CHAPTER 17
OK. This is how it is. They’re gone. Not coming back. All I can do is live with that. All I can do is live. It still fucking sucks and it still hurts like hell, but I can’t change any of it. Sitting around thinking about it and feeling sorry for myself only makes it worse, not better. The only way it’s going to get better is if I go out and do something. Anything.
The “me” that I was before this happened is gone. When it happened, I entered a new part of my life, shitty though it was. I miss so many parts of my old life before it happened, even things as simple as just being happy. Not having to do anything to make myself happy, just being happy. I wish so much that I could go back to that…but I know I can’t. The only thing I can do is to move forward. The only way I can make things better is to go to the next part of my life. If the time before was, “before my family died” and since has been, “after my family died”, I have to move to something beyond that. I have to begin the part of my life that is simply, “Tim’s Life”. I kind of like that. Puts a little smile on my face.
I’m going to take a deep breath and take the next step. I am now going to embark on this journey that is “Tim’s Life”. I don’t know what it will be, but I know it’s a journey that only I can take. I know they will be there, watching me.
I miss you like crazy, and I will always love you. Goodbye.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
I read a comic book one time that said, “you can’t feel numb, you can only be numb.” That was it. I couldn’t feel, I could only be numb. It’s not that I wasn’t sad, or upset or anything. I think it was that my mind and body just…shut down. Maybe I was in shock, or maybe it was to protect myself. I don’t know. I was a zombie.
I think that one of the things that made it so hard was that I had no one to support in their grieving. If it was just my Dad that died, I could be there for my Mom and sisters, and I probably wouldn’t be feeling it as much. But it was only me. I had all of it. Alone. Sure I have friends that were there for me, but they were not grieving with me. I think that grieving with someone would have made it easier.
At this point, I was way past the time off from school and work that they had given me to grieve. I wasn’t ready to go back however. Or maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe I had trouble finding importance in anything. How does that work? “My whole family is dead, but it’s really important that I go to school and get a degree so I can write music.” Makes no sense. And don’t even get me started on my job. Talk about pointless. “My family is dead, but I need to fold shirts and try to get the customers to buy a belt with their pants.” Fucking stupid. Even fun things lost their luster. I didn’t want to read, I didn’t want to play video games, I didn’t want to watch movies. Hence, I spent most of my time in bed.
One morning (or was it afternoon?) my roommate actually knocked on my door to ask if I was going to class. I guess he knew by this point that I had been blowing them off for a while. I told him no. He took some time trying to convince me, (which in retrospect I do appreciate) but I didn’t even care enough to make up an excuse or anything. I just let him talk. I asked if he was done, he said yes, and I told him to let me get back to sleep. I guess he respected my privacy enough not to come in, open my shade to let the sun in and drag me out of bed (like you see in the movies). After a moment I heard him walk away and leave for class. I lay there for a while, staring at the wall, and at some point, found my way to sleep.
I wake up to the phone ringing. I’ve got to turn the ringer volume down. I just listen to it, my whole body getting angrier with each ring. When it finally stops, I hear the answering machine’s outgoing message come on and then the muffled voice of someone leaving a message. I roll over and realize that I have to piss so bad it hurts, so I drag myself out of bed and go. While I’m up, I figure I’ll shuffle around the house for a little bit. I notice that it’s getting dark out, so I go into the kitchen to see what time it is. It’s 5:38, which gives me a good idea who was calling. I hit the message button and listen. Sure enough it was work. “You were supposed to be here at five, blah blah blah, we are sorry about your family, blah blah blah, but we’re going to have to fire you… Blah… Blah… Blah.” I look in the fridge to see if any food catches my eye, but nothing does. I check the freezer, but also nothing. Same goes for all the cupboards. Ok, now I’m bored. Then, something occurs to me. Hey, don’t I always complain about not having enough time to compose? Shit. No school, no work, I’ve got nothing but time! Unfortunately however, this optimism is short-lived. I turn on my computer and keyboard, and open all the appropriate files, and find all my notes…and end up playing the melodies to the themes of my favorite film scores. At least it’s something, I guess.
I’m still “playing” a couple of hours later when my roommate comes home and I hear him hit the message button on the answering machine. I didn’t hit the delete button after I listened to my message, so now it plays for him. He comes practically storming in and gives me a surprised and disappointed sounding, “You got fired?” “That’s what the message says,” I tell him. He tells me, “Tim, I know that you’re upset, but you can’t let go of all your responsibilities.” I tell him that, “It’s not because I’m upset, it’s because I fucking hated my job and at this point, it didn’t make sense to go anymore.” “What about rent?” he throws at me. The only response I can come up with is that, “I don’t really care about it right now.” “The world doesn’t just go away when you want it to,” is his last ditch effort. I tell him that, “I know the world doesn’t go away, but it will be fine without me for a while.”
I read a comic book one time that said, “you can’t feel numb, you can only be numb.” That was it. I couldn’t feel, I could only be numb. It’s not that I wasn’t sad, or upset or anything. I think it was that my mind and body just…shut down. Maybe I was in shock, or maybe it was to protect myself. I don’t know. I was a zombie.
I think that one of the things that made it so hard was that I had no one to support in their grieving. If it was just my Dad that died, I could be there for my Mom and sisters, and I probably wouldn’t be feeling it as much. But it was only me. I had all of it. Alone. Sure I have friends that were there for me, but they were not grieving with me. I think that grieving with someone would have made it easier.
At this point, I was way past the time off from school and work that they had given me to grieve. I wasn’t ready to go back however. Or maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe I had trouble finding importance in anything. How does that work? “My whole family is dead, but it’s really important that I go to school and get a degree so I can write music.” Makes no sense. And don’t even get me started on my job. Talk about pointless. “My family is dead, but I need to fold shirts and try to get the customers to buy a belt with their pants.” Fucking stupid. Even fun things lost their luster. I didn’t want to read, I didn’t want to play video games, I didn’t want to watch movies. Hence, I spent most of my time in bed.
One morning (or was it afternoon?) my roommate actually knocked on my door to ask if I was going to class. I guess he knew by this point that I had been blowing them off for a while. I told him no. He took some time trying to convince me, (which in retrospect I do appreciate) but I didn’t even care enough to make up an excuse or anything. I just let him talk. I asked if he was done, he said yes, and I told him to let me get back to sleep. I guess he respected my privacy enough not to come in, open my shade to let the sun in and drag me out of bed (like you see in the movies). After a moment I heard him walk away and leave for class. I lay there for a while, staring at the wall, and at some point, found my way to sleep.
I wake up to the phone ringing. I’ve got to turn the ringer volume down. I just listen to it, my whole body getting angrier with each ring. When it finally stops, I hear the answering machine’s outgoing message come on and then the muffled voice of someone leaving a message. I roll over and realize that I have to piss so bad it hurts, so I drag myself out of bed and go. While I’m up, I figure I’ll shuffle around the house for a little bit. I notice that it’s getting dark out, so I go into the kitchen to see what time it is. It’s 5:38, which gives me a good idea who was calling. I hit the message button and listen. Sure enough it was work. “You were supposed to be here at five, blah blah blah, we are sorry about your family, blah blah blah, but we’re going to have to fire you… Blah… Blah… Blah.” I look in the fridge to see if any food catches my eye, but nothing does. I check the freezer, but also nothing. Same goes for all the cupboards. Ok, now I’m bored. Then, something occurs to me. Hey, don’t I always complain about not having enough time to compose? Shit. No school, no work, I’ve got nothing but time! Unfortunately however, this optimism is short-lived. I turn on my computer and keyboard, and open all the appropriate files, and find all my notes…and end up playing the melodies to the themes of my favorite film scores. At least it’s something, I guess.
I’m still “playing” a couple of hours later when my roommate comes home and I hear him hit the message button on the answering machine. I didn’t hit the delete button after I listened to my message, so now it plays for him. He comes practically storming in and gives me a surprised and disappointed sounding, “You got fired?” “That’s what the message says,” I tell him. He tells me, “Tim, I know that you’re upset, but you can’t let go of all your responsibilities.” I tell him that, “It’s not because I’m upset, it’s because I fucking hated my job and at this point, it didn’t make sense to go anymore.” “What about rent?” he throws at me. The only response I can come up with is that, “I don’t really care about it right now.” “The world doesn’t just go away when you want it to,” is his last ditch effort. I tell him that, “I know the world doesn’t go away, but it will be fine without me for a while.”
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
Hi God, it’s Tim. We both know I don’t normally come to you with stuff like this, because I know that it’s not your nature, or the nature of our relationship. I know that you’re not some being “out there” and instead you’re “in here”. But I don’t know what else to do. I guess I just feel helpless, and maybe in this time of need it’s comforting to think of you out there, watching over me. I mean, the book really did help me to remember how the conversation works. But I guess with all that’s happened, I’ve forgotten again. That’s why I’m coming to you now, like this. On my knees, praying. Please, bring them back.
Even as I kneel here and think about it, it seems crazy. What are you going to do, bring them back from the grave like zombies? That’s just stupid. I mean I guess you could turn back time and make it so they didn’t die in the first place. You are Omnipotent. I know! You could make it so that they faked their own death, for like a witness protection program, and they’ve been alive all along and they haven’t gotten word to me yet. It would look more convincing this way if anyone is keeping an eye on me. Wait, that’s stupid too. I know it’s not up to me how you do it. It’s probably outside the realm of my understanding anyway. So OK, go ahead. Do what you need to do. Still no?
Ok, what if I promise to start going to church again? I’ll go every day and twice on Sunday. How about…girls. I’ll give up on girls. I’ll stay single and devote my life to you. What if I never play video games again and I give up all of my comic books? I’ll work in soup kitchens and give all my stuff to homeless people. I’ll quit composition and I’ll become a music teacher if that’s what you want. I’ll do anything you want me to do, just please give them back.
“Sigh…whatever.”
Hi God, it’s Tim. We both know I don’t normally come to you with stuff like this, because I know that it’s not your nature, or the nature of our relationship. I know that you’re not some being “out there” and instead you’re “in here”. But I don’t know what else to do. I guess I just feel helpless, and maybe in this time of need it’s comforting to think of you out there, watching over me. I mean, the book really did help me to remember how the conversation works. But I guess with all that’s happened, I’ve forgotten again. That’s why I’m coming to you now, like this. On my knees, praying. Please, bring them back.
Even as I kneel here and think about it, it seems crazy. What are you going to do, bring them back from the grave like zombies? That’s just stupid. I mean I guess you could turn back time and make it so they didn’t die in the first place. You are Omnipotent. I know! You could make it so that they faked their own death, for like a witness protection program, and they’ve been alive all along and they haven’t gotten word to me yet. It would look more convincing this way if anyone is keeping an eye on me. Wait, that’s stupid too. I know it’s not up to me how you do it. It’s probably outside the realm of my understanding anyway. So OK, go ahead. Do what you need to do. Still no?
Ok, what if I promise to start going to church again? I’ll go every day and twice on Sunday. How about…girls. I’ll give up on girls. I’ll stay single and devote my life to you. What if I never play video games again and I give up all of my comic books? I’ll work in soup kitchens and give all my stuff to homeless people. I’ll quit composition and I’ll become a music teacher if that’s what you want. I’ll do anything you want me to do, just please give them back.
“Sigh…whatever.”
Friday, June 20, 2008
Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
“This is so fucked up! My Dad’s a Firefighter. We had smoke alarms in the house. How could this happen?”
“I don’t know man. It…I don’t know.”
I’m back in that favorite doughnut place with my best friend again. This time the conversation is very different.
“It doesn’t make any sense. None of them woke up at any point and noticed? Not one of them thought, ‘Gee, it’s really hot in here’ or ‘I wonder where all the smoke is coming from’? I mean fucking burned alive! How horrible is that!?”
“Actually, when people die in a fire like that, it’s from smoke inhalation. They suffocate before the flames get to them. It’s very rare that someone actually burns alive.”
“Well thank God for small favors!” I say sarcastically.
“I just figured you’d feel better about it if you knew that it was at least…peaceful.”
“Sigh…I guess. OK, yeah you’re right. I’m glad that they weren’t burning and screaming with their skin melting off when they died. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re gone.”
“I know.”
“If someone had called sooner and if the fire trucks had gotten there faster, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe one of them would have woken up when they heard the siren and gotten everyone out.”
“Maybe, but…”
“And how did the fire even start!? Did someone leave a candle burning or a curling iron plugged in or something? My family’s too obsessive compulsive and afraid of something like that happening to not check and make sure before going to bed.”
“That’s true, but…”
“FUCK! Do you know what the worst part is? The whole time I was at my concert, I was pissed off at them. I thought they just forgot or didn’t feel like driving down or blew me off. I was livid! Come to find out, they were dead. They’re dead and all I could think about is how they weren’t at my concert.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up.”
“RRRRGOD!” After this last outburst I got very tired all of a sudden. I put my head down in my arms, on the table. “I just feel…crazy. That’s the only way I can describe it. Does that make sense.”
“It’ll be OK. I don’t know how or when, and I know you probably can’t imagine it being OK, but it will be. You will be OK.”
“God help me.”
“This is so fucked up! My Dad’s a Firefighter. We had smoke alarms in the house. How could this happen?”
“I don’t know man. It…I don’t know.”
I’m back in that favorite doughnut place with my best friend again. This time the conversation is very different.
“It doesn’t make any sense. None of them woke up at any point and noticed? Not one of them thought, ‘Gee, it’s really hot in here’ or ‘I wonder where all the smoke is coming from’? I mean fucking burned alive! How horrible is that!?”
“Actually, when people die in a fire like that, it’s from smoke inhalation. They suffocate before the flames get to them. It’s very rare that someone actually burns alive.”
“Well thank God for small favors!” I say sarcastically.
“I just figured you’d feel better about it if you knew that it was at least…peaceful.”
“Sigh…I guess. OK, yeah you’re right. I’m glad that they weren’t burning and screaming with their skin melting off when they died. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re gone.”
“I know.”
“If someone had called sooner and if the fire trucks had gotten there faster, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe one of them would have woken up when they heard the siren and gotten everyone out.”
“Maybe, but…”
“And how did the fire even start!? Did someone leave a candle burning or a curling iron plugged in or something? My family’s too obsessive compulsive and afraid of something like that happening to not check and make sure before going to bed.”
“That’s true, but…”
“FUCK! Do you know what the worst part is? The whole time I was at my concert, I was pissed off at them. I thought they just forgot or didn’t feel like driving down or blew me off. I was livid! Come to find out, they were dead. They’re dead and all I could think about is how they weren’t at my concert.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up.”
“RRRRGOD!” After this last outburst I got very tired all of a sudden. I put my head down in my arms, on the table. “I just feel…crazy. That’s the only way I can describe it. Does that make sense.”
“It’ll be OK. I don’t know how or when, and I know you probably can’t imagine it being OK, but it will be. You will be OK.”
“God help me.”
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
It was a dream. It was all a bad dream. I must have watched a fucked up movie this week. Or maybe ate something weird before I went to bed last night. I should get up. Maybe I’ll give them a call. What day is it? Maybe the concert hasn’t happened yet. Maybe I dreamed that too. I should go see what day it is. Maybe I have class today. It might be a weekday. I’ll go check. In a minute. I do have to piss though. OK, I’ll get up.
