Diet Coke Kills
Characters:
Zack
Jeff
Tom
Norman
Set:
A living room
(Lights up Zack sitting on couch watching television. Jeff enters.)
Zack
What are you doing home so early?
Jeff
What are you doing home at all?
Zack
Wigs on Fire fundraiser tonight. I needed to rest. I called in sick.
Jeff
You called in sick from your job to rest up for a party?
Zack
Priorities…I’m a host, girl!
Jeff
But Nedra!
Zack
Betsy!
Jeff
Don’t call me girl names!
Zack
You started it! Why are you home so early?
Jeff
To pack. I’m going hunting with my dad this week-end.
Zack
You’re not going to the fundraiser?
Jeff
Priorities.
Zack
But our special is black Russians; served out of a toilet. You’d rather kill Bambi?
Jeff
I’d rather kill something.
Zack
How does a vegan hunt?
Jeff
I go hunting to spend time with my dad. Not all gay men hate their fathers.
Zack
Blah blah blah. The girls are coming over to get ready. When are you leaving?
Jeff
Right now. My Dad’s waiting outside in the truck.
Zack
Where are you going?
Jeff (as he’s exiting to his room)
Out to the ranch in south Texas.
Zack
Oh. Ooo, look for some mushrooms while you’re out there.
(Doorbell rings. Zack answers door. Norman and Tom enter with full face, carrying bags full of drag.)
Zack
Jane! Marilyn! Did you ride the bus like that?
Norman
Yes. Why do you ask?
Zack
No reason. You guys doing a number tonight?
Norman
We’re not doing Jane and Marilyn this year. I’m sick of them. We’re going to be Diet coke girls.
Tom (to Zack)
Got any scotch girl?
Zack
(To Tom) Kitchen. (to Norman) Diet coke girls?
Tom
Got any ice girl?
Zack
(To Tom) Freezer. (to Norman) Diet coke girls? What the fuck is that?
Tom
Gotta joint girl?
Zack
Cigarette box.
Tom
Good girl.
Norman
You know, two girls dressed as giant diet coke cans. I’ve got inflatable costumes.
Tom (who has made himself a drink and joined the others)
Gotta light girl? (Zack lights Toms joint)
Zack
What kind of girls dress as cans?
Norman
We’ll have beehives!
Tom
Beehives girl!
Zack
Beehives?
Norman
Hair Mary!!
Zack
Oh!
(Jeff re-enters carrying lot’s of guns.)
Jeff
Ladies.
Tom
Hey stud! Gonna go kill some meat with daddy?
Jeff
How did you know?
Tom
We saw him in his big, butch truck outside. He tried his best to ignore us.
Jeff
Oh god.
Norman
You scared him girl. Waving your arms in the air and pulling your shirt up and shit.
Tom
I just wanted some acknowledgement of recognition.
Norman
Oh he recognizes you alright. You set his house on fire.
Tom
That was an accident. No charges were ever filed.
Jeff
Well thanks a lot. I should have a very pleasant drive to Del Rio now.
Tom
Do I get a kiss goodbye?
Jeff
Fuck you.
Zack
How many guns do you need?
Jeff
All of them.
Tom
All those guns. Karma karma karma girl. You’ll probably get shot in the ass with one of those guns.
(Jeff just glares at Tom; says see ya later to the others and exits.)
Norman
You really impressed him that time.
Tom
Oh fuck you Norman.
Zack
Why are you and Jeff always at each others throats?
Norman
Tom has a crush on Jeff.
Tom
Shut up Norman.
Norman
You shut up. Tom has a crush on Jeff and has occasionally stalked him.
Tom
Shut up Norman.
Zack
I had no idea.
Tom
Shut up Zack.
Norman
Oh it’s all so sad and sordid.
Tom
Shut Norman. I have never stalked him. I sometimes checked up on him is all.
Norman (singing)
Tom is a stalker. Tom is a stalker.
Tom
Fuck off Norman! Jeff and I have a special relationship.
Norman
Oh please!
Tom
Well we did.
Norman
You sucking his limp dick while he’s passed drunk out is not having a relationship.
Tom
Sucking dick is sucking dick.
Norman
Jeff doesn’t even remember it Tom. And he acts like you make him kind of sick.
Tom
He’s just shy. He doesn’t like to display his tender side.
(Zack howls with laughter.)
Norman
It is funny in a sad pathetic way. Like gay pentecostals.
Tom
I love you too darlings.
Zack
It’s all becoming so clear to me now.
Tom
Please. Nothing is ever clear. Are you really wearing that?
