(no subject)
PART 12
I sat on the couch with my roommate Nate. He read the Times on the far left side of the white futon, while I read a book on the right side. The apartment was dirty. Various boxes, books and bottles were strewn over the rusted refrigerator-door coffee table. Nate noticed three Tylenol's sitting alone on the rusted table.
"Are those yours?" He asked me.
"No. If I'm going to have a tylenol, it goes from the bottle to my mouth. There's no in between time. Just, whoop." I showed him the motion of how I take my tylenol.
"I didn't think they were yours. Since you're sick, I wondered though."
We knew whose they were. Recently we acquired a fourth roommate. A good guy, a hell of a guy, but the type to leave a half drunken glass of milk out for weeks.
"You know what" Nate continued "I'll bet he was the kid who ate dirt. I'll bet you anything he and J. Wes were the kids that just sat around eating dirt."
I put my book on the table and stood up. "I ought to go to work."
"Ok." He said.
I threw on a jacket and left.
PART 13
Washing dishes with the flu is hell. Everything inside of you tries to escape any way possible. It's an all out bodily fluid revolt. Your entire self turning against you. Cursed nose. Blasted ass. It was getting chilly, but I was sweating over the hot tub of water in the sink.
I washed a large metal pot with waffle batter caked along the inside rim. "Did you hear the news Horace, or didn't you?" The manager always wore cut off jean shorts, and a sort of Calvin and Hobbes small brimmed hat. They all called me Horace at the cafe. "What's that?" He seemed happy to know I hadn't heard the news. He wound up, his torso twisting a bit as if his spine were a loose spring rolling and falling, trying to stay prostrate. "There's going to be a proposal in here today." "What do you mean?" "Some guy wants to propose to his girlfriend here." He finished. I set the pot down in the sink and wiped my brow.
"Why the hell would anyone want to propose to anybody here?"
"I don't know Horace. Maybe it has a special meaning for them." He looked around, as if there were maybe somebody else he could be telling this to. Some one more enthusiastic. "Anyhow, I don't think the girl even knows he's in town. The whole things supposed to be a big surprise."
"Well, I hope it works out."
A little while later I took another break. I sat out in the garden and smoked a cigarette. Why the hell was I smoking with the flu. If you ever wonder how bad cigarettes are for you, just smoke when you're sick. At a table a couple yards away sat a very nice looking couple. The man looked like a young Charles Bronson, with the thin mustache and dark skin. The woman had dark skin as well, perhaps they were part Indian. I thought about how Indians like to be called Native American. I felt bad about thinking Indian instead of Native American. I wished I could right the situation somehow. If I couldn't start thinking with a certain political correctness I knew I'd be sure to go on getting myself in awkward situations. I looked at the tan couple a while longer. I was five days into the flu and lovesick. I felt like hell for thinking "Indian" instead of "Native American". I decided to clear my conscious.
"Excuse me. Sorry. You're a wonderful couple. Really handsome. Are you two Native American?"
The man looked up at me and smiled.
"Oh no. We're Orientals."
PART 14
I had gotten off work, but was hanging around drinking beers in the garden waiting for this marriage proposal. Drinking and smoking cigarettes. I knew it was no way to get over the flu, but I had to pass the time somehow. I got on the phone and called up a couple people I hadn't spoken to in a while to let them know about the proposal. I went ahead and told a few of them that it was me that was getting married. They'd hoot and holler and congratulate me and say "you dog" or "you gotta be kidding me". I couldn't keep it going too long so I'd tell them it was actually somebody else getting married but that I was going to watch. I'd get off the phone pretty quick after that because a few of them had felt I was playing with their emotions a bit insensitively. I'd just say "why do you care so much whether or not I get married?" Then the call would end and I'd go back out to my table where my beer was. I figured I probably wouldn't talk to those people for another long while.
Just when I felt I had waited long enough, and that this thing was never going to happen, Ryan Gosling came walking out into the garden. I figured he could keep me company enough while I waited for the proposal.
"Hey Ryan Gosling!"
Gosling looked at me. He didn't seem too excited at the fact that I was there.
"What are you doing here?"
"I work here Gos." I had just come up with the nickname 'Gos' for him. "It's where we met for hell's sake."
"I didn't realize you worked here." He looked kind of sick himself.
"Yeah."
"How long are you staying?"
"It's a free country Gos."
He looked around. He seemed very concerned.
"Listen. This is a very important night for me, ok? Very important. And no matter what we have between us, can you please let it go tonight, and just, just please leave."
"I think I'll go ahead and stick around Gos."
"I'll give you a hundred bucks if you leave." He seemed desperate.