I got out of bed and went straight to the bathroom. I could hear the TV on and then my roommate moving around. When I came out of the bathroom, he startled me, because he was right there in the hallway.
“Ah! Hey, what’s up? What time is it?”
“Twelve thirty. How…how are you?”
“Good. I had some fucked up dreams, but I got a lot of sleep. How are you?”
“Um…I’m fine. Listen…”
“Hey, what day is it?”
“Wednesday.”
“Wednesday? Well I guess I’m not going to class then, haha. How come you’re not in class?”
“I told you I’d go with you.”
“Go? Do I have something today? Let me check my planner.”
I run into my room and quickly fish through my bag. When I find my planner, I flip through to this month. By this time my roommate is standing in my doorway.
“Oh, his wake is today. I must’ve dreamed going to that too. You’re coming to the wake with me?”
“No…well yeah, but today we’re going to make the arrangements.”
“Oh no, his family took care of that all ready. I do want to go to his wake though, and that’s cool that you’re coming.”
“What? No, that was last week.”
“No, today. Look, you said it’s Wednesday, here it is in my planner, “wake”.”
“That’s last week. This is today. We’re going to…”
“No, because here’s where my Wind Ensemble concert is and that’s this coming Sunday…”
“No, that was last Sunday.”
“No, that was a dream, which means the concert didn’t happen yet, which means that it is this coming Sunday!”
“You really don’t know what we’re doing today do you?”
“Yes it’s right here: the wake!”
“Tim…we’re going to make funeral arrangements…”
“I told you, his family is doing them.”
“For your family!”
“Fuck you! That’s not fuckin’ cool! How would you like it if after you got up, all disoriented from a nightmare, I tried to trick you into thinking your family was dead and that it was one week into the future!?”
“I’m not trying to trick you. You must’ve blocked it out or something…”
“IT. WAS. A. DREAM!!”
“Tim, it wasn’t.”
“Oh yeah, then how did they die?”
“…The house burned down with everyone in it.”
“…”
“You came home Sunday, after your Wind Ensemble concert and said that they didn’t show up. There was a message from your Grandmother on the answering machine. You called her back and that’s when she told you. Then you passed out. You’ve been mostly just sleeping the past couple of days. That’s probably why you don’t remember much and think it was a dream. You are going today to make all the funeral arrangements and I’m going with you.”
“FUCK YOU!!” I scream and then I start to cry. I stand there sobbing with my head and shoulders slumped. After a while he puts his arm around me.
“Come on man, let’s go do this work.”
It was a dream. It was all a bad dream. I must have watched a fucked up movie this week. Or maybe ate something weird before I went to bed last night. I should get up. Maybe I’ll give them a call. What day is it? Maybe the concert hasn’t happened yet. Maybe I dreamed that too. I should go see what day it is. Maybe I have class today. It might be a weekday. I’ll go check. In a minute. I do have to piss though. OK, I’ll get up.
I got out of bed and went straight to the bathroom. I could hear the TV on and then my roommate moving around. When I came out of the bathroom, he startled me, because he was right there in the hallway.
“Ah! Hey, what’s up? What time is it?”
“Twelve thirty. How…how are you?”
“Good. I had some fucked up dreams, but I got a lot of sleep. How are you?”
“Um…I’m fine. Listen…”
“Hey, what day is it?”
“Wednesday.”
“Wednesday? Well I guess I’m not going to class then, haha. How come you’re not in class?”
“I told you I’d go with you.”
“Go? Do I have something today? Let me check my planner.”
I run into my room and quickly fish through my bag. When I find my planner, I flip through to this month. By this time my roommate is standing in my doorway.
“Oh, his wake is today. I must’ve dreamed going to that too. You’re coming to the wake with me?”
“No…well yeah, but today we’re going to make the arrangements.”
“Oh no, his family took care of that all ready. I do want to go to his wake though, and that’s cool that you’re coming.”
“What? No, that was last week.”
“No, today. Look, you said it’s Wednesday, here it is in my planner, “wake”.”
“That’s last week. This is today. We’re going to…”
“No, because here’s where my Wind Ensemble concert is and that’s this coming Sunday…”
“No, that was last Sunday.”
“No, that was a dream, which means the concert didn’t happen yet, which means that it is this coming Sunday!”
“You really don’t know what we’re doing today do you?”
“Yes it’s right here: the wake!”
“Tim…we’re going to make funeral arrangements…”
“I told you, his family is doing them.”
“For your family!”
“Fuck you! That’s not fuckin’ cool! How would you like it if after you got up, all disoriented from a nightmare, I tried to trick you into thinking your family was dead and that it was one week into the future!?”
“I’m not trying to trick you. You must’ve blocked it out or something…”
“IT. WAS. A. DREAM!!”
“Tim, it wasn’t.”
“Oh yeah, then how did they die?”
“…The house burned down with everyone in it.”
“…”
“You came home Sunday, after your Wind Ensemble concert and said that they didn’t show up. There was a message from your Grandmother on the answering machine. You called her back and that’s when she told you. Then you passed out. You’ve been mostly just sleeping the past couple of days. That’s probably why you don’t remember much and think it was a dream. You are going today to make all the funeral arrangements and I’m going with you.”
“FUCK YOU!!” I scream and then I start to cry. I stand there sobbing with my head and shoulders slumped. After a while he puts his arm around me.
“Come on man, let’s go do this work.”
Friday, May 30, 2008
Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
“How was the concert?” my roommate asked.
“Good, except that my family didn’t fuckin’ show up.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t call or leave a message on my phone and I’ve been calling the house all the way home, but no one’s picking up. Did they call here?”
“There’s a message on the machine, but it’s your Grandma.”
I hit the answering machine button and sure enough, I hear my Grandmother’s voice.
“Hi Tim, it’s Grandma. Can you give me a call when you get this.”
That was the only message. I hit the button angrily to delete it.
“Maybe she knows where they are.”
“That’s true. They’re probably over at her house and that’s why they forgot all about it.”
I look up her number in my cell phone and hit SEND. As it’s ringing, I try to clam down a little, because I don’t want to lash out at my Grandma. It takes a while for someone to answer and I figure they must be outside. I’m about to hang up when I hear her answer.
“Hi Grandma, it’s Tim.” I get impatient, and instead of waiting for her to tell me why she called, I jump in. “Hey, are Mom and Dad and the girls there? Did they remember that I had a concert today? Do you know where they are?” She begins to tell me where they are. “A fire? Our house? Is everyone ok?” …
I’m vaguely aware of my Grandmother’s voice fading into the distance and my roommate yelling to me from the other room as I get tunnel vision. I remember a thump, and looking up at my roommate, shaking me and asking if I am ok, before everything goes black.
“How was the concert?” my roommate asked.
“Good, except that my family didn’t fuckin’ show up.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t call or leave a message on my phone and I’ve been calling the house all the way home, but no one’s picking up. Did they call here?”
“There’s a message on the machine, but it’s your Grandma.”
I hit the answering machine button and sure enough, I hear my Grandmother’s voice.
“Hi Tim, it’s Grandma. Can you give me a call when you get this.”
That was the only message. I hit the button angrily to delete it.
“Maybe she knows where they are.”
“That’s true. They’re probably over at her house and that’s why they forgot all about it.”
I look up her number in my cell phone and hit SEND. As it’s ringing, I try to clam down a little, because I don’t want to lash out at my Grandma. It takes a while for someone to answer and I figure they must be outside. I’m about to hang up when I hear her answer.
“Hi Grandma, it’s Tim.” I get impatient, and instead of waiting for her to tell me why she called, I jump in. “Hey, are Mom and Dad and the girls there? Did they remember that I had a concert today? Do you know where they are?” She begins to tell me where they are. “A fire? Our house? Is everyone ok?” …
I’m vaguely aware of my Grandmother’s voice fading into the distance and my roommate yelling to me from the other room as I get tunnel vision. I remember a thump, and looking up at my roommate, shaking me and asking if I am ok, before everything goes black.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
So it’s Sunday and I have a Wind Ensemble concert. Ensembles are half way between music classes and composing on my “things I like scale”. I love performing, I just love composing and performing my own music more. Also, the music that we play is not always the most interesting, so sometimes I would rather be in class. My main gripe is that we play too many orchestral arrangements. Now back in the day, that was pretty much all bands could play besides marches. Nowadays however, there are plenty of composers putting out brand new literature, specifically for concert band/wind ensemble. And if you can’t find any of them, hell, you got one right here. I would love to have one of the pieces from my Bible epic performed in this recital hall!
Wind Ensemble concerts are at 3:00 but we have a dress rehearsal at before that at 1:00. When my family comes, they get here early and I get them free tickets (I have connections). They usually show up between 1:30 and 2:00. During dress rehearsal, I’ll peek my head out of the stage door to see if they’ve shown up, whenever I get a break. I quickly glance up and down the hallway and then run back in. This time however, even after I did this a bunch of times, up until the end of dress rehearsal, I didn’t see them. After dress rehearsal, I ran up the hallway, toward the box office to see if they were around the corner. Still no sign. I went back through the stage door and looked out into the audience to see if maybe they had snuck in. The front row of seats, where my Mom likes to sit was still empty, so I knew they weren’t in there. When I came out into the hall, I saw one of my percussion buddies. He’s met at least some of my family before, so I figured he would recognize them if he saw them.
“Hey, have you seen any of my family around?” I asked him.
“No. They’re not here yet?”
“No. Usually they’re here by the time we finish rehearsal.”
“Maybe we ended earlier than we usually do.”
“Maybe. What time is it?”
“It’s about ten past 2. Maybe they’re just running a little late.”
“I guess. I’ll be outside. If you see them, can you tell them where I am.”
“Sure.”
I stopped at the percussion room to grab my cell phone, then went outside and ran up a few of the aisles in the parking lot to see if the van was there. I didn’t see it. I checked my voice mail to see if they called. They didn’t. I called the house. Got no answer. I figured it was because they already left and were on the road. I stayed outside to watch for them so I would know right when they got here. After pacing around outside for about a half hour, I went back inside. I dropped my phone off in the percussion room, and checked all the same places that I did before. I ran up toward the box office, but they weren’t among the people waiting to go in. I ran back and checked on stage, but the front row of seats was still empty. When I came out from back stage, I even looked up and down the hall again, but they were not here. I went around the corner toward the band room and saw my percussion buddy again, talking with his girlfriend and one of her friends.
“Did you find them?” he asked.
“No, I didn’t”
“Maybe they’re already inside. Did you check..”
“Yeah, I checked in the audience, over by the box office, even out in the parking lot, but they’re not here.”
“Well they’ve been here before, so when they show up, they’ll know where to go.”
“Yeah.”
Now it was time to start filing on stage. The percussionists have to go on last anyway, because we’re in the back, so I took that opportunity to check the parking lot once more. I came back in, just in time to be the last one on stage, but not look like I was late.
I wouldn’t say I played poorly, because the parts weren’t that hard, but my heart definitely wasn’t in it. I kept looking over to that empty front row, hoping I’d see them come in, in between pieces. When the concert was over and the house lights came on, I stayed on stage and looked toward the back of the audience. I figured that if they came in late, maybe they wouldn’t want to come all the way up to the front and just go to the first empty seats they saw. If that were the case however, even if I didn’t see them, they would see me now, and come over to the stage. I kept looking until I was sure that the last few stragglers weren’t them. I walked out into the hall, this being the last ditch effort, figuring maybe they’d be out there waiting for me. As I was standing there, I felt a hand on my shoulder and it gave me a sense of relief. When I turned and saw that it was my percussion buddy, my heart sank (no offence to him).
“Hey, did you end up finding your family?”
“Nope, they never showed up,” I said as I shrugged, kind of annoyed by this point.
I put the percussion instruments away, which only annoyed me further, because everyone else and their families were getting in my way. When I was done, I grabbed my stuff out of the percussion room and headed for the van. I took out my cell phone and when I had a signal (you don’t get reception in the FAC), I checked my voicemail again. I called the house again. Now I was just pissed. What the hell were they doing? Why would they just blow me off like that?
So it’s Sunday and I have a Wind Ensemble concert. Ensembles are half way between music classes and composing on my “things I like scale”. I love performing, I just love composing and performing my own music more. Also, the music that we play is not always the most interesting, so sometimes I would rather be in class. My main gripe is that we play too many orchestral arrangements. Now back in the day, that was pretty much all bands could play besides marches. Nowadays however, there are plenty of composers putting out brand new literature, specifically for concert band/wind ensemble. And if you can’t find any of them, hell, you got one right here. I would love to have one of the pieces from my Bible epic performed in this recital hall!
Wind Ensemble concerts are at 3:00 but we have a dress rehearsal at before that at 1:00. When my family comes, they get here early and I get them free tickets (I have connections). They usually show up between 1:30 and 2:00. During dress rehearsal, I’ll peek my head out of the stage door to see if they’ve shown up, whenever I get a break. I quickly glance up and down the hallway and then run back in. This time however, even after I did this a bunch of times, up until the end of dress rehearsal, I didn’t see them. After dress rehearsal, I ran up the hallway, toward the box office to see if they were around the corner. Still no sign. I went back through the stage door and looked out into the audience to see if maybe they had snuck in. The front row of seats, where my Mom likes to sit was still empty, so I knew they weren’t in there. When I came out into the hall, I saw one of my percussion buddies. He’s met at least some of my family before, so I figured he would recognize them if he saw them.
“Hey, have you seen any of my family around?” I asked him.
“No. They’re not here yet?”
“No. Usually they’re here by the time we finish rehearsal.”
“Maybe we ended earlier than we usually do.”
“Maybe. What time is it?”
“It’s about ten past 2. Maybe they’re just running a little late.”
“I guess. I’ll be outside. If you see them, can you tell them where I am.”
“Sure.”
I stopped at the percussion room to grab my cell phone, then went outside and ran up a few of the aisles in the parking lot to see if the van was there. I didn’t see it. I checked my voice mail to see if they called. They didn’t. I called the house. Got no answer. I figured it was because they already left and were on the road. I stayed outside to watch for them so I would know right when they got here. After pacing around outside for about a half hour, I went back inside. I dropped my phone off in the percussion room, and checked all the same places that I did before. I ran up toward the box office, but they weren’t among the people waiting to go in. I ran back and checked on stage, but the front row of seats was still empty. When I came out from back stage, I even looked up and down the hall again, but they were not here. I went around the corner toward the band room and saw my percussion buddy again, talking with his girlfriend and one of her friends.
“Did you find them?” he asked.
“No, I didn’t”
“Maybe they’re already inside. Did you check..”
“Yeah, I checked in the audience, over by the box office, even out in the parking lot, but they’re not here.”
“Well they’ve been here before, so when they show up, they’ll know where to go.”
“Yeah.”
Now it was time to start filing on stage. The percussionists have to go on last anyway, because we’re in the back, so I took that opportunity to check the parking lot once more. I came back in, just in time to be the last one on stage, but not look like I was late.