Norm
Yeah, are you really wearing that? We gotta fix you girl.
Lights out.
Lights up:
(Jeff sits in the living room drinking a beer with all his hunting stuff around him. The phone is ringing. During the following conversation with his mom, the mom should be under a special somewhere off to the side. But she should be seen.)
Jeff
Hello.
Mom (Lights up on Mom.)
Hi honey.
Jeff
Hi Mom.
Mom
Honey what happened?
Jeff
Dad saw Tom and Norman in make-up in front of the house. It looked like it was going to be a long weekend. We turned around in Sugarland. What did he say?
Mom
He didn’t say anything. He just stormed into the den and made himself a drink. He’s pouting in front of the television right now. Oh well, I just wondered what happened. I’m sorry your weekend was ruined.
Jeff
That’s okay. He’ll get over it and there’ll be other weekends.
Mom
Well okay. I just wanted to find out what was going on. I’ll let you go. I love you.
Jeff
I love you too Mom. Bye-bye.
Mom
Bye-bye.
(Lights out on Mom. Jeff starts to carry things into his room. Not the guns. The phone rings again. Show this guy too in the same place as Mom before.)
Jeff
Hello
Trick (Jovially)
Fuck you!!
Jeff (laughing)
Fuck you!!
Trick (louder)
Fuck you!!
Jeff (louder)
Fuck you!!
Trick (louder)
Fuck you!!
Jeff
What’s going on man?
Trick
Why don’t you come over and fuck me?
Jeff
Why don’t you come to Zacks party with me?
Trick
I’ve got an eight ball.
Jeff
I’ll be right there.
Exits.
Lights out.
Lights up.
(Zack enters and passes out on the couch. After a couple of moments the phone rings.)
Zack
Hello. Jeff, what’s up? Oh. Well, why didn’t you come to the party? Oh. Really? Who with? Oh. Really? Really? Oh really? Oh you slut! What? The guns? Yeah, they’re here. Hey, you’re not supposed to leave them out. You fucker. Okay. Where do they go? Sure. I’ll take care of it. No problem. See ya later.
(Zack hangs up the phone and starts to grab the guns when someone begins pounding frantically on the door. It’s Norman and Tom screaming from offstage, “Hurry, hurry let us in.” Or something like that.)
Zack (opening door and seeing the bloodied pair. Who are both freaked out, Tom crying, sobbing, hysterical.)
Oh my god! What happened? (He ushers them in)
Norman
We got bashed.
Zack
I’ll get some towels. Get him on the couch. Are you okay?
Norman
I think so. He took some pretty good licks though.
(Zack exits. Norman tries to comfort Tom. Zack returns with some towels, first aid kit, bottle of scotch. Starts to clean them up.)
Zack
What happened?
Tom (screams)
They tried to fucking kill us!
Zack
What? Who tried to kill you?
Norman
We picked up a couple of guys.
Tom
They were so cute!
Norman
They wanted to go to Bell Park for some reason.
Tom
We went for some reason.
Norman
They totally surprised us. And our costumes allowed almost no range of motion for self defense
Tom
Our wigs! Our wigs! Those fuckers took our wigs! Why did they take our wigs? (begins to cry anew)
Norman
The important thing is that we’re okay.
Tom
Fuck you Norman.
Zack
How did you get away?
Norman
They started laughing at the way we were screaming and slapping. They let go of us and we started running and then they started laughing so hard at the way we ran that we just got away.
Tom
They’re still out there Norman. They followed us a long way. They could be out there right now!
Zack
Oh my god! Do you think they followed you here?
Norman
I don’t know. But I ain’t going back out there.
Zack
Of course not! You guys can stay here. I’m calling the police!
Tom
No! No my god you can’t get the police over here!
Zack
Why
Tom
We’re drunk! And we’re on drugs! And we’re fags in make-up! They’ll just run us in and we’ll get beat up again.
Zack
Oh bullshit! You’re just being paranoid! You’ve been assaulted! You need to at least file a report.
Norman
He’s right Zack. It’s happened to us before.
Tom
Norman, what if they did follow us here? (sees guns) Is Jeff here?
Zack
He came and went. I was just about to put those away.
Tom (grabs a gun)
Let’s go get those fuckers!
Zack
Tom! Put it down!
Norman
Tom! Put the gun down!
Tom
Those fuckers deserve to die!
Norman
Tom put the fucking gun down!!
(The sound of Jeff and his trick can be heard outside screaming “fuck you” at each other like they did before over the phone)
Tom
It’s them!