"Look man, I'm here to watch a wedding proposal. Its got nothing to do with you."
"That's me man! I'm proposing!" He started to raise his voice.
"What? No. I wouldn't do that. You're not ready to get married at all."
"Fuck. I can't believe this." He paced away for a second, running his hands through his hair. Then this attractive black woman who was pregnant came walking out into the garden. I recognized her from the time Ryan Gosling had made her wait. She saw Ryan and looked surprised.
"Oh my God, baby. I didn't know you were in town." She went to hug him.
"I wanted to surprise you." He said. They hugged.
I rubbed my hands together. "Here it comes."
Gos gave me a mean look and kissed her on the cheek. "I wanted to talk to you. Umm, but maybe we should go somewhere else."
"Come on, I've been sticking around here drinking and smoking with the flu just so I could watch this thing. Just do it here."
The black woman looked at me. "What?" She looked to Ryan. "Do what here?"
"Umm, nothing. It's nothing. I don't know what he's talking about."
"Look if you can't do it in front of me, maybe you're not ready to do it at all." I told him. "I remember the girl with the tan legs. I know your past, and maybe you've grown a bit since then, but if you've got something to hide from this lady girl, who, don't forget, you have stood up before, maybe a little courtship would do you good."
"What's he talking about?" She asked Ryan again.
"It's nothing, he's that guy I told you about. Remember?" She looked to me.
"Why are you so concerned about our business?"
"Look. I'm just trying to help. I'm not perfect myself, I know that. But if Gos isn't being honest with his past to you I don't know if marriage is the answer."
She looked to Ryan again. "Marriage?" Ryan smiled sheepishly then quickly turned and swung his fist toward my face. His knuckles landed over my brow, jogging my brain. I fell over onto the table where I had been sitting. I felt my cup of beer wetting my back. I looked up at the sky as it spun above. The stars melted into each other, having no origin anymore. The sky was just a mess of light and dark, swimming in circles overhead. I tried to sit up as I heard the post punch murmur from the small group in the garden. The black girl took Ryan's hand.
"Baby come on." Ryan paced a bit. A dancing blur in front of me. I was trying to stay conscious.
"Ok. Maybe you are ready for marriage." I picked up my spilled cup of beer and tried to finish the last sip that had survived through the commotion.
"What is this marriage talk?" She kept asking.
"I was going to propose to you. I want to marry you. I want you to marry me. But this guy... is everywhere I go. Ruining everything I try to do."
Things were coming back into focus. The situation was calming. She seemed to love him still even though he had just hit a guy with the flu. "Baby." She started to cry. "Of course I want to marry you." Now was my chance. I jumped up and punched Ryan in the shoulder. It wasn't where I was aiming but I was a bit dizzier than I had estimated. It was a bad move on my part. Gosling was sober and strong. He was healthy and full of love. He cocked back his fist and started hitting me. I only felt the first few hits. Finally he let me push him off. I spit blood on the ground and wiped my face.
"Is this how you'll spank the kids?"
Against my better judgment I went back after him again. The black woman grabbed my hand as I reached it out. She bit down hard on my fingers. I yelled and pulled back my other fist as a reaction. I should have clocked her. Knocked her temples in until she let go. But I didn't. I won't hit a girl. Not for anything. Ryan grabbed my neck, and pulled my around.
"LET GO!" I screamed. "SWEET JESUS!" She held on. I was afraid I'd lose my fingers. And for what? It all seemed ridiculous. It suddenly seemed pointless as I grew faint from the pain. "I wouldn't marry you for a hundred dollars." I whispered as I felt myself slipping into a new darkness from the pain. Finally she let go. It must have been the taste of blood in her mouth. The taste of blood will give anyone a reality check. Even heathen witches who like to bite. Ryan pushed me down onto the ground. I was bleeding from a couple places, and felt like throwing up. "Call the police!" Ryan yelled into the manager. "Your employee is attacking us."
"Horace?" I heard the manager call out. He came out into the garden and saw me. "Oh Jesus."
Gosling grabbed his bitch by the hand and started out. "I'm getting a restraining order." He kept mumbling as he left. Everything was spinning. The man who reminded me of Charles Bronson came over and knelt next to me. He put his hand on the side of my head. His eyes were brilliant. They were green, but I felt I could see through them into a vast white place where all was calm.
"Bronson, you've got that Indian magic in you."
He looked over to his girlfriend. She came over with a cup of water. The manager and a few others were gathering around me as I drifted. They would touch me, and ask me questions. I couldn't hear everything that was being said, mostly because they were all talking over each other. Except for the Oriental Bronson. He just stared. Like he was trying to heal me with brain medicine.