I wouldn’t say I played poorly, because the parts weren’t that hard, but my heart definitely wasn’t in it. I kept looking over to that empty front row, hoping I’d see them come in, in between pieces. When the concert was over and the house lights came on, I stayed on stage and looked toward the back of the audience. I figured that if they came in late, maybe they wouldn’t want to come all the way up to the front and just go to the first empty seats they saw. If that were the case however, even if I didn’t see them, they would see me now, and come over to the stage. I kept looking until I was sure that the last few stragglers weren’t them. I walked out into the hall, this being the last ditch effort, figuring maybe they’d be out there waiting for me. As I was standing there, I felt a hand on my shoulder and it gave me a sense of relief. When I turned and saw that it was my percussion buddy, my heart sank (no offence to him).
“Hey, did you end up finding your family?”
“Nope, they never showed up,” I said as I shrugged, kind of annoyed by this point.
I put the percussion instruments away, which only annoyed me further, because everyone else and their families were getting in my way. When I was done, I grabbed my stuff out of the percussion room and headed for the van. I took out my cell phone and when I had a signal (you don’t get reception in the FAC), I checked my voicemail again. I called the house again. Now I was just pissed. What the hell were they doing? Why would they just blow me off like that?
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
Luckily I didn’t have to work that night, because I was not in the mood. I mean, I am never in the mood, but I was really not in the mood. After trading quick ‘What’s up?’s with my roommate, I went right to my room. I emptied the entire contents of my bag onto my bed. My notebooks, my Latin note cards, my Latin text book and workbook, my music manuscript paper, my composition notes, my scores that I was studying. Looking at the pile, I decided it was time to make a choice: do what I hate, or do what I love. This may seem obvious when just presented with the choice itself, however, it is not always easy when you consider the terms of the choice, or the possible consequences. Nevertheless, in light of recent events, I made my choice. I sifted through the pile and pulled out anything composition related and placed it on my desk chair. This was my choice: to do what I love. With a sigh of relief, I began to work.
For a couple of years, I had wanted to compose music based on different parts of the Bible, specifically, Genesis, The Passion and Revelation. As the idea gestated, (as all my ideas do before being born) different ideas came to me about slight changes that could be made to the way the stories were told. For example, in Genesis, instead of an apple, Eve was tempted with sex (what else do you know of that looks like a snake holding an apple?). Instead of The First Horseman of the Apocalypse riding on a white horse, maybe it’s a ‘White House’ (see what I did there?). Here’s where it gets a little crazy: I decided to add vampires. Actually, no. I didn’t decide to add vampires, it just happened that way. Everything just fit so well, I couldn’t not mix them in. It’s like they were originally there, and were taken out of the stories to make the versions we know today. Vampires do play a much bigger part than I imagined at the beginning, but I won’t tell you how. You’ll just have to buy the books. Anyway, this epic is what I decided to work on that night (and pretty much every chance that I have, since then).
After working for a while, I saw movement at my bedroom door, out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look, but nothing was there. I turned back to my music and a couple of seconds later, it was there again. I turned once more to the door, but again - nothing. This time, instead of turning back to my music, I kept looking at the doorway, to see if whatever it was would show itself again…and it did. A little orange and grey orangutan face peeked sideways around the door, followed by my roommates head. He does this all the time, walking sideways silently by my door to subtlety get my attention. (Oh, and the orangutan is a stuffed animal that he makes dance and sing and hump people…hilarious.) We both laugh (I needed it) as he straightens up and comes in.
“What’re you doin’?” he asks.
“What’s up,” I reply.
“Aren’t you supposed to be doin’ homework?” he asks, looking at my bed and seeing the pile of Latin paraphernalia I am ignoring.
“Yeah,” I say defiantly (not defiant to him, defiant to ‘The Man’).
“Well why aren’t you doin’ it?” doing a mock impersonation of my father.
“Cuz I don’t wanna. Haha. I’m working on my music.”
“All right,” he says kind of disappointed. I think he wanted to play. He makes his orangutan wave goodbye as he walks backward out of my room, doing this high pitch whistle that we’ve been doing since Marching Band Camp, Sophomore year. I laugh and wave good bye and then settle back in to write.
I actually get a lot of work done. At this point, there was nothing really solidified, mostly just themes. I had music for the Garden of Eden, the Tree of Knowledge, an overall Good vs. Evil theme, as well as some instrument and rhythm associations to certain characters. For example, Adam is the French Horn, Eve is the flute and the Devil is the bassoon or oboe, depending on... well, you’ll find out later. I also have some nature sounds related to the overtone series, but now I’m getting too ‘music nerd’. Mostly what I did that night was play around with some of those ideas at my keyboard. There was one new idea that came to me that night though: music for someone being turned into a vampire. If vampires are going to be a part of this story, then at some point, someone is going to get turned. It was interesting because it combined a few of the other themes that I had been working with, in addition to some new ones.
It was only when my roommate came in, wrapped in a blanket and sleepy eyed, that I realized how much time had passed.
“What are you still doin’ up, dude, are you still workin’ on that?”
“Yup.”
“You’re fuckin’ nuts dude you need to go to bed. I’m goin’ to bed. Night.”
“I’ll see ya tomorrow some time.”
I didn’t stop to see exactly what time it was, but if my roommate was that tired, then it was late. I was still so pumped about composing again that I didn’t care. I kept going, and only stopped when I felt like I was going to pass out. I did even nod off a few times. And even though, for the last hour or so, I didn’t do anything but play the same stuff over and over again, I still loved every minute of it. I can’t remember a time when I was happier.
Luckily I didn’t have to work that night, because I was not in the mood. I mean, I am never in the mood, but I was really not in the mood. After trading quick ‘What’s up?’s with my roommate, I went right to my room. I emptied the entire contents of my bag onto my bed. My notebooks, my Latin note cards, my Latin text book and workbook, my music manuscript paper, my composition notes, my scores that I was studying. Looking at the pile, I decided it was time to make a choice: do what I hate, or do what I love. This may seem obvious when just presented with the choice itself, however, it is not always easy when you consider the terms of the choice, or the possible consequences. Nevertheless, in light of recent events, I made my choice. I sifted through the pile and pulled out anything composition related and placed it on my desk chair. This was my choice: to do what I love. With a sigh of relief, I began to work.
For a couple of years, I had wanted to compose music based on different parts of the Bible, specifically, Genesis, The Passion and Revelation. As the idea gestated, (as all my ideas do before being born) different ideas came to me about slight changes that could be made to the way the stories were told. For example, in Genesis, instead of an apple, Eve was tempted with sex (what else do you know of that looks like a snake holding an apple?). Instead of The First Horseman of the Apocalypse riding on a white horse, maybe it’s a ‘White House’ (see what I did there?). Here’s where it gets a little crazy: I decided to add vampires. Actually, no. I didn’t decide to add vampires, it just happened that way. Everything just fit so well, I couldn’t not mix them in. It’s like they were originally there, and were taken out of the stories to make the versions we know today. Vampires do play a much bigger part than I imagined at the beginning, but I won’t tell you how. You’ll just have to buy the books. Anyway, this epic is what I decided to work on that night (and pretty much every chance that I have, since then).
After working for a while, I saw movement at my bedroom door, out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look, but nothing was there. I turned back to my music and a couple of seconds later, it was there again. I turned once more to the door, but again - nothing. This time, instead of turning back to my music, I kept looking at the doorway, to see if whatever it was would show itself again…and it did. A little orange and grey orangutan face peeked sideways around the door, followed by my roommates head. He does this all the time, walking sideways silently by my door to subtlety get my attention. (Oh, and the orangutan is a stuffed animal that he makes dance and sing and hump people…hilarious.) We both laugh (I needed it) as he straightens up and comes in.
“What’re you doin’?” he asks.
“What’s up,” I reply.
“Aren’t you supposed to be doin’ homework?” he asks, looking at my bed and seeing the pile of Latin paraphernalia I am ignoring.
“Yeah,” I say defiantly (not defiant to him, defiant to ‘The Man’).
“Well why aren’t you doin’ it?” doing a mock impersonation of my father.
“Cuz I don’t wanna. Haha. I’m working on my music.”
“All right,” he says kind of disappointed. I think he wanted to play. He makes his orangutan wave goodbye as he walks backward out of my room, doing this high pitch whistle that we’ve been doing since Marching Band Camp, Sophomore year. I laugh and wave good bye and then settle back in to write.
I actually get a lot of work done. At this point, there was nothing really solidified, mostly just themes. I had music for the Garden of Eden, the Tree of Knowledge, an overall Good vs. Evil theme, as well as some instrument and rhythm associations to certain characters. For example, Adam is the French Horn, Eve is the flute and the Devil is the bassoon or oboe, depending on... well, you’ll find out later. I also have some nature sounds related to the overtone series, but now I’m getting too ‘music nerd’. Mostly what I did that night was play around with some of those ideas at my keyboard. There was one new idea that came to me that night though: music for someone being turned into a vampire. If vampires are going to be a part of this story, then at some point, someone is going to get turned. It was interesting because it combined a few of the other themes that I had been working with, in addition to some new ones.
It was only when my roommate came in, wrapped in a blanket and sleepy eyed, that I realized how much time had passed.
“What are you still doin’ up, dude, are you still workin’ on that?”
“Yup.”
“You’re fuckin’ nuts dude you need to go to bed. I’m goin’ to bed. Night.”
“I’ll see ya tomorrow some time.”
I didn’t stop to see exactly what time it was, but if my roommate was that tired, then it was late. I was still so pumped about composing again that I didn’t care. I kept going, and only stopped when I felt like I was going to pass out. I did even nod off a few times. And even though, for the last hour or so, I didn’t do anything but play the same stuff over and over again, I still loved every minute of it. I can’t remember a time when I was happier.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
So I’m late again. This time, however, when I am sitting for a ridiculously long time at the intersection of Route 1 and 138, I say nothing. I do nothing. But sit. And wait. I am quiet. I am still. I stare straight ahead. Blankly. I do not care that I am late. I do not know exactly how late I am, because I have not checked my watch. I do not care how late I am. I do know however, that I am VERY late.
Finally the light turns green and I creep through it. I get on 138 and adhere to the speed limit. For the entire drive I am mildly aware of the trees and the color of the leaves. The part of me that notices this, and wants to appreciate the beauty of it, is screaming, “hey, if we’re late we might as well enjoy the scenery!” “You used to love the trees in fall.” The rest of me does not care. The rest of me is pissed. Pissed that my friend is gone. Pissed that while he was dying, I was partying. Pissed that I spent most of my time being late for things I do not really care about. Pissed that I spend more time doing things that I hate, than I do composing. Pissed that I have not been living. Pissed, ironically, that I cannot enjoy the trees right now.
When the trip down 138 is finally finished and I take the right onto the little back-road, I start becoming more aware of my driving, which is good because it gets me out of my head. There is virtually no traffic on the roads because I am so late, but I still do not speed. When I get to the parking lot, I instinctively go to the entrance closest to the building and go up one of the rows of spots. I usually do this to find the spot closest to the building, as I am sure most of you do. This time, I do not care about finding a close spot and I end up driving past a few empty spaces. When I finally feel like stopping, I pull into the next space that I see. I do not go through my high speed routine in one fluid motion like I normally do. Every move I do is slow and deliberate. I unbuckle my seatbelt. I put the car in park. I roll up the window. I turn off the engine. I take out the key. I pick my bag up off the seat. I open the door. I lock it. I get out. I shut the door. I walk down the row of parked cars, realizing just how far away I am. Usually I am running, so it goes by a lot quicker, but walking seems to take forever.
When I finally get to the FAC and step inside, I see that the hallways are completely empty. Usually when I’m a little late, there are a few people who just got out of class and are hanging out, or finishing a conversation before they leave to go do something else. I am so late that everyone who is not in class, has already gone home or to lunch or to some other class. I make a left and walk toward the tables where people are usually sitting. I take another left and walk down the ramp. I get to the door on my right which, now that I’m not in a hurry, is open. (I do laugh to myself at this bit of irony.) I trudge up the stairs one at a time. When I get to the door, I don’t even bother trying it to see if it is open. I just knock obnoxiously and wait for someone to let me in. When someone finally does, I step through and walk toward the professor, awaiting my lecture.
“Mr. Girard…” He checks his watch. “You know, two weeks ago, you were here ten minutes after the class began.” He checks his watch again. “But now it’s ten minutes before the end of the class. You know, It’s hardly worth coming to class. We’ve got three more weeks of the semester and…”
“Fine,” I cut him off, shrugging my shoulders.
“What?”
I turn around and walk out, slamming the door behind me. As I’m going down the stairs, I undo the velcro strap on my watch. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I rip my watch off of my wrist and throw it in the trash can.
So I’m late again. This time, however, when I am sitting for a ridiculously long time at the intersection of Route 1 and 138, I say nothing. I do nothing. But sit. And wait. I am quiet. I am still. I stare straight ahead. Blankly. I do not care that I am late. I do not know exactly how late I am, because I have not checked my watch. I do not care how late I am. I do know however, that I am VERY late.
Finally the light turns green and I creep through it. I get on 138 and adhere to the speed limit. For the entire drive I am mildly aware of the trees and the color of the leaves. The part of me that notices this, and wants to appreciate the beauty of it, is screaming, “hey, if we’re late we might as well enjoy the scenery!” “You used to love the trees in fall.” The rest of me does not care. The rest of me is pissed. Pissed that my friend is gone. Pissed that while he was dying, I was partying. Pissed that I spent most of my time being late for things I do not really care about. Pissed that I spend more time doing things that I hate, than I do composing. Pissed that I have not been living. Pissed, ironically, that I cannot enjoy the trees right now.
When the trip down 138 is finally finished and I take the right onto the little back-road, I start becoming more aware of my driving, which is good because it gets me out of my head. There is virtually no traffic on the roads because I am so late, but I still do not speed. When I get to the parking lot, I instinctively go to the entrance closest to the building and go up one of the rows of spots. I usually do this to find the spot closest to the building, as I am sure most of you do. This time, I do not care about finding a close spot and I end up driving past a few empty spaces. When I finally feel like stopping, I pull into the next space that I see. I do not go through my high speed routine in one fluid motion like I normally do. Every move I do is slow and deliberate. I unbuckle my seatbelt. I put the car in park. I roll up the window. I turn off the engine. I take out the key. I pick my bag up off the seat. I open the door. I lock it. I get out. I shut the door. I walk down the row of parked cars, realizing just how far away I am. Usually I am running, so it goes by a lot quicker, but walking seems to take forever.
When I finally get to the FAC and step inside, I see that the hallways are completely empty. Usually when I’m a little late, there are a few people who just got out of class and are hanging out, or finishing a conversation before they leave to go do something else. I am so late that everyone who is not in class, has already gone home or to lunch or to some other class. I make a left and walk toward the tables where people are usually sitting. I take another left and walk down the ramp. I get to the door on my right which, now that I’m not in a hurry, is open. (I do laugh to myself at this bit of irony.) I trudge up the stairs one at a time. When I get to the door, I don’t even bother trying it to see if it is open. I just knock obnoxiously and wait for someone to let me in. When someone finally does, I step through and walk toward the professor, awaiting my lecture.
“Mr. Girard…” He checks his watch. “You know, two weeks ago, you were here ten minutes after the class began.” He checks his watch again. “But now it’s ten minutes before the end of the class. You know, It’s hardly worth coming to class. We’ve got three more weeks of the semester and…”
“Fine,” I cut him off, shrugging my shoulders.