Zack
No! It’s Jeff!
(Door opens. Jeff is in doorway. Tom shoots. )
Lights out
Lights up three to five beats later
Tom (standing over Jeff)
I fucking told you so!!
Zack
What?
Tom
I told him he’d probably get killed by one of his own guns.
Norman
Well girl, what you actually said was that he’d probably get shot in the ass with one of his own guns.
Tom
Fuck you Norman.
The End
Friday, August 10, 2007
Monday, July 2, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
paved 3a
Ain’t Maryanne stood just inside the yard. Gasping for breath, scarf gone, hair disheveled. She bent over, putting both hands on her knees and gulped in draught after draught of cold, dry air demanding, “Is that my cigarettes you assholes are smoking?”
“No, they’s Ed’s.” I told her.
“Goddammit! Deborah, I told you to bring me my cigarettes and call my sponsor. Did you call my god damn sponsor?”
“No Nanaw. I forgot.”
“Forgot my ass. Now get in there and get on the phone and call Harry! You want me to start drinking again?”
“No Nanaw.”
“Bring me my Marlboros first! And you, you little son of a bitch.”
“Don’t start with me Ain’t Maryanne. You think this has been a good day for me? Huh?" I wouldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at her. “You think I enjoyed sitting out there in the cold knowing he could go any minute? Drinking beer and thinking, ‘Oh shit, what if he has a fit or something’, you think I was having fun drinking to that?” I could feel her staring at me but I wouldn’t look. I just kept staring toward the river.
Deborah came out with Maryanne’s cigarettes and I shut up for a minute.
“Deborah, sweetie, why don’t you go in and pick out some records to play.” She said it in that high sing song voice a lot of people use when speaking to a retarded adult; a praxis which usually leaves all parties slightly embarrassed.
Deborah knew something was up. Offers like this didn’t come around often. She was to be allowed into the living room, amidst all the records with absolutely no adult supervision. This was big stuff man. On the other hand, Nanaw and Walter were definitely going to have at it and that would be fun to see. Ultimately, the realization that she would be able to take out the records and feel the grooves, all of them, unmolested and uninterrupted, won over the decision. She turned on her heel and was gone. You saw a flannel plaid shirttail flutter through the door and the same door slam and she was gone and we were completely out of her mind for as long as we chose to be.
“What are we gonna do now?”
“You’re gonna tell me what the hell you were doing taking that sick old man out in this cold weather. And getting him drunk! Jesus Christ you dumb ass. What in the hell were you thinking? I’ll tell you what you were thinking! You weren’t thinking at all! That’s what you were thinking. You goddam dumb ass. Do you know how much trouble you might be in? Huh? Do you? Jesus Christ!”
“I was thinking he was going to die any way so I thought I might as well do what ever he wanted. I was thinking that that’s what you’re supposed to do when people are dying. We’ve all known for months that this was going to happen. That he was going to die. Why are you getting pissed off at me because I went to the river with him and had a couple of beers? Huh? What if he’d died alone in that goddam stinking miserable trailer? Would that have been better? Huh? Jesus Christ!” I still couldn’t look at her. I knew I’d lose it if I did. “All we did was go two blocks away. All we did was sit there. That’s all we did. Just sat there. And he just died. He just lied down and died. I couldn’t stop it. I wouldn’t have if I could’ve either.”
“That’s hate full.”
“Is not. He was tired of being sick. He was ready to go. He talked about dying all the damn time. He was more than ready and he went. Poof! Gone! Can we please call somebody and get him picked up. We can’t leave him lay there.”
“I can’t figure you out boy.” She lit a cigarette.
“I’m thinking that’s a good thing.”
“Did he suffer?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t seem to.”
“What’d he do?”
“What?”
“Like, did he have a fit or something?”
“No. I was afraid he might, but he just grabbed his chest and said something or other. And died. Would you please call somebody and get him picked up!” I got up and walked around to the back porch, still never looking at her, shouting, “Get him picked up goddammit! Get him picked up!”
“You don’t even remember his last words? ‘He said something or other’? You are a dumbass! Jesus Christ”
Then she finished her cigarette. Acknowledged the cold to herself and went in to call whomever one calls to pick up a corpse.
“No, they’s Ed’s.” I told her.
“Goddammit! Deborah, I told you to bring me my cigarettes and call my sponsor. Did you call my god damn sponsor?”
“No Nanaw. I forgot.”
“Forgot my ass. Now get in there and get on the phone and call Harry! You want me to start drinking again?”
“No Nanaw.”