I sat on the couch with my roommate Nate. He read the Times on the far left side of the white futon, while I read a book on the right side. The apartment was dirty. Various boxes, books and bottles were strewn over the rusted refrigerator-door coffee table. Nate noticed three Tylenol's sitting alone on the rusted table.
"Are those yours?" He asked me.
"No. If I'm going to have a tylenol, it goes from the bottle to my mouth. There's no in between time. Just, whoop." I showed him the motion of how I take my tylenol.
"I didn't think they were yours. Since you're sick, I wondered though."
We knew whose they were. Recently we acquired a fourth roommate. A good guy, a hell of a guy, but the type to leave a half drunken glass of milk out for weeks.
"You know what" Nate continued "I'll bet he was the kid who ate dirt. I'll bet you anything he and J. Wes were the kids that just sat around eating dirt."
I put my book on the table and stood up. "I ought to go to work."
"Ok." He said.
I threw on a jacket and left.
PART 13
Washing dishes with the flu is hell. Everything inside of you tries to escape any way possible. It's an all out bodily fluid revolt. Your entire self turning against you. Cursed nose. Blasted ass. It was getting chilly, but I was sweating over the hot tub of water in the sink.
I washed a large metal pot with waffle batter caked along the inside rim. "Did you hear the news Horace, or didn't you?" The manager always wore cut off jean shorts, and a sort of Calvin and Hobbes small brimmed hat. They all called me Horace at the cafe. "What's that?" He seemed happy to know I hadn't heard the news. He wound up, his torso twisting a bit as if his spine were a loose spring rolling and falling, trying to stay prostrate. "There's going to be a proposal in here today." "What do you mean?" "Some guy wants to propose to his girlfriend here." He finished. I set the pot down in the sink and wiped my brow.
"Why the hell would anyone want to propose to anybody here?"
"I don't know Horace. Maybe it has a special meaning for them." He looked around, as if there were maybe somebody else he could be telling this to. Some one more enthusiastic. "Anyhow, I don't think the girl even knows he's in town. The whole things supposed to be a big surprise."
"Well, I hope it works out."
A little while later I took another break. I sat out in the garden and smoked a cigarette. Why the hell was I smoking with the flu. If you ever wonder how bad cigarettes are for you, just smoke when you're sick. At a table a couple yards away sat a very nice looking couple. The man looked like a young Charles Bronson, with the thin mustache and dark skin. The woman had dark skin as well, perhaps they were part Indian. I thought about how Indians like to be called Native American. I felt bad about thinking Indian instead of Native American. I wished I could right the situation somehow. If I couldn't start thinking with a certain political correctness I knew I'd be sure to go on getting myself in awkward situations. I looked at the tan couple a while longer. I was five days into the flu and lovesick. I felt like hell for thinking "Indian" instead of "Native American". I decided to clear my conscious.
"Excuse me. Sorry. You're a wonderful couple. Really handsome. Are you two Native American?"
The man looked up at me and smiled.
"Oh no. We're Orientals."
PART 14
I had gotten off work, but was hanging around drinking beers in the garden waiting for this marriage proposal. Drinking and smoking cigarettes. I knew it was no way to get over the flu, but I had to pass the time somehow. I got on the phone and called up a couple people I hadn't spoken to in a while to let them know about the proposal. I went ahead and told a few of them that it was me that was getting married. They'd hoot and holler and congratulate me and say "you dog" or "you gotta be kidding me". I couldn't keep it going too long so I'd tell them it was actually somebody else getting married but that I was going to watch. I'd get off the phone pretty quick after that because a few of them had felt I was playing with their emotions a bit insensitively. I'd just say "why do you care so much whether or not I get married?" Then the call would end and I'd go back out to my table where my beer was. I figured I probably wouldn't talk to those people for another long while.
Just when I felt I had waited long enough, and that this thing was never going to happen, Ryan Gosling came walking out into the garden. I figured he could keep me company enough while I waited for the proposal.
"Hey Ryan Gosling!"
Gosling looked at me. He didn't seem too excited at the fact that I was there.
"What are you doing here?"
"I work here Gos." I had just come up with the nickname 'Gos' for him. "It's where we met for hell's sake."
"I didn't realize you worked here." He looked kind of sick himself.
"Yeah."
"How long are you staying?"
"It's a free country Gos."
He looked around. He seemed very concerned.
"Listen. This is a very important night for me, ok? Very important. And no matter what we have between us, can you please let it go tonight, and just, just please leave."
"I think I'll go ahead and stick around Gos."
"I'll give you a hundred bucks if you leave." He seemed desperate.