“What?”
I turn around and walk out, slamming the door behind me. As I’m going down the stairs, I undo the velcro strap on my watch. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I rip my watch off of my wrist and throw it in the trash can.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
About an hour later, I get back to my house. When I go inside, I see my roommate in the living room watching TV. After some small talk, I finally get down to talking about what’s really on my mind.
“You know, I understand death. Death is not bad for those that died. They go on to another better place..”
“Heaven?”
“Or re-incarnation, or what ever.”
“Which one is it, do you think?”
“I think it depends on the person.”
“Like if they’re good they go to heaven, bad they go to hell, in between they get re-incarnated?”
“Kind of, but I don’t think it’s an absolute kind of thing. I don’t believe there is someone up there that decides, ‘you were bad, you go to hell’ or ‘you did what I wanted you to do, so you get to come chill with us in the clouds’. I think that whatever a person believes and however they live, that is the experience they create for themselves in the afterlife.”
“Like how ghosts are spirits of people who are holding on to something in this world?”
“Yeah like that, but it goes for everyone though. Plus I don’t think you need to listen to what religions tell you to do, in order to live your life the right way and get the afterlife you desire.”
“So what, you think people can do whatever they want, steal, rape and kill, and they can still go to heaven if that’s what they want?”
“If a person does all those things, then they are dwelling in a very dark place and they are creating a lot of painful emotions that will cling to them and that will become a part of what is in their afterlife. But it is all made up of things that they chose, not some punishments imposed by this celestial being.”
“So you don’t believe in God?”
“Not the way most people do. I don’t believe in the man with the white beard and the white robe. I don’t believe in the vengeful, wrathful, punishing father figure with human emotions like jealousy anger and the need for power over others. I don’t believe in a god that tests us by saying, “prove that you love me by killing your only son.” I don’t believe in a god that stacks up all our ‘sins’ and uses them against us. I don’t believe in a god that gives us this ’free will’ to do what we want, except that there is a right and wrong thing to do, and if we do the ’wrong’ thing, we get punished for it. This results in us making choices based on what ‘won’t get us in trouble’ rather than what we actually would choose to do.”
“So you think people should be allowed to do whatever they want, like kill?”
“How come whenever the subject of ‘doing whatever you want’ comes up, killing is the first thing on your mind? Is the fear of getting arrested or going to hell the only thing keeping you from killing? You know what, don’t answer that. (Sigh…) There are plenty of laws and commandments that say not to kill, and that doesn’t stop the people who do. All that image of ‘God’ does, is put fear in the hearts of people who are probably already good people to begin with.”
“So what do you think God is then?”
“It’s more than that. Way more. I haven’t quite been able to put it into words yet, but I have an idea. In a science textbook I read at some point, it had a definition of the Universe. I didn’t say, “all the stars and planets and dust and empty space,“ or anything like that. I simply said, “everything there is“. That’s how I think of God. God is everything, everywhere, every when. God isn’t just some being out there in space separate from us, God is us, and everything in between. I don’t know, it sounds kind of generic when I say it out loud, but the way I feel it and think about it, I know it’s true. Plus God is so vast that you can’t put human limitations on it and anyone who does, obviously has the wrong idea. I mean no limited human mind could perceive what God is. They think they can, but that is pride and their ego talking…”
“’They’…? What, like you aren’t human too?”
“…huh? Where was I? Oh yeah, so the conventional ideas of god and the afterlife are wrong, but my main point when I started all this was that, this life is not just a means to an end. We are not here to do a bunch of good deeds in order to earn as many “God Points” as we can, or to be tested to see if we are good enough to get into heaven, or whatever. We were given this life to do something, we are given this life for a purpose. And we do a great disservice to the creator that gave us this opportunity, by not making the most out of, and enjoying, all of the gifts given to us. And that’s what I’ve learned from all this. You can’t waste time in this life doing what everyone else thinks you should be doing. You should be doing what you are supposed to be doing. And that’s what I’m going to start doing.”
“What is it you are supposed to be doing?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but I know some of the things I’m NOT supposed to be doing. I can also tell when I am doing something right because of the feeling I get. Like this. This conversation. This realization. I feel great about this. This is right.”
“If it’s so right, then how come you still seem so upset?”
“Because I miss my friend.”
About an hour later, I get back to my house. When I go inside, I see my roommate in the living room watching TV. After some small talk, I finally get down to talking about what’s really on my mind.
“You know, I understand death. Death is not bad for those that died. They go on to another better place..”
“Heaven?”
“Or re-incarnation, or what ever.”
“Which one is it, do you think?”
“I think it depends on the person.”
“Like if they’re good they go to heaven, bad they go to hell, in between they get re-incarnated?”
“Kind of, but I don’t think it’s an absolute kind of thing. I don’t believe there is someone up there that decides, ‘you were bad, you go to hell’ or ‘you did what I wanted you to do, so you get to come chill with us in the clouds’. I think that whatever a person believes and however they live, that is the experience they create for themselves in the afterlife.”
“Like how ghosts are spirits of people who are holding on to something in this world?”
“Yeah like that, but it goes for everyone though. Plus I don’t think you need to listen to what religions tell you to do, in order to live your life the right way and get the afterlife you desire.”
“So what, you think people can do whatever they want, steal, rape and kill, and they can still go to heaven if that’s what they want?”
“If a person does all those things, then they are dwelling in a very dark place and they are creating a lot of painful emotions that will cling to them and that will become a part of what is in their afterlife. But it is all made up of things that they chose, not some punishments imposed by this celestial being.”
“So you don’t believe in God?”
“Not the way most people do. I don’t believe in the man with the white beard and the white robe. I don’t believe in the vengeful, wrathful, punishing father figure with human emotions like jealousy anger and the need for power over others. I don’t believe in a god that tests us by saying, “prove that you love me by killing your only son.” I don’t believe in a god that stacks up all our ‘sins’ and uses them against us. I don’t believe in a god that gives us this ’free will’ to do what we want, except that there is a right and wrong thing to do, and if we do the ’wrong’ thing, we get punished for it. This results in us making choices based on what ‘won’t get us in trouble’ rather than what we actually would choose to do.”
“So you think people should be allowed to do whatever they want, like kill?”
“How come whenever the subject of ‘doing whatever you want’ comes up, killing is the first thing on your mind? Is the fear of getting arrested or going to hell the only thing keeping you from killing? You know what, don’t answer that. (Sigh…) There are plenty of laws and commandments that say not to kill, and that doesn’t stop the people who do. All that image of ‘God’ does, is put fear in the hearts of people who are probably already good people to begin with.”
“So what do you think God is then?”
“It’s more than that. Way more. I haven’t quite been able to put it into words yet, but I have an idea. In a science textbook I read at some point, it had a definition of the Universe. I didn’t say, “all the stars and planets and dust and empty space,“ or anything like that. I simply said, “everything there is“. That’s how I think of God. God is everything, everywhere, every when. God isn’t just some being out there in space separate from us, God is us, and everything in between. I don’t know, it sounds kind of generic when I say it out loud, but the way I feel it and think about it, I know it’s true. Plus God is so vast that you can’t put human limitations on it and anyone who does, obviously has the wrong idea. I mean no limited human mind could perceive what God is. They think they can, but that is pride and their ego talking…”
“’They’…? What, like you aren’t human too?”
“…huh? Where was I? Oh yeah, so the conventional ideas of god and the afterlife are wrong, but my main point when I started all this was that, this life is not just a means to an end. We are not here to do a bunch of good deeds in order to earn as many “God Points” as we can, or to be tested to see if we are good enough to get into heaven, or whatever. We were given this life to do something, we are given this life for a purpose. And we do a great disservice to the creator that gave us this opportunity, by not making the most out of, and enjoying, all of the gifts given to us. And that’s what I’ve learned from all this. You can’t waste time in this life doing what everyone else thinks you should be doing. You should be doing what you are supposed to be doing. And that’s what I’m going to start doing.”
“What is it you are supposed to be doing?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but I know some of the things I’m NOT supposed to be doing. I can also tell when I am doing something right because of the feeling I get. Like this. This conversation. This realization. I feel great about this. This is right.”
“If it’s so right, then how come you still seem so upset?”
“Because I miss my friend.”
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Chapter 6 and Chapter 7
CHAPTER 6
BEEDLE-DEEDLE-BEEDLE-DEEDLE-BEEDLE-DEEDLE!!!
That’s the sound of the phone ringing, pulling me out of a sound sleep on a Sunday morning. Well, ok, afternoon. I shuffle my way out to the kitchen, rubbing my eyes, and let out one final yawn before I pick up the receiver.
“Hello? Oh, hey Mom. No, that’s all right, I was gonna get up soon anyway. Sorry I didn’t call you this weekend, but with the party and everything… I got the message right before I went to work and deleted it. I forgot all about it when I got home. So what’s up?…Yeah….Yeah, I just saw him…what day was it? Thursday. He stopped by Thursday night. Yeah, he told me that’s why he couldn’t come to the party cuz he was going to Vermont for the weekend…why? WHAT!? HOW!? WHAT THE…Oh my God…When’s the wake? I’ve got classes that day but I can skip ’em. I’ll go to the earlier one and while I’m in Woonsocket, I’ll stop at home. Yeah, see you then. Love you, too. Bye.”
I slowly hang up the phone and go back to bed. I don’t sleep. I just lie there.
CHAPTER 7
The wake was…well, it was a wake. Stand in line, everyone’s crying, sorry for your loss. It’s weird, because no matter how sad you are, or how much you’re hurting because of the loss of friend, the assembly-line nature of the wake seems to desensitize you to it. Maybe that’s part of its purpose - to numb you. You spend so much time in this line, waiting for your turn to say this generic phrase (because what else can you say, really?). Then you stand around shooting the shit, either with people you don’t know, or people you haven’t seen since high school, the whole time wondering what the appropriate amount of time is to stick around afterwards.
I went home to my parents’ house after, and was greeted first by my Mom. As I walked in the door, she was getting up from the kitchen table where she was reading a book and having a cup of tea.
“Hey, Tim, how’s it going.” It was that not-quite-sure-how-to-greet-you kind of thing. “How’d the wake go?” she asks as she gives me a hug.
“OK.”
“His parents doing OK?”
“Yeah. As well as they can be.”
“You want some coffee?”
“Um…yeah. I’m just gonna go to the bathroom real quick.”
“Dad’s in there now. You almost done in there?”
By this point, my youngest sister is aware that I’m home and comes out to say “hi”.
“Hey, Tim.” She gives me a hug.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Nothin’”
“I’ll be in in a minute to see you, alright?”
“Alright.”
As I was taking my jacket off and putting it on the back of a chair at the kitchen table, my Dad came out of the bathroom.
“Hey,” I say, as I give him a hug.
“How’s it goin’?”
“Good.”
I finally get to the bathroom and as I go in and shut the door, I hear my Mom ask my Dad if he wants any coffee, but he says he’s all set.
I find my way to the sink without turning on the light, and stand there in the darkness. After a moment, I turn on the light over the sink, and stare at myself in the mirror. I take my glasses and watch off, and turn the cold water on. As the water is running, I continue to stare at myself in the mirror, only now I look blurry because my glasses are off. When the water is cold enough, I scoop some up and splash it on my face. I do this a couple more times, trying to wash away…I don’t know what. On the last time, I run my wet fingers through my hair, before shaking the excess water off of them, and turn the faucet off. I dry my hands and face before putting my glasses and watch back on. Now that I can see again, for some reason, I am unable to raise my eyes and look at myself in the mirror. I reach over and flip the light switch off.
I leave the bathroom, putting on a little smile so I don’t show how upset I am.
“You want a muffin? I just made some,” my Mom asks.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Have a seat, you’re coffee’s ready.”
I sit down at the table, and as I begin to pour a ridiculous amount of cream into my coffee, my Mom puts a muffin down on a napkin in front of me.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
We start to talk, me reluctantly at first, but as I make my way through my coffee and muffin, I loosen up, and eventually end up trying to explain the Spider-Man clone saga to her.
“So…now it turns out, that the one that they thought was the clone, was actually the original one.”
“Jeez.“
“And now the one who really is the clone..is…like decides, he’s like, “OK I’m, Ya know, I’m just gonna go away,” and but then it turns…it’s…you’re gonna find out later on that he REALLY was the original one…and…”
“Now you lost me.”
“Yeah it’s…I lost myself.”
“Ha ha ha ha.”
“But, anyway..”
“Well, it makes it interesting.”
“Yeah.”
“We rented a movie, you wanna watch it?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah? O.K. I think you’ll like it.”
As we’re getting up to put our cups in the sink, one of my other sisters, the middle of the three, comes out of her room on the phone.
“OH! Um yeah, my brother’s here.”
“Well look who’s here.”
"Yeah, so I’m gonna see you tonight? Alright. Bye,” she says wrapping up her phone conversation. “Hey!” to me.
“How ya doin’?”
“Not too bad. How are you?”
“Good.”
“That’s good.”
“So, you gonna stick around for the movie, or are you cutting out?”
“Um, kinda got plans.”
“All right.”
“Later though.”
“O.K.” I tell my sister. “You can start the movie if you want, I’ll be in in a minute,” I tell my Mom.
“O.K.”
I go through the curtain into my youngest sister’s room (she doesn’t have a door), and greet her with a “Hey.”
“Hey.”
I give her another hug. “Wanna come watch a movie with us?”
“Sure, I’m just putting my pajamas on first.”
“Oh, O.K. Hurry up though, cuz Mom started it already.”
“O.K.”
I leave her room and walk back through the kitchen, heading for the parlor. I catch my sister as she’s leaving, so I stop to say bye to her.
“You leaving now?” I ask her.
“Yeah.”
“You’re goin’ to my concert though, right?”
“Yeah!”
“All right, I’ll see ya then.”
“All right.”
“Have fun tonight.”
“I will.”
“Be good.”
Reluctantly, “I will.”
“Ha ha…bye.”
“Bye.”
Once I make it into the parlor, I see the oldest of my sisters asleep on the couch.
“Ha ha. Look who’s here.” I sit on the arm of the couch so I can lean over her. “Hey”
“Mmm?”
“You sleepin’? Hm? You out partyin’ last night?”
“No, why do you keep asking me that?” She must have been having déjà vu.
“I didn’t ask you nothin’.
“Uuuugggghhh.,” she groans, then all of a sudden, turns her head to look up at me in a freaky sort of you-just-woke-me-from-sleep-walking kind of way. You know, when they’re awake, but they don’t know it and they won’t remember talking to you when they actually wake up.
“Ha ha ha, alright, go back to sleep.”
“Yeah,” she says sternly as she puts her head back down.
I get up off of the arm of the couch and head over to where my parents are in front of the TV. They are each sitting in their rocking chairs, and I go over to sit down in this mini futon, cushion thing in between them.
“All set?” my Mom asks.
“Yeah, let’s wait for…” I trail off and then yell for my youngest sister. “You comin’?”
“Yep!” she yells, and then a few seconds comes in, wearing her pajamas like she said.
“Ok, Dad, you can start it,” my Mom says.
My Dad hits play on the remote, and as the movie starts, my sister comes over and I let her sit on my lap, because she is still small enough to. However, she is big enough to almost tip over the seat.