“Bring me my Marlboros first! And you, you little son of a bitch.”
“Don’t start with me Ain’t Maryanne. You think this has been a good day for me? Huh?" I wouldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at her. “You think I enjoyed sitting out there in the cold knowing he could go any minute? Drinking beer and thinking, ‘Oh shit, what if he has a fit or something’, you think I was having fun drinking to that?” I could feel her staring at me but I wouldn’t look. I just kept staring toward the river.
Deborah came out with Maryanne’s cigarettes and I shut up for a minute.
“Deborah, sweetie, why don’t you go in and pick out some records to play.” She said it in that high sing song voice a lot of people use when speaking to a retarded adult; a praxis which usually leaves all parties slightly embarrassed.
Deborah knew something was up. Offers like this didn’t come around often. She was to be allowed into the living room, amidst all the records with absolutely no adult supervision. This was big stuff man. On the other hand, Nanaw and Walter were definitely going to have at it and that would be fun to see. Ultimately, the realization that she would be able to take out the records and feel the grooves, all of them, unmolested and uninterrupted, won over the decision. She turned on her heel and was gone. You saw a flannel plaid shirttail flutter through the door and the same door slam and she was gone and we were completely out of her mind for as long as we chose to be.
“What are we gonna do now?”
“You’re gonna tell me what the hell you were doing taking that sick old man out in this cold weather. And getting him drunk! Jesus Christ you dumb ass. What in the hell were you thinking? I’ll tell you what you were thinking! You weren’t thinking at all! That’s what you were thinking. You goddam dumb ass. Do you know how much trouble you might be in? Huh? Do you? Jesus Christ!”
“I was thinking he was going to die any way so I thought I might as well do what ever he wanted. I was thinking that that’s what you’re supposed to do when people are dying. We’ve all known for months that this was going to happen. That he was going to die. Why are you getting pissed off at me because I went to the river with him and had a couple of beers? Huh? What if he’d died alone in that goddam stinking miserable trailer? Would that have been better? Huh? Jesus Christ!” I still couldn’t look at her. I knew I’d lose it if I did. “All we did was go two blocks away. All we did was sit there. That’s all we did. Just sat there. And he just died. He just lied down and died. I couldn’t stop it. I wouldn’t have if I could’ve either.”
“That’s hate full.”
“Is not. He was tired of being sick. He was ready to go. He talked about dying all the damn time. He was more than ready and he went. Poof! Gone! Can we please call somebody and get him picked up. We can’t leave him lay there.”
“I can’t figure you out boy.” She lit a cigarette.
“I’m thinking that’s a good thing.”
“Did he suffer?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t seem to.”
“What’d he do?”
“What?”
“Like, did he have a fit or something?”
“No. I was afraid he might, but he just grabbed his chest and said something or other. And died. Would you please call somebody and get him picked up!” I got up and walked around to the back porch, still never looking at her, shouting, “Get him picked up goddammit! Get him picked up!”
“You don’t even remember his last words? ‘He said something or other’? You are a dumbass! Jesus Christ”
Then she finished her cigarette. Acknowledged the cold to herself and went in to call whomever one calls to pick up a corpse.
Friday, June 15, 2007
meus apology ut Sinatra
Two drag queens in a bar:
Drag Queen number one:
"I hate California, it's cold, it's damp."
Drag Queen number two:
"Tramp."
Drag Queen number one:
"I hate California, it's cold, it's damp."
Drag Queen number two:
"Tramp."
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
paved 3b
Ain’t Maryanne stopped at the front porch and caught her breath. She bent over and put her hands on her knees and gulped draught after draught of cold dry air. Deborah turned on her heel and went back inside. She suddenly remembered Maryanne telling her to bring the cigarettes and to call Harry. Plus she was scared of the way Maryanne looked.
I just sat there on the step and smoked my cigarette. Maryanne looked at me for a while. I could see her out of the corner of my eye. Disheveled and panting. Angry and hurt and scared, she glared at me wordlessly.
Presently she began to realize it was cold and she was barefoot. Her breath restored, she climbed the step onto the porch and entered the house. At the opened door, she turned to me, and in her most dramatic fashion asked, “When did you change?” Without waiting, she again turned and entered, slamming the door for effect.
I knew she would go in and call whatever authorities needed to be called in the event of a death. I smoked my cigarette and waited.
Soon a sheriff deputy came by and asked me some questions. I answered politely. A station wagon from the morgue came and picked up Ed.
Maryanne never came out of the house. I could feel her watching me from the window though.
