I can't tell where it came from, and the scream never came again. We decide to split, she invites me to her place to watch her favorite movie. "The Labyrinth". I get introduced to her family that night, and I see her change into a simple top and short shorts, meanwhile I'm still looking how I did. I'm poking fun at David Bowie's bulge the whole movie, her and I just laughing. When it's over, it's already 10 or 11 something at night. She asks what I'm going to do. I tell her I can walk home, no problem. But I don't even know where I was. That side of town was completely new to me. She invites me to stay. I go to her room and she climbs in bed, opening the covers for me to join. We sleep that night. The next day, kid you not, is her 21st birthday. We get up, only two in the entire house. I tell her that we'll do whatever she wants. She's already dressed in her Marylin Monroe white dress and heels. Her hair is all shot up spikey. She wants to go to 4th avenue. I say sure, we catch a bus ride there. She picks up some jewelry and we meet up with some of her friends. This is the day I find out the majority of her friends are gay guys. After some wandering, and after she goes into an abandoned building to get high, and after I'm through blowing my guts out in a bathroom of some random store, we meet up with Rod. He joins us on the ride back to my place. Me and him play a few rounds of KOF and I tell him to leave. My friends come back home to see the girlfriend I got, and then her and I have the rest of the night together. It's this time that I give her the best present I could offer anybody at the time. Oh boy, it's packed full of fun. And all the while, music is always playing.
Around this time, Jenna came back with a burned techno CD for me. Vitalic's "Okay Cowboy". Wasn't half bad. Jeordie and I both enjoyed it.
Things go well, we're having fun. We go out and get tattoos together. She gets my name tattooed on her. My name is entwined in the design of a butterfly wing. She thinks I'm the one.
Later on, later later on, we start divulging secrets to each other. Around the same time we're making promises. She's beginning to tell me of all her fucked up events in her past. How her dad used to kill the animals she loved, how her mother used to have men come in and rape her, how she started getting personality splits, and was angry at everything that was happening to her. How she had to go through therapy in order to get passed it all. Meanwhile, I tell her how I used to abuse animals, how I was molested, how I used the internet in order to exploit certain people. All these around the same time we were promising to always stay with each other. Promising to grow old, start a band, travel to Europe. Frankly, there should've been ground rules...and at least some time in between the secrets. We were telling each other one a day it seemed. And then winter hit, the season she says she gets "depressed." By this time, we were wrapped up in some sort of dark tunnel. Or maybe it was just me. So I cried some nights, worrying about the worst. The fucking worst. I let it eat me up and I tell her that I have "fantasies" of killing her. "Fantasies"...what a poor choice of word. What a poor choice of decision.
A week later, the gravity of the situation pulls her down and she informs me that she tells her folks what I said. This is right before Thanksgiving. "Thanks for giving me this worry, Alex." It feels like, in retrospect.
One night, she can't sleep with me in her bed anymore. With all the stuffed animals on her bed, she scoots them away and she doesn't get comfortable. I don't find out until later that it's because she keeps thinking I'm going to pull one of her stuffed bears or cats, or skunks, cute little and big things and smother her in her sleep. It fucking still kills me knowing this.
Around this time she tells me to see a therapist or we're through. She takes Koda away. She takes some of her stuff away from my apartment.
Slowly, but surely, feelings of hers dwindle, meanwhile I'm still holding on. To what? Nothing really, just some hope of something better, but it never shows up.
I try to see the therapist, I talk about the things I said. The mistakes. Meanwhile these people in their turtleneck sweaters and their clipboards, they ask me questions with no feeling behind them. In these offices. Silence between me and them. Scratches of pencils and pens on paper. Droning hums from air conditioning units and computers. The walls have no color, just blank with calendars advertised of drugs I have never heard of. I'm standing on weight scales looking down. More advertisements of unheard of drugs. Same bland colors of green pastures and blue skies. Then to top it all off, the therapist goes behind me into this giant cabinet packed full of boxes of different drugs. He's laying them out on the counter, writing prescriptions, telling me how many to take, when to take.
Taking all this in, I figure this too, is a giant mistake.
I quit, Jeordie's through with me, the therapists keep calling on my phone telling me to return.
People worry.
All this around Christmas.
I'm listening to Boyd Rice. His songs "People" and "Disneyland." It's all so fitting.