“Whoa,” I say as I catch us from going completely over. We all have a little laugh, then get settled in and watch the movie.
When it’s done and we all come out of the zombie state, I yawn, stretch my arms and check my watch.
“Ugh, what time is it? Oh, that was longer than I thought. I gotta get goin’.” I still had about an hour drive ahead of me to get back to my house at school.
“Oh!” my Mom says as she checks her watch too.
“Alright. Uuuuhh,” I groan as I stand up and stretch my back. I turn to my Dad to give him a hug. “I’ll see you at the concert.”
“Ok.”
“Bye.”
“See ya later, take care.”
“You too. You coming out?” I ask my Mom.
“Yeah, I’ll go out.”
My Dad stays in his chair and changes the channel on the TV, putting one of his shows on. My Mom gets up and she and my sister follow me out to the kitchen. I get my coat off the back of the chair and as I put it on, my Mom asks,
“So, you all set for food and everything?”
“Yeah, I’m all set, I’ve got stuff that’ll last for a while.”
“Yeah? Ok. Alright, well, be careful driving back.”
“I will.”
“Take it easy,” she says as I give her a hug.
“You too. Love you.”
“Love you. Bye.”
“Bye.”
“When’s the next time I’m gonna see you?” my youngest sister asks as I give her a hug.
“Um, you’ll see me at the concert, right?”
“Yeah,” my Mom says.
My sister nods with a little smile on her face
“Ok, so not too long,” I reassure her. “Alright?”
“Alright,” she agrees.
“I’ll see you then.”
“Alright, take care,” my Mom says.
“Bye,” my sister says.
“Bye,” I say as I open the kitchen door and walk through it, shutting it behind me. I take a step, but then stop. Everything that I was able to put out of my mind in the last couple of hours comes rushing back in. My friend is gone. My head hangs as I make my way through the hall and out the door. I am not looking forward to the hour long drive, where I will be alone with my thoughts.
BEEDLE-DEEDLE-BEEDLE-DEEDLE-BEEDLE-DEEDLE!!!
That’s the sound of the phone ringing, pulling me out of a sound sleep on a Sunday morning. Well, ok, afternoon. I shuffle my way out to the kitchen, rubbing my eyes, and let out one final yawn before I pick up the receiver.
“Hello? Oh, hey Mom. No, that’s all right, I was gonna get up soon anyway. Sorry I didn’t call you this weekend, but with the party and everything… I got the message right before I went to work and deleted it. I forgot all about it when I got home. So what’s up?…Yeah….Yeah, I just saw him…what day was it? Thursday. He stopped by Thursday night. Yeah, he told me that’s why he couldn’t come to the party cuz he was going to Vermont for the weekend…why? WHAT!? HOW!? WHAT THE…Oh my God…When’s the wake? I’ve got classes that day but I can skip ’em. I’ll go to the earlier one and while I’m in Woonsocket, I’ll stop at home. Yeah, see you then. Love you, too. Bye.”
I slowly hang up the phone and go back to bed. I don’t sleep. I just lie there.
CHAPTER 7
The wake was…well, it was a wake. Stand in line, everyone’s crying, sorry for your loss. It’s weird, because no matter how sad you are, or how much you’re hurting because of the loss of friend, the assembly-line nature of the wake seems to desensitize you to it. Maybe that’s part of its purpose - to numb you. You spend so much time in this line, waiting for your turn to say this generic phrase (because what else can you say, really?). Then you stand around shooting the shit, either with people you don’t know, or people you haven’t seen since high school, the whole time wondering what the appropriate amount of time is to stick around afterwards.
I went home to my parents’ house after, and was greeted first by my Mom. As I walked in the door, she was getting up from the kitchen table where she was reading a book and having a cup of tea.
“Hey, Tim, how’s it going.” It was that not-quite-sure-how-to-greet-you kind of thing. “How’d the wake go?” she asks as she gives me a hug.
“OK.”
“His parents doing OK?”
“Yeah. As well as they can be.”
“You want some coffee?”
“Um…yeah. I’m just gonna go to the bathroom real quick.”
“Dad’s in there now. You almost done in there?”
By this point, my youngest sister is aware that I’m home and comes out to say “hi”.
“Hey, Tim.” She gives me a hug.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Nothin’”
“I’ll be in in a minute to see you, alright?”
“Alright.”
As I was taking my jacket off and putting it on the back of a chair at the kitchen table, my Dad came out of the bathroom.
“Hey,” I say, as I give him a hug.
“How’s it goin’?”
“Good.”
I finally get to the bathroom and as I go in and shut the door, I hear my Mom ask my Dad if he wants any coffee, but he says he’s all set.
I find my way to the sink without turning on the light, and stand there in the darkness. After a moment, I turn on the light over the sink, and stare at myself in the mirror. I take my glasses and watch off, and turn the cold water on. As the water is running, I continue to stare at myself in the mirror, only now I look blurry because my glasses are off. When the water is cold enough, I scoop some up and splash it on my face. I do this a couple more times, trying to wash away…I don’t know what. On the last time, I run my wet fingers through my hair, before shaking the excess water off of them, and turn the faucet off. I dry my hands and face before putting my glasses and watch back on. Now that I can see again, for some reason, I am unable to raise my eyes and look at myself in the mirror. I reach over and flip the light switch off.
I leave the bathroom, putting on a little smile so I don’t show how upset I am.
“You want a muffin? I just made some,” my Mom asks.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Have a seat, you’re coffee’s ready.”
I sit down at the table, and as I begin to pour a ridiculous amount of cream into my coffee, my Mom puts a muffin down on a napkin in front of me.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
We start to talk, me reluctantly at first, but as I make my way through my coffee and muffin, I loosen up, and eventually end up trying to explain the Spider-Man clone saga to her.
“So…now it turns out, that the one that they thought was the clone, was actually the original one.”
“Jeez.“
“And now the one who really is the clone..is…like decides, he’s like, “OK I’m, Ya know, I’m just gonna go away,” and but then it turns…it’s…you’re gonna find out later on that he REALLY was the original one…and…”
“Now you lost me.”
“Yeah it’s…I lost myself.”
“Ha ha ha ha.”
“But, anyway..”
“Well, it makes it interesting.”
“Yeah.”
“We rented a movie, you wanna watch it?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah? O.K. I think you’ll like it.”
As we’re getting up to put our cups in the sink, one of my other sisters, the middle of the three, comes out of her room on the phone.
“OH! Um yeah, my brother’s here.”
“Well look who’s here.”
"Yeah, so I’m gonna see you tonight? Alright. Bye,” she says wrapping up her phone conversation. “Hey!” to me.
“How ya doin’?”
“Not too bad. How are you?”
“Good.”
“That’s good.”
“So, you gonna stick around for the movie, or are you cutting out?”
“Um, kinda got plans.”
“All right.”
“Later though.”
“O.K.” I tell my sister. “You can start the movie if you want, I’ll be in in a minute,” I tell my Mom.
“O.K.”
I go through the curtain into my youngest sister’s room (she doesn’t have a door), and greet her with a “Hey.”
“Hey.”
I give her another hug. “Wanna come watch a movie with us?”
“Sure, I’m just putting my pajamas on first.”
“Oh, O.K. Hurry up though, cuz Mom started it already.”
“O.K.”
I leave her room and walk back through the kitchen, heading for the parlor. I catch my sister as she’s leaving, so I stop to say bye to her.
“You leaving now?” I ask her.
“Yeah.”
“You’re goin’ to my concert though, right?”
“Yeah!”
“All right, I’ll see ya then.”
“All right.”
“Have fun tonight.”
“I will.”
“Be good.”
Reluctantly, “I will.”
“Ha ha…bye.”
“Bye.”
Once I make it into the parlor, I see the oldest of my sisters asleep on the couch.
“Ha ha. Look who’s here.” I sit on the arm of the couch so I can lean over her. “Hey”
“Mmm?”
“You sleepin’? Hm? You out partyin’ last night?”
“No, why do you keep asking me that?” She must have been having déjà vu.
“I didn’t ask you nothin’.
“Uuuugggghhh.,” she groans, then all of a sudden, turns her head to look up at me in a freaky sort of you-just-woke-me-from-sleep-walking kind of way. You know, when they’re awake, but they don’t know it and they won’t remember talking to you when they actually wake up.
“Ha ha ha, alright, go back to sleep.”
“Yeah,” she says sternly as she puts her head back down.
I get up off of the arm of the couch and head over to where my parents are in front of the TV. They are each sitting in their rocking chairs, and I go over to sit down in this mini futon, cushion thing in between them.
“All set?” my Mom asks.
“Yeah, let’s wait for…” I trail off and then yell for my youngest sister. “You comin’?”
“Yep!” she yells, and then a few seconds comes in, wearing her pajamas like she said.
“Ok, Dad, you can start it,” my Mom says.
My Dad hits play on the remote, and as the movie starts, my sister comes over and I let her sit on my lap, because she is still small enough to. However, she is big enough to almost tip over the seat.
“Whoa,” I say as I catch us from going completely over. We all have a little laugh, then get settled in and watch the movie.
When it’s done and we all come out of the zombie state, I yawn, stretch my arms and check my watch.
“Ugh, what time is it? Oh, that was longer than I thought. I gotta get goin’.” I still had about an hour drive ahead of me to get back to my house at school.
“Oh!” my Mom says as she checks her watch too.
“Alright. Uuuuhh,” I groan as I stand up and stretch my back. I turn to my Dad to give him a hug. “I’ll see you at the concert.”
“Ok.”
“Bye.”
“See ya later, take care.”
“You too. You coming out?” I ask my Mom.
“Yeah, I’ll go out.”
My Dad stays in his chair and changes the channel on the TV, putting one of his shows on. My Mom gets up and she and my sister follow me out to the kitchen. I get my coat off the back of the chair and as I put it on, my Mom asks,
“So, you all set for food and everything?”
“Yeah, I’m all set, I’ve got stuff that’ll last for a while.”
“Yeah? Ok. Alright, well, be careful driving back.”
“I will.”
“Take it easy,” she says as I give her a hug.
“You too. Love you.”
“Love you. Bye.”
“Bye.”
“When’s the next time I’m gonna see you?” my youngest sister asks as I give her a hug.
“Um, you’ll see me at the concert, right?”
“Yeah,” my Mom says.
My sister nods with a little smile on her face
“Ok, so not too long,” I reassure her. “Alright?”
“Alright,” she agrees.
“I’ll see you then.”
“Alright, take care,” my Mom says.
“Bye,” my sister says.
“Bye,” I say as I open the kitchen door and walk through it, shutting it behind me. I take a step, but then stop. Everything that I was able to put out of my mind in the last couple of hours comes rushing back in. My friend is gone. My head hangs as I make my way through the hall and out the door. I am not looking forward to the hour long drive, where I will be alone with my thoughts.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
The next morning I wake up to voices coming from the living room. Usually when we have parties, a bunch of people will crash at our place. If I went to bed before the party ended and didn’t know who had stayed over, I would listen to the voices the next morning and try to figure out who was still here. This was easy, because there were only three voices and I knew them very well: My roommate, his girlfriend and my best friend. I drag my ass out of bed and put on a pair of boxers (yeah, I sleep naked), and shuffle out into the living room.
“Well look who’s finally up,” my roommate says.
“Whaddaya mean ‘finally’? It’s only 11:30.”
“Dude, your party last night was AWESOME! I was dancing with that girl with the huge boobs (what’s her name?), then I was dancing with your cousin… It was awesome.”
“Cool man, I’m glad you had a good time. Hey it’s cool if you want to date my cousin.
“Dude, that’s your cousin!”
Me and my best friend decided we were going to go get coffee at my favorite doughnut place around the corner. They’re my favorite because theirs is the only coffee I like, even if the cups are covered with bible quotes. My roommate and his girlfriend stay at the house (probably to have sex, can’t say I blame them), which is good because we have some catching up to do. I throw on some pants, a shirt and my sandals and I’m ready to go. As we’re leaving, I notice that the light is blinking on the answering machine. I figure it’s a message from that weird girl whocalled last night, so I don’t bother checking it yet.
When we get there, I order my usual: a tank of French vanilla iced coffee, lots of cream, lots of sugar and less ice, and he gets milk. He loves milk. I grab a table next to the window, because even though my eyes are still squinty from the light, it’s a little chilly so the sun feels good.
“So were you serious about your cousin? I mean, if we started dating or whatever, I’m not saying we would, but if we did, you’d be cool with it?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, I know you’re a good guy and you’re not going to intentionally try to fuck her over or be a dick to her, so why wouldn’t I be cool with it?”
“I don’t know, most people are weird about their friends dating family members and whatnot.”
“I don’t care. Hell I’ve told you that you can date any of my exes that you want, and that wouldn’t bother me either. When they’re an ex, they’re an ex. I don’t have any sort of territorial feelings of ownership over them.”
“Speaking of exes, at that party a while back, that was kind of a dick thing that you did.”
“What, I was wasted and happy that she came to the party so I made out with her.”
“Right in front of your ex…”
“Exactly, she’s my ex. It’s not like I was still with her and I cheated on her.”
“She was still really upset though.”
“I’m not saying she wasn’t. I mean, I do feel bad that she saw it, but I wasn’t going to not do it. I didn’t plan for it to happen, it just sort of came together like that and I reacted on instinct.”
“What about that other girl you invited?”
“I didn’t invite her. She was going to a concert that night, so I thought she wouldn’t show up and I would be in the clear. Someone else must have told her about the party and she came afterwards. It’s not my fault she showed up.”
“Yeah, but you were still seeing each other.”
“Not really, I mean we never had ‘the talk’.”
“What talk.”
“You know, the talk that defines the relationship or whatever it is. Where you both lay your cards on the table and see where things stand. That’s usually the point where all of a sudden things change and sometimes start to go downhill. We had just been hanging out every now and then, we hooked up a couple of times and that was it. Plus it was really awkward talking to her, and you know how important talking is to me. I felt like I had to entertain her all the time.”
“Well, you still should have told her that you didn’t want to see her anymore.”
“I told you, we weren’t seeing each other, because that was never established. If we have ‘the talk’ then that establishes something, which means for it to end, ‘we need to talk’. If there was no talk to establish anything, then there doesn’t need to be a talk to un-establish it, because there is nothing to un-establish.”
“I still think it was wrong.”
“It wasn’t wrong. I mean, it was not nice, I’ll give you that, but it wasn’t wrong.”
“So any new girls you’re scoping out, heart-breaker?”
“Very funny, but no, not really.”
“What about that one you made out with at that party, what about her?”
“She gradually lost interest in me once she found out I was a virgin and I wasn’t going to sleep with her.”
“What about doing other stuff?”
“I guess she wasn’t interested in the other stuff. Or maybe it was just me, I don’t know. Whatever.”
“What about that girl with the big boobs? (I keep forgetting her name) She seems like she might be interested in you, but you don’t give her much attention.”
“Nah, she’s not really my type.”
“Whaddaya mean, not your type?”
“She’s got brown eyes.?
“Man you and your rules! What’s the big deal with blue eyes?”
“I’m sorry, I just think brown eyes are boring. I’d much rather look at blue eyes.”