The sheriff deputy gave his condolences and left. I sat out there until late afternoon. Looking out at the unpaved roads and the propane tanks in front of the trailers and the trash in the yards. Yard after yard of abandoned cars and toys. And tow headed children whose noses were never wiped because they didn’t have mothers who wiped children’s noses; and who wore old tube socks over their hands because that was the closest thing to mittens people like us had.
Near twilight I got up and walked back to the river. Going up the dirt road I saw the mistletoe up high in the leafless hackberry trees and remembered harvesting it with Ed when I was a little kid.
We’d take mop handles and throw them into the trees like spears at the big bunches of it and knock it down. Ed would get drunk on ripple and give me some to take out the winter chill. He’d start laughing and acting like a kid himself. We’d act like we were throwing real spears at an enemy who thought he had camouflaged himself well. Then we’d go all over the neighborhood handing out the mistletoe to the people who couldn’t afford to buy xmas decorations, which was pretty much everybody.
Then, after dark, Ed would start thinking about his dead wife, and his dead kids and he’d start crying. It always freaked me out to see a grown up crying when I was a kid. I’d walk him home and tell him everything would be okay. He’d hug me hard and tell me I was a scholar and a gentleman in a very slurred voice. I sure missed Ed.
I walked past Ain’t Maryanne’s house shoe on the road and picked it up.
I went down to the shell dock and pulled the last beer out of the grass near the river. I went back to where we had been sitting just hours before. I pulled out the pack of benson and hedges and fished out the last cigarette and lit it. Then I smoked the last cigarette Ed would ever buy me and drank the last beer he would ever buy me.
Cried my eyes out. Cried great big, round, four year old boy tears. Cried out loud. Pounded my fists on the cold grass until it hurt. Threw my hands and face up to heaven (whatever the hell that is) like an old woman who just heard her grandbaby had died. I cried until it was well dark and my face was covered in tears and snot. Cried until I was done.
Then I got up and threw Ain’t Maryanne’s house shoe into the river.
I just sat there on the step and smoked my cigarette. Maryanne looked at me for a while. I could see her out of the corner of my eye. Disheveled and panting. Angry and hurt and scared, she glared at me wordlessly.
Presently she began to realize it was cold and she was barefoot. Her breath restored, she climbed the step onto the porch and entered the house. At the opened door, she turned to me, and in her most dramatic fashion asked, “When did you change?” Without waiting, she again turned and entered, slamming the door for effect.
I knew she would go in and call whatever authorities needed to be called in the event of a death. I smoked my cigarette and waited.
Soon a sheriff deputy came by and asked me some questions. I answered politely. A station wagon from the morgue came and picked up Ed.
Maryanne never came out of the house. I could feel her watching me from the window though.
The sheriff deputy gave his condolences and left. I sat out there until late afternoon. Looking out at the unpaved roads and the propane tanks in front of the trailers and the trash in the yards. Yard after yard of abandoned cars and toys. And tow headed children whose noses were never wiped because they didn’t have mothers who wiped children’s noses; and who wore old tube socks over their hands because that was the closest thing to mittens people like us had.
Near twilight I got up and walked back to the river. Going up the dirt road I saw the mistletoe up high in the leafless hackberry trees and remembered harvesting it with Ed when I was a little kid.
We’d take mop handles and throw them into the trees like spears at the big bunches of it and knock it down. Ed would get drunk on ripple and give me some to take out the winter chill. He’d start laughing and acting like a kid himself. We’d act like we were throwing real spears at an enemy who thought he had camouflaged himself well. Then we’d go all over the neighborhood handing out the mistletoe to the people who couldn’t afford to buy xmas decorations, which was pretty much everybody.
Then, after dark, Ed would start thinking about his dead wife, and his dead kids and he’d start crying. It always freaked me out to see a grown up crying when I was a kid. I’d walk him home and tell him everything would be okay. He’d hug me hard and tell me I was a scholar and a gentleman in a very slurred voice. I sure missed Ed.
I walked past Ain’t Maryanne’s house shoe on the road and picked it up.
I went down to the shell dock and pulled the last beer out of the grass near the river. I went back to where we had been sitting just hours before. I pulled out the pack of benson and hedges and fished out the last cigarette and lit it. Then I smoked the last cigarette Ed would ever buy me and drank the last beer he would ever buy me.
Cried my eyes out. Cried great big, round, four year old boy tears. Cried out loud. Pounded my fists on the cold grass until it hurt. Threw my hands and face up to heaven (whatever the hell that is) like an old woman who just heard her grandbaby had died. I cried until it was well dark and my face was covered in tears and snot. Cried until I was done.