Now, gas got shut off for the apartment, Nathan has already moved out, Chris is nowhere to be found. Storm moved out months ago. None could bother to help. I have no more of Jeordie's stuff. She has nothing of mine. I'm spending the last few weeks in an empty apartment, a cold apartment. I quickly end up catching one of the worst colds of my life. I'm hacking up half a lung every night, and not getting more than 4 hours of sleep a night, if that. The only thing that kept me from going and destroying that place was cleaning that place. By myself. With sleep deprivation, my immune system down, my spirits down, I still had to keep myself up. Still hanging onto that hope.
In between cleaning, I had myself set up in Nathan's room wrapping presents. Specifically everything I got for Jeordie. Well-rounded at close to 200 dollars worth of stuff. Everything she said she wanted. Accumulated stuff, some even before the complication.
They say creativity is the cure to insanity. Well, I say that. But maybe creativity is a by-product of insanity. I'll never know.
I spent a good amount of time wrapping this entire box inside and out with this felt silver wrapping paper, making everything look pretty. All her presents were wrapped up so nicely. I eventually found the time to purchase some tap blacklights and paint that glowed under aforementioned blacklights. I drew all these different designs inside the box and all over the wrapped gifts. I was able to fix the blacklights to the lid of the box. You tap them on, close the lid, open it, everything inside the box glitters and glows with dragonflys, patterns, swirls, planets, stars, pentagrams, worms. I would have to say that I was very proud at it all.
By the time I finished with it, it was already Eve. I decided to personally deliver it to her place while she was working. I even had the time to fashion my own lock system on the box. Making it so the only way you could get to the stuff inside was to break the box or use the keys I provided.
I got to her place only to discover she was already sleeping with somebody else.
Talk about gifts.
Talk about the icing on top of your crappy cake.
Really, talk about your holiday fruit cake.
Yet, somehow, I still managed to keep a straight-face when I told him to have a good Christmas--him in her pajama clothes.
You cannot imagine the rage I felt inside of me after that Christmas. After all that trouble, not even getting a 'thank you' when I saw her face to face.
It took everything I had to not make the same mistake I made with Alex. Not to take it out on her, not to hurt her. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. All I could do was bash my own brains out and piss her off. But thankfully, I had one friend who I could count on.
Abe helped me through the final stages of moving out and cleaning that apartment. Me still sick, we found the time to throw all the unused furniture down the flight of steps. It feels really good to bash a metal pole against cabinets and box spring mattresses.
The unused mattresses we took to my mom so she could sleep better.
Doomriders' "Ride or Die" was playing that night.
If there is anything to be learned from that 2008 experience, it's (but not limited to):
1.Never jump in head first into shallow waters.
2.If you want something done, not even done right...just done, you got to do it yourself.
3.If you do something and expect something in return, and you don't get anything, if it upsets you; best you live a life of virtue.
4.And never tell your girlfriend you have fantasies of killing her.
-
Jump a two months after that.
To now, where I'm just sitting on my bed at my dad's place. My headphones are on, listening to The Creatures again. Reminding me of simpler times in the first apartment.
Friday was a good day for me. I got back in touch with Jenna. We went and saw "Push" which really fucking blew. Don't see it unless you're into great concepts being dragged through the mud by poor plot design and not enough action.
We went to Sushi Garden that night where I pigged out on all-you-can-eat sushi and she had a vegetable medley with rice. Smart girl.
She drove me home, we were listening to the April March she put on a mix CD of hers for when she traveled to Sedona over the Christmas time. Then we were listening to Aqua "Barbie Girl" and a few 80s songs. Both our favorite era for music. I hopped the brick fence of home only for me to discover that I was locked out of my own place. Nobody was due home for another 9 hours. I had no key. Abe picked me up and I spent the night at his place.
Today I went out by myself to mail out some books to Jay who now lives in Phoenix. Crazy. She's been getting into Palahniuk, which is surprising. So I mailed her out "Survivor" and "Lullaby". I also mailed her out Garland's "The Beach." Both the movie and the book are top notch. I proceeded to the gem show to pick up some stuff for me, my mom, and Jenna.
I'll probably only ever see Jenna once in a blue moon, so I figure I'd get her something to remember me by.
After all, it's a little tough to forget somebody who likes Aqua, especially when you wake up with that song in your head.
She's so busy with school and working with fat children.
That is all.
Make some music, dipshits.