“Blue eyes are the Devil.”
“Oh come on don’t take it personally, I could look into your brown eyes all day, HAHA!”
By this point we are done our coffees and I have to get ready to go to work, so we head back to my house. While he’s gathering his stuff, I go grab a collared shirt that has been hanging up on a hook since I wore it on my last shift. I spray the armpits of the shirt with Febreeze, making it as good as new, put it on and button it.
“Aren’t you gonna tuck that in?”
“Why?”
“Never mind. Hey great party last night, as usual.”
“Thank you, thank you… we aim to please.”
On our way out, I notice the blinking message light again. I want to stall a little more before going to work, so I check it. It was my Mom saying she had to tell me something and to call her when I get a chance.
“She sounded kind of serious. You should call her back.”
“I’m gonna be late as it is. I’ll call her when I get home from work,” I tell him as I hit the erase button.
“See ya later, Dude”
“Later.”
The next morning I wake up to voices coming from the living room. Usually when we have parties, a bunch of people will crash at our place. If I went to bed before the party ended and didn’t know who had stayed over, I would listen to the voices the next morning and try to figure out who was still here. This was easy, because there were only three voices and I knew them very well: My roommate, his girlfriend and my best friend. I drag my ass out of bed and put on a pair of boxers (yeah, I sleep naked), and shuffle out into the living room.
“Well look who’s finally up,” my roommate says.
“Whaddaya mean ‘finally’? It’s only 11:30.”
“Dude, your party last night was AWESOME! I was dancing with that girl with the huge boobs (what’s her name?), then I was dancing with your cousin… It was awesome.”
“Cool man, I’m glad you had a good time. Hey it’s cool if you want to date my cousin.
“Dude, that’s your cousin!”
Me and my best friend decided we were going to go get coffee at my favorite doughnut place around the corner. They’re my favorite because theirs is the only coffee I like, even if the cups are covered with bible quotes. My roommate and his girlfriend stay at the house (probably to have sex, can’t say I blame them), which is good because we have some catching up to do. I throw on some pants, a shirt and my sandals and I’m ready to go. As we’re leaving, I notice that the light is blinking on the answering machine. I figure it’s a message from that weird girl whocalled last night, so I don’t bother checking it yet.
When we get there, I order my usual: a tank of French vanilla iced coffee, lots of cream, lots of sugar and less ice, and he gets milk. He loves milk. I grab a table next to the window, because even though my eyes are still squinty from the light, it’s a little chilly so the sun feels good.
“So were you serious about your cousin? I mean, if we started dating or whatever, I’m not saying we would, but if we did, you’d be cool with it?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, I know you’re a good guy and you’re not going to intentionally try to fuck her over or be a dick to her, so why wouldn’t I be cool with it?”
“I don’t know, most people are weird about their friends dating family members and whatnot.”
“I don’t care. Hell I’ve told you that you can date any of my exes that you want, and that wouldn’t bother me either. When they’re an ex, they’re an ex. I don’t have any sort of territorial feelings of ownership over them.”
“Speaking of exes, at that party a while back, that was kind of a dick thing that you did.”
“What, I was wasted and happy that she came to the party so I made out with her.”
“Right in front of your ex…”
“Exactly, she’s my ex. It’s not like I was still with her and I cheated on her.”
“She was still really upset though.”
“I’m not saying she wasn’t. I mean, I do feel bad that she saw it, but I wasn’t going to not do it. I didn’t plan for it to happen, it just sort of came together like that and I reacted on instinct.”
“What about that other girl you invited?”
“I didn’t invite her. She was going to a concert that night, so I thought she wouldn’t show up and I would be in the clear. Someone else must have told her about the party and she came afterwards. It’s not my fault she showed up.”
“Yeah, but you were still seeing each other.”
“Not really, I mean we never had ‘the talk’.”
“What talk.”
“You know, the talk that defines the relationship or whatever it is. Where you both lay your cards on the table and see where things stand. That’s usually the point where all of a sudden things change and sometimes start to go downhill. We had just been hanging out every now and then, we hooked up a couple of times and that was it. Plus it was really awkward talking to her, and you know how important talking is to me. I felt like I had to entertain her all the time.”
“Well, you still should have told her that you didn’t want to see her anymore.”
“I told you, we weren’t seeing each other, because that was never established. If we have ‘the talk’ then that establishes something, which means for it to end, ‘we need to talk’. If there was no talk to establish anything, then there doesn’t need to be a talk to un-establish it, because there is nothing to un-establish.”
“I still think it was wrong.”
“It wasn’t wrong. I mean, it was not nice, I’ll give you that, but it wasn’t wrong.”
“So any new girls you’re scoping out, heart-breaker?”
“Very funny, but no, not really.”
“What about that one you made out with at that party, what about her?”
“She gradually lost interest in me once she found out I was a virgin and I wasn’t going to sleep with her.”
“What about doing other stuff?”
“I guess she wasn’t interested in the other stuff. Or maybe it was just me, I don’t know. Whatever.”
“What about that girl with the big boobs? (I keep forgetting her name) She seems like she might be interested in you, but you don’t give her much attention.”
“Nah, she’s not really my type.”
“Whaddaya mean, not your type?”
“She’s got brown eyes.?
“Man you and your rules! What’s the big deal with blue eyes?”
“I’m sorry, I just think brown eyes are boring. I’d much rather look at blue eyes.”
“Blue eyes are the Devil.”
“Oh come on don’t take it personally, I could look into your brown eyes all day, HAHA!”
By this point we are done our coffees and I have to get ready to go to work, so we head back to my house. While he’s gathering his stuff, I go grab a collared shirt that has been hanging up on a hook since I wore it on my last shift. I spray the armpits of the shirt with Febreeze, making it as good as new, put it on and button it.
“Aren’t you gonna tuck that in?”
“Why?”
“Never mind. Hey great party last night, as usual.”
“Thank you, thank you… we aim to please.”
On our way out, I notice the blinking message light again. I want to stall a little more before going to work, so I check it. It was my Mom saying she had to tell me something and to call her when I get a chance.
“She sounded kind of serious. You should call her back.”
“I’m gonna be late as it is. I’ll call her when I get home from work,” I tell him as I hit the erase button.
“See ya later, Dude”
“Later.”
Friday, April 11, 2008
Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
[The following chapter has been edited, due to explicit content. If you so desire to read the un-edited version, email me, and I will send it to you directly.]
PARTY TIME!! Oh thank God!! This is exactly what I need! Some drinking, some music, some dancing, some naked time… Oh yeah, by the way, you should probably know that I like to take my clothes off…A LOT. Starting I think when I was a freshman, I’ve been stripping at parties. It kind of started as a joke, but now it’s like tradition. [EDIT]
So anyway, (I keep doing that) about this party. My roommate had his computer connected to the stereo in the living room, so he could make a playlist that would run all night and we wouldn’t have to worry about CDs ending or whatever. He always did a good job of having a mix of dance, hip-hop, hardcore and old cartoon theme songs (he had downloaded the G.I. Joe, Thundercats, Carebares and Transformers themes that he would occasionally sneak in for nostalgia and shock value). The living room was designated for dancing, complete with blacklights and a lava lamp. The kitchen was usually most of the people who just got there and didn’t have the nerve quite yet to move to one of the other rooms and actually start to participate in the party…or people getting booze. We had a back room that was at the other end of the house and that was where most of the regular talking took place. It was far enough from the living room so that you didn’t have to shout in order to talk over the music. This room was also the only room with the lights on, while the rest of the house had appropriate mood lighting. There’s also a deck out back so people can get some air and cool off without being out front where cops would see. There were always good mixes of people too. I would invite my music major friends and friends from back home, my roommate was also friends with most of my music friends but he would also invite his friends from ambulance, and his girlfriend would bring her friends too. My Dad even came to a few. Oh yeah he was a hit. One time he even asked me if my sister was coming with any weed, and another time asked if anyone would have mescaline at the party! He wasn't at this one however.
So there’s drinking, music, dancing, laughing, lots of girls and some guys too. At one point, I’m in the kitchen drinking a beer and my roommate comes over to me, pretty drunk and a little concerned.
“Dude, there’s a bunch of people hanging out in your room,” he says.
“That’s cool. I know them all, they won’t fuck anything up or steal shit.”
“Yeah, but they’re not out socializing with everyone else.”
“There are plenty of people out dancing already, it was probably too crowded. Plus I’m sure they’ll come out eventually. Don’t worry. Here’s to a job well done.” I raise my beer bottle for a “cheers”.
After we clink bottles, his girlfriend comes over and puts her arm around him and gives him a kiss.
“I was wondering where you guys were. I should have known you’d be admiring your handy-work.”
We smile and nod our agreement to each other.
“So Tim, there are a lot of cute girls here,” she says. “Which one, or ones, do you have your eye on?”
“I’m ah… taking a little break.”
[EDIT]
“I think I’m gonna lay off the girls for a while.”
“Hey don’t wait too long,” my roommate said, “you don’t want to miss out on something.”
“Based on the last couple of times, I don’t think I’m “missing” much.”
“A couple of the girls back there looked interested. You should go talk to them.”
“Nah, they’re kind of boring and weird.”
“So what, you only have to put up with it for a little bit. You can probably get at least one of them to have sex with you.”
“I don’t want to have sex with either one of them.”
“Is this about you being a virgin? I told you, It’s different for guys. A guy’s first time doesn’t have to be special, It’s just something you have to get over with.”
“Thanks for the words of wisdom, but I don’t want to just get it over with…”
“I think it’s really sweet that you want to wait,” his girlfriend broke in.
“Why thank you, and thank you for your support.”
“Whatever, maybe the two of you can go buy tampons together now.”
Just then the phone rang and my roommate picked it up.
“Hello?” A big smile stretches across his face. “Yes, he’s right here. One moment please…” he covers the phone with his hand as he passes it to me, and in his best impersonation of an eighth grader says, “It’s a giiiirl!”
Trying to run through my head the list of who it could be, I take the phone and pause for a second before saying, “Hello?”
“Hello, Timothy.”
I pause, trying to figure out who it is but eventually I give up. “Who’s this?”
“Are you having fun at your party?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“It sounds like you’ve about had your fill of meaningless debauchery.”
“Um, sure.”
“You are almost ready for me then. However a few more things remain before I can come to you.”
“Right, of course.”
“You must remember to be strong in the coming weeks, and trust that what happens is for the best.”
“Oh, yes. It always is.”
“I will see you soon.”
“I look forward to it.”
As I hung up the phone, my roommate says, “Ah, so that’s why you’re flying solo tonight! You got some flayva on the side! How come you never tell me about these girls?”
“So what’s her name?” his girlfriend asks.
“I have no fucking clue.” They both stare at me, shocked and confused.
“Dude, you should fuck her!” my roommate says.
“I have no idea who that was! She knew my name and was saying all this stuff about me being ready and strong and seeing me soon.”
“Sounds like she’s going to deflower you.” his girlfriend said.
“You should DEFINITELY fuck her!”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
Just then my best friend comes over to get another drink out if the refrigerator. He comes over to us as he’s opening his beer.
“Lotsa lesbians out here tonight!” he says.
“Where’s the lesbians?” my roommate asks.
“Did you see the lesbians on the porch!?” he asks as he points over his shoulder with his thumb, his pinky half sticking up, making him look a little like a surfer.
“Dude, get those people, in the room, to get out!”
“Dude, I’s I fuckin’ saw ‘em in there, and I’m didn’t fuckin’ want a piece of that shit.”
“You gotta do somethin’ man,” my roommate says, and my best friend leaves to go dance.
“We should go do a sound check,” my roommate says.
“I’m going to go dance,” his girlfriend says.
“Ok, we’ll see you in there in a minute.”
We go out side, shut the door and stand out in the street for a couple of minutes listening. The reason why we have to do this is that, at one party I was very drunk, and Blind by Korn came on the stereo. My roommate made the mistake of leaving his karaoke mic plugged in. I run into the living room (which was empty by the way, I wasn’t performing for anyone else’s sake, this was for me), grab the mic, stand on the couch and start to sing along, scratch that, SCREAM along. “What if I should DIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEE!” My roommate comes running in telling me that I’m going to blow out his speakers, which of course, I become very proud of. About ten minutes later some of my friends get back from Cumberland Farms which is around the block and tell me that they could hear our music, all the way from there. And over that… me screaming. Again I am very proud of myself. Needless to say, within a half hour the cops showed up. They were actually very cool (one of them had pulled me over before for going 65 in a 30 when me and my roommate were going to Stop and Shop at three in the morning and let me off) and they gave us our warning about the noise and said that if they have to come back we’ll get arrested. So now at every party we do these sound checks. It’s basically a formality though, because as long as I’m not doing karaoke, we’re fine.
Once we decide we are comfortable with the volume level, we head around back to make sure the porch dwellers are enjoying themselves. Then we head back in, to check on the back-room group. After that appearance, we head back to the living room for dancing. By now Closer by Nine Inch Nails is playing and some of the guys and girls have their shirts off. We shrug and take our shirts off, and join the sea of skin in our living room. When my best friend sees me, he gives me his assessment of the current situation.
“There’s so much naked goin’ on in this house!”
No time like NAKED TIME!
[The following chapter has been edited, due to explicit content. If you so desire to read the un-edited version, email me, and I will send it to you directly.]
PARTY TIME!! Oh thank God!! This is exactly what I need! Some drinking, some music, some dancing, some naked time… Oh yeah, by the way, you should probably know that I like to take my clothes off…A LOT. Starting I think when I was a freshman, I’ve been stripping at parties. It kind of started as a joke, but now it’s like tradition. [EDIT]
So anyway, (I keep doing that) about this party. My roommate had his computer connected to the stereo in the living room, so he could make a playlist that would run all night and we wouldn’t have to worry about CDs ending or whatever. He always did a good job of having a mix of dance, hip-hop, hardcore and old cartoon theme songs (he had downloaded the G.I. Joe, Thundercats, Carebares and Transformers themes that he would occasionally sneak in for nostalgia and shock value). The living room was designated for dancing, complete with blacklights and a lava lamp. The kitchen was usually most of the people who just got there and didn’t have the nerve quite yet to move to one of the other rooms and actually start to participate in the party…or people getting booze. We had a back room that was at the other end of the house and that was where most of the regular talking took place. It was far enough from the living room so that you didn’t have to shout in order to talk over the music. This room was also the only room with the lights on, while the rest of the house had appropriate mood lighting. There’s also a deck out back so people can get some air and cool off without being out front where cops would see. There were always good mixes of people too. I would invite my music major friends and friends from back home, my roommate was also friends with most of my music friends but he would also invite his friends from ambulance, and his girlfriend would bring her friends too. My Dad even came to a few. Oh yeah he was a hit. One time he even asked me if my sister was coming with any weed, and another time asked if anyone would have mescaline at the party! He wasn't at this one however.
So there’s drinking, music, dancing, laughing, lots of girls and some guys too. At one point, I’m in the kitchen drinking a beer and my roommate comes over to me, pretty drunk and a little concerned.
“Dude, there’s a bunch of people hanging out in your room,” he says.
“That’s cool. I know them all, they won’t fuck anything up or steal shit.”
“Yeah, but they’re not out socializing with everyone else.”