Then I got up and threw Ain’t Maryanne’s house shoe into the river.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
paved 2
Maryanne ran up the road toward the river in the chill gray. Charlie’s big, old CPT coat, almost long enough to cover the hem of her housedress, unbuttoned but hugged around her with arms lost in the sleeves, made her look like a child. She brought her hand up to her head to hold her scarf on in the wind as she spun around to the house to shout, “Deborah! Call my sponsor! And bring my cigarettes!” as she turned back, running, one of her house shoes came off. She hesitated, started to leave it, then came back and picked it up. She took off the other one and put them both in the pocket of Charlie’s coat and started running for the river barefoot.
Deborah and I watched her go. As soon as she was out of site, Deborah asked me for a cigarette.
“You got a thigarette?” It was hard to understand Deborah if you didn’t know her. Heavyset and lumbering, with a distinctive speech impediment, she wore her thirty five years like fifty five. She was what we in these parts call retarded.
I fished one out and gave it to her. I lit it and she held it that funny way, between her index and second finger, but at the very tip end. And she never brought it more than a half inch away from her lips. And she hot boxed it until it was gone. Then she asked for another.
“You got a thigarette? You killed Ed? You got any pot?”
“I just gave you a cigarette. I did not kill Ed, he died. You can’t smoke pot. It doesn’t go with your lithium.”
“Nanaw said you kill Ed she call police on you.”
“Nobody killed Ed. He’s been sick for a long time. He just died. No big deal.”
“My daddy died.”
“I know sweety.”
“You got any beer?”
“No.”
“You smell like beer.”
“I drank some with Ed.”
“Ed dead.”
“Yeah.”
“My daddy dead.”
“I know sweety.”
“He fell down in his apartment in the hallway between the bathroom and the bedroom and nobody find him for two weeks. He rot and the neighbors complain.”
“I know sweety.”
“They have to take him out with a shovel.”
“I know sweety, I’m the one who had to take him out.”
“That right. You got a thigarette?”
I fished out another one for her and one for myself. She sat next to me on the step as we watched Maryanne run back over the levee. Charlie’s big, old CPT coat open and flapping in the wind. Her braless, sagging breasts flapping back and forth under the house dress in rhythm to her stride. She had this frightened, angry, accusatory look in her eyes and her cheeks puffed and rippled. One of her house shoes flew out of the pocket of the coat but she never even noticed.
Deborah and I watched her go. As soon as she was out of site, Deborah asked me for a cigarette.
“You got a thigarette?” It was hard to understand Deborah if you didn’t know her. Heavyset and lumbering, with a distinctive speech impediment, she wore her thirty five years like fifty five. She was what we in these parts call retarded.
I fished one out and gave it to her. I lit it and she held it that funny way, between her index and second finger, but at the very tip end. And she never brought it more than a half inch away from her lips. And she hot boxed it until it was gone. Then she asked for another.
“You got a thigarette? You killed Ed? You got any pot?”
“I just gave you a cigarette. I did not kill Ed, he died. You can’t smoke pot. It doesn’t go with your lithium.”
“Nanaw said you kill Ed she call police on you.”
“Nobody killed Ed. He’s been sick for a long time. He just died. No big deal.”
“My daddy died.”
“I know sweety.”
“You got any beer?”
“No.”
“You smell like beer.”
“I drank some with Ed.”
“Ed dead.”
“Yeah.”
“My daddy dead.”
“I know sweety.”
“He fell down in his apartment in the hallway between the bathroom and the bedroom and nobody find him for two weeks. He rot and the neighbors complain.”
“I know sweety.”
“They have to take him out with a shovel.”
“I know sweety, I’m the one who had to take him out.”
“That right. You got a thigarette?”
I fished out another one for her and one for myself. She sat next to me on the step as we watched Maryanne run back over the levee. Charlie’s big, old CPT coat open and flapping in the wind. Her braless, sagging breasts flapping back and forth under the house dress in rhythm to her stride. She had this frightened, angry, accusatory look in her eyes and her cheeks puffed and rippled. One of her house shoes flew out of the pocket of the coat but she never even noticed.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
paved 1
“How are you feeling?”
“I am dying.”
“What do you mean?”
“I feel that I am dying.”
“You don’t look as though you’re dying.”
“I feel it.”
“It’s natural to die. Maybe it’s the beginning of a new chapter in existence. Either way it’s unavoidable.”
“Yes. Would you like to walk with me?”