"Look man, I'm here to watch a wedding proposal. Its got nothing to do with you."
"That's me man! I'm proposing!" He started to raise his voice.
"What? No. I wouldn't do that. You're not ready to get married at all."
"Fuck. I can't believe this." He paced away for a second, running his hands through his hair. Then this attractive black woman who was pregnant came walking out into the garden. I recognized her from the time Ryan Gosling had made her wait. She saw Ryan and looked surprised.
"Oh my God, baby. I didn't know you were in town." She went to hug him.
"I wanted to surprise you." He said. They hugged.
I rubbed my hands together. "Here it comes."
Gos gave me a mean look and kissed her on the cheek. "I wanted to talk to you. Umm, but maybe we should go somewhere else."
"Come on, I've been sticking around here drinking and smoking with the flu just so I could watch this thing. Just do it here."
The black woman looked at me. "What?" She looked to Ryan. "Do what here?"
"Umm, nothing. It's nothing. I don't know what he's talking about."
"Look if you can't do it in front of me, maybe you're not ready to do it at all." I told him. "I remember the girl with the tan legs. I know your past, and maybe you've grown a bit since then, but if you've got something to hide from this lady girl, who, don't forget, you have stood up before, maybe a little courtship would do you good."
"What's he talking about?" She asked Ryan again.
"It's nothing, he's that guy I told you about. Remember?" She looked to me.
"Why are you so concerned about our business?"
"Look. I'm just trying to help. I'm not perfect myself, I know that. But if Gos isn't being honest with his past to you I don't know if marriage is the answer."
She looked to Ryan again. "Marriage?" Ryan smiled sheepishly then quickly turned and swung his fist toward my face. His knuckles landed over my brow, jogging my brain. I fell over onto the table where I had been sitting. I felt my cup of beer wetting my back. I looked up at the sky as it spun above. The stars melted into each other, having no origin anymore. The sky was just a mess of light and dark, swimming in circles overhead. I tried to sit up as I heard the post punch murmur from the small group in the garden. The black girl took Ryan's hand.
"Baby come on." Ryan paced a bit. A dancing blur in front of me. I was trying to stay conscious.
"Ok. Maybe you are ready for marriage." I picked up my spilled cup of beer and tried to finish the last sip that had survived through the commotion.
"What is this marriage talk?" She kept asking.
"I was going to propose to you. I want to marry you. I want you to marry me. But this guy... is everywhere I go. Ruining everything I try to do."
Things were coming back into focus. The situation was calming. She seemed to love him still even though he had just hit a guy with the flu. "Baby." She started to cry. "Of course I want to marry you." Now was my chance. I jumped up and punched Ryan in the shoulder. It wasn't where I was aiming but I was a bit dizzier than I had estimated. It was a bad move on my part. Gosling was sober and strong. He was healthy and full of love. He cocked back his fist and started hitting me. I only felt the first few hits. Finally he let me push him off. I spit blood on the ground and wiped my face.
"Is this how you'll spank the kids?"
Against my better judgment I went back after him again. The black woman grabbed my hand as I reached it out. She bit down hard on my fingers. I yelled and pulled back my other fist as a reaction. I should have clocked her. Knocked her temples in until she let go. But I didn't. I won't hit a girl. Not for anything. Ryan grabbed my neck, and pulled my around.
"LET GO!" I screamed. "SWEET JESUS!" She held on. I was afraid I'd lose my fingers. And for what? It all seemed ridiculous. It suddenly seemed pointless as I grew faint from the pain. "I wouldn't marry you for a hundred dollars." I whispered as I felt myself slipping into a new darkness from the pain. Finally she let go. It must have been the taste of blood in her mouth. The taste of blood will give anyone a reality check. Even heathen witches who like to bite. Ryan pushed me down onto the ground. I was bleeding from a couple places, and felt like throwing up. "Call the police!" Ryan yelled into the manager. "Your employee is attacking us."
"Horace?" I heard the manager call out. He came out into the garden and saw me. "Oh Jesus."
Gosling grabbed his bitch by the hand and started out. "I'm getting a restraining order." He kept mumbling as he left. Everything was spinning. The man who reminded me of Charles Bronson came over and knelt next to me. He put his hand on the side of my head. His eyes were brilliant. They were green, but I felt I could see through them into a vast white place where all was calm.
"Bronson, you've got that Indian magic in you."
He looked over to his girlfriend. She came over with a cup of water. The manager and a few others were gathering around me as I drifted. They would touch me, and ask me questions. I couldn't hear everything that was being said, mostly because they were all talking over each other. Except for the Oriental Bronson. He just stared. Like he was trying to heal me with brain medicine.