“There are plenty of people out dancing already, it was probably too crowded. Plus I’m sure they’ll come out eventually. Don’t worry. Here’s to a job well done.” I raise my beer bottle for a “cheers”.
After we clink bottles, his girlfriend comes over and puts her arm around him and gives him a kiss.
“I was wondering where you guys were. I should have known you’d be admiring your handy-work.”
We smile and nod our agreement to each other.
“So Tim, there are a lot of cute girls here,” she says. “Which one, or ones, do you have your eye on?”
“I’m ah… taking a little break.”
[EDIT]
“I think I’m gonna lay off the girls for a while.”
“Hey don’t wait too long,” my roommate said, “you don’t want to miss out on something.”
“Based on the last couple of times, I don’t think I’m “missing” much.”
“A couple of the girls back there looked interested. You should go talk to them.”
“Nah, they’re kind of boring and weird.”
“So what, you only have to put up with it for a little bit. You can probably get at least one of them to have sex with you.”
“I don’t want to have sex with either one of them.”
“Is this about you being a virgin? I told you, It’s different for guys. A guy’s first time doesn’t have to be special, It’s just something you have to get over with.”
“Thanks for the words of wisdom, but I don’t want to just get it over with…”
“I think it’s really sweet that you want to wait,” his girlfriend broke in.
“Why thank you, and thank you for your support.”
“Whatever, maybe the two of you can go buy tampons together now.”
Just then the phone rang and my roommate picked it up.
“Hello?” A big smile stretches across his face. “Yes, he’s right here. One moment please…” he covers the phone with his hand as he passes it to me, and in his best impersonation of an eighth grader says, “It’s a giiiirl!”
Trying to run through my head the list of who it could be, I take the phone and pause for a second before saying, “Hello?”
“Hello, Timothy.”
I pause, trying to figure out who it is but eventually I give up. “Who’s this?”
“Are you having fun at your party?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“It sounds like you’ve about had your fill of meaningless debauchery.”
“Um, sure.”
“You are almost ready for me then. However a few more things remain before I can come to you.”
“Right, of course.”
“You must remember to be strong in the coming weeks, and trust that what happens is for the best.”
“Oh, yes. It always is.”
“I will see you soon.”
“I look forward to it.”
As I hung up the phone, my roommate says, “Ah, so that’s why you’re flying solo tonight! You got some flayva on the side! How come you never tell me about these girls?”
“So what’s her name?” his girlfriend asks.
“I have no fucking clue.” They both stare at me, shocked and confused.
“Dude, you should fuck her!” my roommate says.
“I have no idea who that was! She knew my name and was saying all this stuff about me being ready and strong and seeing me soon.”
“Sounds like she’s going to deflower you.” his girlfriend said.
“You should DEFINITELY fuck her!”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
Just then my best friend comes over to get another drink out if the refrigerator. He comes over to us as he’s opening his beer.
“Lotsa lesbians out here tonight!” he says.
“Where’s the lesbians?” my roommate asks.
“Did you see the lesbians on the porch!?” he asks as he points over his shoulder with his thumb, his pinky half sticking up, making him look a little like a surfer.
“Dude, get those people, in the room, to get out!”
“Dude, I’s I fuckin’ saw ‘em in there, and I’m didn’t fuckin’ want a piece of that shit.”
“You gotta do somethin’ man,” my roommate says, and my best friend leaves to go dance.
“We should go do a sound check,” my roommate says.
“I’m going to go dance,” his girlfriend says.
“Ok, we’ll see you in there in a minute.”
We go out side, shut the door and stand out in the street for a couple of minutes listening. The reason why we have to do this is that, at one party I was very drunk, and Blind by Korn came on the stereo. My roommate made the mistake of leaving his karaoke mic plugged in. I run into the living room (which was empty by the way, I wasn’t performing for anyone else’s sake, this was for me), grab the mic, stand on the couch and start to sing along, scratch that, SCREAM along. “What if I should DIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEE!” My roommate comes running in telling me that I’m going to blow out his speakers, which of course, I become very proud of. About ten minutes later some of my friends get back from Cumberland Farms which is around the block and tell me that they could hear our music, all the way from there. And over that… me screaming. Again I am very proud of myself. Needless to say, within a half hour the cops showed up. They were actually very cool (one of them had pulled me over before for going 65 in a 30 when me and my roommate were going to Stop and Shop at three in the morning and let me off) and they gave us our warning about the noise and said that if they have to come back we’ll get arrested. So now at every party we do these sound checks. It’s basically a formality though, because as long as I’m not doing karaoke, we’re fine.
Once we decide we are comfortable with the volume level, we head around back to make sure the porch dwellers are enjoying themselves. Then we head back in, to check on the back-room group. After that appearance, we head back to the living room for dancing. By now Closer by Nine Inch Nails is playing and some of the guys and girls have their shirts off. We shrug and take our shirts off, and join the sea of skin in our living room. When my best friend sees me, he gives me his assessment of the current situation.
“There’s so much naked goin’ on in this house!”
No time like NAKED TIME!
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
So it’s a couple of days later, I think it might be Thursday because my roommate wasn’t home. He volunteers on the ambulance at URI and every Thursday he had night team, where he stays there all night in case there are any calls. The funny part is that he used to make fun of people who were on the ambulance, Whackers, I think he used to call them. There was one kid who he said used to wear his stethoscope to class. One time someone asked him why he was still wearing it, and he said that he didn’t even notice because he was so used to having it on. Peacock. Then all of a sudden my roommate joins and he ends up really liking it. I didn’t knock him for it (too much), but then he tried to get me to join too. He said it would be good for my resume and this and that, but it just wasn’t something I wanted to do. My Dad was even an EMT, so you would think it was in my blood, but I had other plans for my life (or maybe my life had other plans for me).
So anyway, Thursday night, roommate not home. I’m in the living room, sitting on the couch, doing my Latin homework on a TV tray, so of course I’m miserable. You’re probably wondering why I keep whining about Latin. I’ll explain why it’s the bane of my existence. If you’ve ever taken Spanish or French or maybe other languages, you know how all of the verbs have different conjugations so that they agree with the subject. So for every verb, there is like six other versions of that word you have to know. For the most part these versions follow a pattern which is easy to remember, but a great amount of them are irregular and have their own version that you have to memorize separately. In Latin there are conjugations, but you also have different forms of the nouns as well called declensions. So not only do you have to know all of the verb forms and make them agree, you also have to know all of the noun forms and make them agree! So if I’m translating an entire paragraph from English to Latin, I have to look through my note cards to see if it is a vocab word, if not I have to look it up in the glossary and get the Latin word, then look in the book to see if it is irregular so I know how to do the conjugation or declension, then back to my note cards to see how to change the word, then write the word in my notebook. And repeat…translation book, to note cards or glossary, to book, to note cards, to note book, ad infinitum. (Haha, get it? That’s Latin.) Oh yeah, and in Latin the word order is even more backward than Spanish, the subject is like at the end of the sentence “to create suspense,” so when I’m trying to piece a sentence together, the words are getting put in this seemingly random order and I have to try to leave room in-between all the words. God just thinking about it irritates me, writing it down even more so. I bet you’re getting irritated just reading about it. That’s the point - FEEL MY PAIN!
This time I didn’t have as much patience as before, so after a half an hour or so (I probably got only one sentence done in that time), I gave up. This came complete with the dramatic throwing of the pen, slamming the book shut and flopping back on the couch. I sit looking at the ceiling for a moment wondering why after four-plus years as a Music Composition student, this is what I’m spending a great majority of my time on. I should be composing music and nothing but. Isn’t that why I came to this school? I’ve got all of these ideas swimming around in my head all the time, but I don’t get a chance to do anything with them. I’ve even got this one big idea where I want to compose these pieces for orchestra and chorus based on books of the Bible, specifically, Genesis, the Passion and Revelation. Maybe I will even turn it into a musical or an opera or maybe even a movie. Not to mention all of the little ideas I get that I would like to experiment with. But no, this is what I’m doing instead.
I decide that I will allow myself a little break for some recreational reading before I start up again. I usually have a book with me at all times, just in case I’m really bored somewhere, I’ll have something to do. I settle in, get comfortable and crack it open, but I’m not even halfway through one page when I hear the screen door open. I crane my neck to try to see who it is. I figure it’s probably our neighbor who knows my Dad and my landlord from the Woonsocket Hospital where he works. He’ll just let himself in, and one time he even walked in while my roommate was changing, another time while he was “being intimate” with his girlfriend on the couch. I hear a knock which means it’s not him, so I mark my page, put my book down and get up to go answer the door. I’m curious now because I don’t get many random visitors. As I come into the kitchen and I have a more clear line of sight, I am able to make out the face that’s peeking in the window grinning at me and I chuckle. It’s one of my old friends from high school, probably the only one I still talk to, and he goes to grad school at URI. I unlock the door to let him in.
“What’s goin’ on, kid?” I ask as we grab hands.
“What’s goin’ on!?” he asks as we launch into that half-hand-shake-half-hug thing guys do. I call it a “man-shake”.
“How’re ya doin?” complete with a snap at the end.
“Not too bad thanks, yourself?” he says with this mock sophistication that is part of his personality. He’s hilarious.
“I’m awesome.” He’s wearing this red sweater that reminds me of these red shorts he used to wear with an orange shirt back in high school.
“Alright, good to see ya.” he says as he closes the door.
“You wanna come sit down? Can you stay for a minute?”
“Well I’d like to sit down, but I just had some hot wieners tonight. Not too sure about that, but let’s try.”
“Alright let’s see how ya do.”
“Alright.”
We go into the living room and I start to pack up my Latin.
“Let me just get some of this shit out of the way.”
“Oh, I wasn’t interrupting you bro, was I?”
“No, I was doing my Latin homework, and I was getting pissed off anyway.”
“You sure, man?”
“I had stopped to take a break anyway, I was just reading.”
“You know me, I’m a simple man! Don‘t wanna interfere here!” he says as he clenches and opens his hands in front of him, doing one of his favorite impersonations of a social studies teacher at our old high school.
“Oh no don’t even worry about it.”
We sit, but then I realized that I was being a bad host.
“You want a drink or something?”
“Ya know man, actually, my throat’s a little dry, and you know, I don’t know if you got any hard stuff.”
I give him a double take.
“No, I’m only kidding, but I told you I had those wieners right and I had a Coca-cola Classic. I’m drinking it, and the next thing you know, my stomach starts turning and all that stuff. So then I had an Awful Awful, the chocolate one. You can get chocolate and strawberry mixed together: bad scenario…”
“Uugghh.”
“…bad scenario, not feeling too good. I could go for some water if you have any.”
“Alright, yeah I’ll get you some water.”
“That’ll be awesome. I’ll come with you.”
“All right.”
We go into the kitchen and I pour us each a cup of water from the tap and hand him one.
“Ah I see you’re breaking out the good stuff for the company,” he says.
“Nothing but the finest for you my friend, this is Narragansett Spring water you’ve got there, almost as good as Woonsocket water.”
“Almost as good as Woonsocket water the key phrase my friend.”
“Ah, Woonsocket.”
“Well, Woonsocket is a City on the Move.”
“That it is.”
“You know, the mayor of Woonsocket is a nice lady.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t want to fuck her…but she’s a nice lady.”
“Is that the type of society we live in, where a woman is judged by her looks, instead of merit?” he asks sarcastically.
“Yes…yes it is,” I reply, honestly, but with a hint of humor.
“Yeah, you’re right…she is ugly.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
“Woonsocket water…mmmm,” He says as he lifts the cup to his mouth. He’s holding it with two hands like a child, with all of his fingers wrapped around the entire glass, and starts to drink, sorry, gulp the water.
Then an odd thing happens. It must have had something to do with the wieners and the Coke and the Awful Awful, and now adding this Narragansett equivalent of the water we grew up on. Maybe some of his tasty beverage went down the wrong pipe and he started to choke. In mid gulp, he projectile vomits into his cup! Like what the hell!? Who does that!? Only this guy. It was probably the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, and I wish that I had caught it on video tape!
He runs off to the bathroom and I stay behind, kind of in shock because of what just happened, but not so much so that I can’t still laugh my ass off. After a minute or so, I follow him in to see if he’s OK.
When I go in there, he’s crouched down on his haunches leaning over the toilet. “Oh my God…Holy shit…” he says as he stands up and leans against the wall with both hands like he’s getting arrested. (This whole time I’m giggling like a little girl.) Then he spits, does a post-puke burp and spits again. “Oh my God…That’s gross…Dude this is NASTY…Look at that!” and he points to the cup on the bathroom sink, 1/3 of it water, then on top of that, 1/3 frothy wiener vomit. “Narragansett tap water…crap!” He flushes the toilet and starts to recover, as I’m wiping the tears from my eyes and settling down. I go back to the living room so he can clean up. I lay down on the couch and let the last few chuckles out, my sides and stomach hurting. Man did I need that after the day I was having.
After he’s done cleaning up he comes into the living room, I sit up and he sits next to me.
“You wanna watch a movie?” I ask him.
“No, I can’t. I gotta get up early tomorrow to get some work done before classes. Ugh, It’s getting ridiculous.”
“I hear ya. It’s like me with Latin,” I say. “At least we’ll get to hang out at my party!”
“Yeah! When is it?” he asks.
“This weekend…well, Friday… tomorrow.”
“Oh, Dude…I‘m going to be away this weekend.”
“Whaaaaaat!?”
“Yeah, me and my baby are going to Vermont.”
“Awwww, kid, you’re killin’ me!”
“We’ve had this trip planned for a while now.”
“But we haven’t had a party in a long time. Plus, remember what happened last time, when you didn’t come?” (it’s a long story.)
He drops his head a little, “Do I detect some hostility?”
I suddenly grab him by the shoulders and bug my eyes out, “Maybe just a bit!” Then I let go, “Nah I’m just givin’ ya a hard time. You go have fun in Vermont.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll make sure I’m here for the next one, I promise.”
“Alright, deal. Hey, do you have at least a little while, to sit and chat?”
“Yeah I can stay for a bit.”
“Cool.”
We catch up for the next 45 minutes or so, discussing everything from school to girls to politics to religion, as we usually do when we haven’t seen each other in a while. Then at out next lull, he gets up.
“Well, it‘s getting‘ kinda late.”
I look at my watch. “Yeah, it is. I’ll let you get goin’ Buddy.”
“Yeah thanks a lot, Pal.”
“I should probably get back to my Latin homework anyway. I’ll walk you out.”
As we head to the kitchen the phone rings.
“Let me just answer this real quick,” I say as I pick up the phone. “Hello?” I wait for a minute and don’t hear anything and instead of saying ‘Hello’ again, I just hang up.
“Who was that?” he asks.
“I don’t know, no one answered. Probably a telemarketer though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“When telemarketers call they wait for you to say ‘Hello’ a second time before they start talking. I think it’s to make sure it isn’t an answering machine. So I only say hello once. If no one responds, I hang up. It saves me a lot of time.”
“Huh, I’ll have to try that.”
“It’s a little tricky because you first instinct will be to just spit out ‘Hello’ again, so you have to think and be ready.”
“Well, Buddy, it was good talking to you, as always.”
“Yeah, you too, man. I hope your stomach is feeling better.”