“Do you feel that your death is imminent? Where are you walking?”
“All our deaths are imminent, you said yourself that death is unavoidable.”
“I’ll walk with you to the river.”
“Should we pick up some beer?”
“Okay”
“I feel my death will be longer in coming than I had anticipated earlier.”
“Let’s walk.” I said and rose. Taking my coat up from the back of my chair, putting it on, I walked to the door and made ready to exit.
Ed, too, put on his coat and muffler. He turned off the lights, made sure he had his wallet and keys and joined me at the door, “we’ll get a six pack and go sit on the levee and watch the winter go by okay?”
“Sounds good.”
We went through the door, out of the warm fetid trailer, into the cold wet wind. Hands in our pockets and heads down we trudged against the cold gusts to the seven eleven to get a six pack of Falstaff and a pack of Benson and Hedges menthol lights. Then back the other way to the levee that bordered the Brazos River near its mouth. We peaked the grassy mound of dirt and sat on the leeward side of the levee, watching the river eddy into the Gulf of Mexico.
We opened our beers drank them, holding them with icy fingers and smoked cigarette after cigarette under clouds the color of moonstones. Talking about the river and the gulf and the town. How, during hurricane Carla, everything was under water. How there were dead cattle and dead dogs and dead cats floating every where. And about how when the waters receded, the town seemed carpeted in dead animals. How that was a memory he’d take with him everywhere.
“And nobody seemed to care. Like that was the least of their worries. People had lost their homes and loved ones. The animals, who gave a shit about the animals? It just hurt my feelings. That people could care so little.”
“I guess if I had lost my house and stuff, I’d probably feel the same way.”
“Same way as I felt? Or the same way as everybody else felt?”
“Everybody else.”
“I thought you liked pets. I thought you loved animals”
“I do.”
“Then why would you not care?”
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t care, I’m just saying, I might be otherwise preoccupied.”
“Well, that’s just disappointing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t see the magnitude of it.”
“I’m sure that would have changed my opinion significantly, if it was of great magnitude.”
“Don’t try to mollify me.”
“I’m not.”
“It was of great magnitude! I’m telling you, the streets, the yards were carpeted in dead pets and barnyard creatures!” He was getting agitated.
“I’m not trying to mollify you, Ed. I’m sure that if I had seen it I would agree with you. It must have been terrible.”
“Well it was.”
“I believe you.”
“I just feel bereft about that. I feel bereft that I didn’t see mankind live up to its potential. That its all over and we’ve got all this crap that’s supposed to make life better and we’re supposed to be enlightened and intelligent and we’re no better than when we lived in caves, or when we were drowning people for being heretics. People still drown cats for fun, you know.”
“Well, don’t feel bereft. Maybe people felt so bad about the drowned animals that they acted as though they didn’t care as some sort of psychological self defense.”
“You think?”
“It’s has a certain plausibility. Maybe by convincing others it didn’t matter, they were attempting to convince themselves it didn’t matter, so that they wouldn’t be emotionally burdened.”
“I like it.”
We both looked back out to the river. The wind would blow over the levee behind us, just grazing the top of our hatless heads, and move the tall, tan colored grasses and dead cattail stalks with sharp, hissing thrusts. We watched the muddy water swirl faster and faster as it went downstream and turned into gulf. And we sipped our beers and smoked our cigarettes again in silence.
I could feel Ed’s face turn to me. I turned to meet his eyes. They were glazed. His face had gone from pallid to gray. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Oh shit Ed.” I didn’t move.
“Remember.”
“I do.”
“I’m gonna lay down now.”
“Okay.” I looked away from him and back to the river.
“Hold my beer.” He handed me his beer and laid back into the soft dead grass on the old levee that protected Velasco from the Brazos River.
I looked at the river and finished my beer. Then I finished his. When both beers were gone I lit a cigarette. Ed was wheezing there on the grass next to me. I pulled the next to last beer from the bag and opened it.
I heard Ed say, “Thanks, buddy, I love you.”
I never looked over. But I said, “I love you too, man.”
About halfway through that beer he stopped wheezing. I never moved. I just finished my beer and watched the river swirl.
After about half an hour I looked over at where Ed had been. I felt for a pulse. It was long gone. His hands were cold and stiff. I went and hid the last beer in the grass closer to the water and headed back toward town. To Ain’t Maryanne’s house to start the whole round of bullshit.
“I am dying.”
“What do you mean?”
“I feel that I am dying.”
“You don’t look as though you’re dying.”
“I feel it.”
“It’s natural to die. Maybe it’s the beginning of a new chapter in existence. Either way it’s unavoidable.”
“Yes. Would you like to walk with me?”
“Do you feel that your death is imminent? Where are you walking?”
“All our deaths are imminent, you said yourself that death is unavoidable.”
“I’ll walk with you to the river.”
“Should we pick up some beer?”
“Okay”
“I feel my death will be longer in coming than I had anticipated earlier.”
“Let’s walk.” I said and rose. Taking my coat up from the back of my chair, putting it on, I walked to the door and made ready to exit.
Ed, too, put on his coat and muffler. He turned off the lights, made sure he had his wallet and keys and joined me at the door, “we’ll get a six pack and go sit on the levee and watch the winter go by okay?”
“Sounds good.”
We went through the door, out of the warm fetid trailer, into the cold wet wind. Hands in our pockets and heads down we trudged against the cold gusts to the seven eleven to get a six pack of Falstaff and a pack of Benson and Hedges menthol lights. Then back the other way to the levee that bordered the Brazos River near its mouth. We peaked the grassy mound of dirt and sat on the leeward side of the levee, watching the river eddy into the Gulf of Mexico.
We opened our beers drank them, holding them with icy fingers and smoked cigarette after cigarette under clouds the color of moonstones. Talking about the river and the gulf and the town. How, during hurricane Carla, everything was under water. How there were dead cattle and dead dogs and dead cats floating every where. And about how when the waters receded, the town seemed carpeted in dead animals. How that was a memory he’d take with him everywhere.
“And nobody seemed to care. Like that was the least of their worries. People had lost their homes and loved ones. The animals, who gave a shit about the animals? It just hurt my feelings. That people could care so little.”
“I guess if I had lost my house and stuff, I’d probably feel the same way.”
“Same way as I felt? Or the same way as everybody else felt?”
“Everybody else.”
“I thought you liked pets. I thought you loved animals”
“I do.”
“Then why would you not care?”
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t care, I’m just saying, I might be otherwise preoccupied.”
“Well, that’s just disappointing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t see the magnitude of it.”
“I’m sure that would have changed my opinion significantly, if it was of great magnitude.”
“Don’t try to mollify me.”
“I’m not.”
“It was of great magnitude! I’m telling you, the streets, the yards were carpeted in dead pets and barnyard creatures!” He was getting agitated.
“I’m not trying to mollify you, Ed. I’m sure that if I had seen it I would agree with you. It must have been terrible.”
“Well it was.”
“I believe you.”
“I just feel bereft about that. I feel bereft that I didn’t see mankind live up to its potential. That its all over and we’ve got all this crap that’s supposed to make life better and we’re supposed to be enlightened and intelligent and we’re no better than when we lived in caves, or when we were drowning people for being heretics. People still drown cats for fun, you know.”
“Well, don’t feel bereft. Maybe people felt so bad about the drowned animals that they acted as though they didn’t care as some sort of psychological self defense.”
“You think?”
“It’s has a certain plausibility. Maybe by convincing others it didn’t matter, they were attempting to convince themselves it didn’t matter, so that they wouldn’t be emotionally burdened.”
“I like it.”
We both looked back out to the river. The wind would blow over the levee behind us, just grazing the top of our hatless heads, and move the tall, tan colored grasses and dead cattail stalks with sharp, hissing thrusts. We watched the muddy water swirl faster and faster as it went downstream and turned into gulf. And we sipped our beers and smoked our cigarettes again in silence.
I could feel Ed’s face turn to me. I turned to meet his eyes. They were glazed. His face had gone from pallid to gray. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Oh shit Ed.” I didn’t move.
“Remember.”
“I do.”
“I’m gonna lay down now.”
“Okay.” I looked away from him and back to the river.
“Hold my beer.” He handed me his beer and laid back into the soft dead grass on the old levee that protected Velasco from the Brazos River.
I looked at the river and finished my beer. Then I finished his. When both beers were gone I lit a cigarette. Ed was wheezing there on the grass next to me. I pulled the next to last beer from the bag and opened it.
I heard Ed say, “Thanks, buddy, I love you.”
I never looked over. But I said, “I love you too, man.”
About halfway through that beer he stopped wheezing. I never moved. I just finished my beer and watched the river swirl.
After about half an hour I looked over at where Ed had been. I felt for a pulse. It was long gone. His hands were cold and stiff. I went and hid the last beer in the grass closer to the water and headed back toward town. To Ain’t Maryanne’s house to start the whole round of bullshit.
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