“It is, thank you, Sir. Have fun at your party. Sorry I won’t be here.” He puts his hand out and we “man-shake” again.
“Hey don’t even worry about it. Next time. You guys have fun in Vermont.”
“We will. You know what they say about Vermont, right?”
“…No.”
“Me neither.”
“O.K. good. Well you give ‘em something to say about Vermont.”
“I will, I will. They want my skills…they get the full package!” (Whatever that means!?!?)
“Alright, drive careful.”
“You take care. Good luck with Latin.”
“Alright, thanks. I’ll see ya’ soon, Buddy.”
“See ya’ Buddy.”
“Later.”
“Goodnight.”
I shut and lock the kitchen door after he leaves. It was really good seeing him and he definitely put me in a better mood. However, now I feel a sinking feeling as I head back into the living room to try to finish my Latin homework before sunrise.
So it’s a couple of days later, I think it might be Thursday because my roommate wasn’t home. He volunteers on the ambulance at URI and every Thursday he had night team, where he stays there all night in case there are any calls. The funny part is that he used to make fun of people who were on the ambulance, Whackers, I think he used to call them. There was one kid who he said used to wear his stethoscope to class. One time someone asked him why he was still wearing it, and he said that he didn’t even notice because he was so used to having it on. Peacock. Then all of a sudden my roommate joins and he ends up really liking it. I didn’t knock him for it (too much), but then he tried to get me to join too. He said it would be good for my resume and this and that, but it just wasn’t something I wanted to do. My Dad was even an EMT, so you would think it was in my blood, but I had other plans for my life (or maybe my life had other plans for me).
So anyway, Thursday night, roommate not home. I’m in the living room, sitting on the couch, doing my Latin homework on a TV tray, so of course I’m miserable. You’re probably wondering why I keep whining about Latin. I’ll explain why it’s the bane of my existence. If you’ve ever taken Spanish or French or maybe other languages, you know how all of the verbs have different conjugations so that they agree with the subject. So for every verb, there is like six other versions of that word you have to know. For the most part these versions follow a pattern which is easy to remember, but a great amount of them are irregular and have their own version that you have to memorize separately. In Latin there are conjugations, but you also have different forms of the nouns as well called declensions. So not only do you have to know all of the verb forms and make them agree, you also have to know all of the noun forms and make them agree! So if I’m translating an entire paragraph from English to Latin, I have to look through my note cards to see if it is a vocab word, if not I have to look it up in the glossary and get the Latin word, then look in the book to see if it is irregular so I know how to do the conjugation or declension, then back to my note cards to see how to change the word, then write the word in my notebook. And repeat…translation book, to note cards or glossary, to book, to note cards, to note book, ad infinitum. (Haha, get it? That’s Latin.) Oh yeah, and in Latin the word order is even more backward than Spanish, the subject is like at the end of the sentence “to create suspense,” so when I’m trying to piece a sentence together, the words are getting put in this seemingly random order and I have to try to leave room in-between all the words. God just thinking about it irritates me, writing it down even more so. I bet you’re getting irritated just reading about it. That’s the point - FEEL MY PAIN!
This time I didn’t have as much patience as before, so after a half an hour or so (I probably got only one sentence done in that time), I gave up. This came complete with the dramatic throwing of the pen, slamming the book shut and flopping back on the couch. I sit looking at the ceiling for a moment wondering why after four-plus years as a Music Composition student, this is what I’m spending a great majority of my time on. I should be composing music and nothing but. Isn’t that why I came to this school? I’ve got all of these ideas swimming around in my head all the time, but I don’t get a chance to do anything with them. I’ve even got this one big idea where I want to compose these pieces for orchestra and chorus based on books of the Bible, specifically, Genesis, the Passion and Revelation. Maybe I will even turn it into a musical or an opera or maybe even a movie. Not to mention all of the little ideas I get that I would like to experiment with. But no, this is what I’m doing instead.
I decide that I will allow myself a little break for some recreational reading before I start up again. I usually have a book with me at all times, just in case I’m really bored somewhere, I’ll have something to do. I settle in, get comfortable and crack it open, but I’m not even halfway through one page when I hear the screen door open. I crane my neck to try to see who it is. I figure it’s probably our neighbor who knows my Dad and my landlord from the Woonsocket Hospital where he works. He’ll just let himself in, and one time he even walked in while my roommate was changing, another time while he was “being intimate” with his girlfriend on the couch. I hear a knock which means it’s not him, so I mark my page, put my book down and get up to go answer the door. I’m curious now because I don’t get many random visitors. As I come into the kitchen and I have a more clear line of sight, I am able to make out the face that’s peeking in the window grinning at me and I chuckle. It’s one of my old friends from high school, probably the only one I still talk to, and he goes to grad school at URI. I unlock the door to let him in.
“What’s goin’ on, kid?” I ask as we grab hands.
“What’s goin’ on!?” he asks as we launch into that half-hand-shake-half-hug thing guys do. I call it a “man-shake”.
“How’re ya doin?” complete with a snap at the end.
“Not too bad thanks, yourself?” he says with this mock sophistication that is part of his personality. He’s hilarious.
“I’m awesome.” He’s wearing this red sweater that reminds me of these red shorts he used to wear with an orange shirt back in high school.
“Alright, good to see ya.” he says as he closes the door.
“You wanna come sit down? Can you stay for a minute?”
“Well I’d like to sit down, but I just had some hot wieners tonight. Not too sure about that, but let’s try.”
“Alright let’s see how ya do.”
“Alright.”
We go into the living room and I start to pack up my Latin.
“Let me just get some of this shit out of the way.”
“Oh, I wasn’t interrupting you bro, was I?”
“No, I was doing my Latin homework, and I was getting pissed off anyway.”
“You sure, man?”
“I had stopped to take a break anyway, I was just reading.”
“You know me, I’m a simple man! Don‘t wanna interfere here!” he says as he clenches and opens his hands in front of him, doing one of his favorite impersonations of a social studies teacher at our old high school.
“Oh no don’t even worry about it.”
We sit, but then I realized that I was being a bad host.
“You want a drink or something?”
“Ya know man, actually, my throat’s a little dry, and you know, I don’t know if you got any hard stuff.”
I give him a double take.
“No, I’m only kidding, but I told you I had those wieners right and I had a Coca-cola Classic. I’m drinking it, and the next thing you know, my stomach starts turning and all that stuff. So then I had an Awful Awful, the chocolate one. You can get chocolate and strawberry mixed together: bad scenario…”
“Uugghh.”
“…bad scenario, not feeling too good. I could go for some water if you have any.”
“Alright, yeah I’ll get you some water.”
“That’ll be awesome. I’ll come with you.”
“All right.”
We go into the kitchen and I pour us each a cup of water from the tap and hand him one.
“Ah I see you’re breaking out the good stuff for the company,” he says.
“Nothing but the finest for you my friend, this is Narragansett Spring water you’ve got there, almost as good as Woonsocket water.”
“Almost as good as Woonsocket water the key phrase my friend.”
“Ah, Woonsocket.”
“Well, Woonsocket is a City on the Move.”
“That it is.”
“You know, the mayor of Woonsocket is a nice lady.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t want to fuck her…but she’s a nice lady.”
“Is that the type of society we live in, where a woman is judged by her looks, instead of merit?” he asks sarcastically.
“Yes…yes it is,” I reply, honestly, but with a hint of humor.
“Yeah, you’re right…she is ugly.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
“Woonsocket water…mmmm,” He says as he lifts the cup to his mouth. He’s holding it with two hands like a child, with all of his fingers wrapped around the entire glass, and starts to drink, sorry, gulp the water.
Then an odd thing happens. It must have had something to do with the wieners and the Coke and the Awful Awful, and now adding this Narragansett equivalent of the water we grew up on. Maybe some of his tasty beverage went down the wrong pipe and he started to choke. In mid gulp, he projectile vomits into his cup! Like what the hell!? Who does that!? Only this guy. It was probably the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, and I wish that I had caught it on video tape!
He runs off to the bathroom and I stay behind, kind of in shock because of what just happened, but not so much so that I can’t still laugh my ass off. After a minute or so, I follow him in to see if he’s OK.
When I go in there, he’s crouched down on his haunches leaning over the toilet. “Oh my God…Holy shit…” he says as he stands up and leans against the wall with both hands like he’s getting arrested. (This whole time I’m giggling like a little girl.) Then he spits, does a post-puke burp and spits again. “Oh my God…That’s gross…Dude this is NASTY…Look at that!” and he points to the cup on the bathroom sink, 1/3 of it water, then on top of that, 1/3 frothy wiener vomit. “Narragansett tap water…crap!” He flushes the toilet and starts to recover, as I’m wiping the tears from my eyes and settling down. I go back to the living room so he can clean up. I lay down on the couch and let the last few chuckles out, my sides and stomach hurting. Man did I need that after the day I was having.
After he’s done cleaning up he comes into the living room, I sit up and he sits next to me.
“You wanna watch a movie?” I ask him.
“No, I can’t. I gotta get up early tomorrow to get some work done before classes. Ugh, It’s getting ridiculous.”
“I hear ya. It’s like me with Latin,” I say. “At least we’ll get to hang out at my party!”
“Yeah! When is it?” he asks.
“This weekend…well, Friday… tomorrow.”
“Oh, Dude…I‘m going to be away this weekend.”
“Whaaaaaat!?”
“Yeah, me and my baby are going to Vermont.”
“Awwww, kid, you’re killin’ me!”
“We’ve had this trip planned for a while now.”
“But we haven’t had a party in a long time. Plus, remember what happened last time, when you didn’t come?” (it’s a long story.)
He drops his head a little, “Do I detect some hostility?”
I suddenly grab him by the shoulders and bug my eyes out, “Maybe just a bit!” Then I let go, “Nah I’m just givin’ ya a hard time. You go have fun in Vermont.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll make sure I’m here for the next one, I promise.”
“Alright, deal. Hey, do you have at least a little while, to sit and chat?”
“Yeah I can stay for a bit.”
“Cool.”
We catch up for the next 45 minutes or so, discussing everything from school to girls to politics to religion, as we usually do when we haven’t seen each other in a while. Then at out next lull, he gets up.
“Well, it‘s getting‘ kinda late.”
I look at my watch. “Yeah, it is. I’ll let you get goin’ Buddy.”
“Yeah thanks a lot, Pal.”
“I should probably get back to my Latin homework anyway. I’ll walk you out.”
As we head to the kitchen the phone rings.
“Let me just answer this real quick,” I say as I pick up the phone. “Hello?” I wait for a minute and don’t hear anything and instead of saying ‘Hello’ again, I just hang up.
“Who was that?” he asks.
“I don’t know, no one answered. Probably a telemarketer though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“When telemarketers call they wait for you to say ‘Hello’ a second time before they start talking. I think it’s to make sure it isn’t an answering machine. So I only say hello once. If no one responds, I hang up. It saves me a lot of time.”
“Huh, I’ll have to try that.”
“It’s a little tricky because you first instinct will be to just spit out ‘Hello’ again, so you have to think and be ready.”
“Well, Buddy, it was good talking to you, as always.”
“Yeah, you too, man. I hope your stomach is feeling better.”
“It is, thank you, Sir. Have fun at your party. Sorry I won’t be here.” He puts his hand out and we “man-shake” again.
“Hey don’t even worry about it. Next time. You guys have fun in Vermont.”
“We will. You know what they say about Vermont, right?”
“…No.”
“Me neither.”
“O.K. good. Well you give ‘em something to say about Vermont.”
“I will, I will. They want my skills…they get the full package!” (Whatever that means!?!?)
“Alright, drive careful.”
“You take care. Good luck with Latin.”
“Alright, thanks. I’ll see ya’ soon, Buddy.”
“See ya’ Buddy.”
“Later.”
“Goodnight.”
I shut and lock the kitchen door after he leaves. It was really good seeing him and he definitely put me in a better mood. However, now I feel a sinking feeling as I head back into the living room to try to finish my Latin homework before sunrise.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
So I finally get home at like eleven or twelve, and as I walk in I hear a car engine revving and a horn blaring. This means only one thing - my roommate is playing Driver for Play Station - one of our favorites. Now let me explain this game to you. Most people, when they play this game, will play it the right way and try to actually progress through the game…not us. Our goals when we play are to see who can make the coolest wreck and/or flip the car, who can get the most cops after them and avoid them the longest, who can find jumps and make the car go flipping through the air, and if you’re really lucky, and this is rare, get caught in the scenery of the game because there’s some sort of glitch. Oh yeah, and you are supposed to wail the horn as much as possible. It probably doesn’t sound like it makes much sense, but oh man, at three in the morning it’s pure bliss! The scary part is that there were times when, after playing till all hours of the morning, I would be driving to class and see a cop on the side of me. As God as my witness I almost instinctively jacked my wheel so I would crash into him in an attempt to drive him off the road, maybe into a telephone pole, and start the chase. Luckily the part of my brain that cares about not going to jail kicked in and stopped me in the nick of time. I don’t blame it on the game though like most parents and crazy people do…I think it’s unsafe to be driving to class before noon.
So I go into the living room to see how he’s “progressing.”
“What’s up?” I ask as he pauses to wipe the sweat off his hands.
“What’s goin’ on, dude?” After some honking, “How was your day?”
“Sucked.”
“Oh yeah?”
“What’d you do?”
“I’ve been playing Driver all day.”
“Nice.”
HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!“Cool man.”HONK!
I stay and watch for a little while longer, then head to my room to start my homework. Now remember I said I was a Music Major? Yeah well, tonight anything music related will be last on my list. Instead it’s Latin. I know, I know, “why did you choose Latin? Why not just do something easy like Spanish or French?” I already took Spanish in high school, so if I did it in college I would have to take a more advanced class, because I’m supposed to already know some. Too bad for me I’ve had a four year lag in between to forget everything (not that I really learned anything to begin with). French just makes me mad because sooooo many of the letters are silent. Plus whenever I think of “French” I think of French-Canadian senior-citizens who combine French and English, or creepy French men hitting on dumb American girls. So I’d either feel like a sixty-year-old or a pervert. Plus I think music should count as a second language. That one I can read, write and speak fluently, probably better than English (At least I pronounce my R’s). I was actually interested in Latin. I liked that it was a dead language that many of the others stemmed from and it has a timelessness to it. I was also fond of Gregorian Chant and was interested in incorporating it into my music somehow, so I thought this would be a good way to get very familiar with it. Yeah right! This was the hardest class I have ever taken…EVER! That was the only time in my life that I felt stupid. I know I’m not stupid but Latin did a number on me. I would spend hours doing a simple translation. I guess it wasn’t what I thought it would be.
So I’m in my room getting ready to start my Latin. I’m sitting on my bed, I’ve got my notebook, my note cards, which have key vocab words on them, my textbook, which has other information key to correct grammar translation, ant the translation book that has the story in it that I’m supposed to translate. This is all spread around me in a semi-circle so I have easy access to all of it. I get to work, still hearing the horns and revving engines from Driver in the next room.
At one point I notice there is silence which must mean that he paused the game because his girlfriend is here and he has to let her in. I hear the muffled greeting in the kitchen and I get jealous. Why don’t I have a girlfriend that will come visit me? I guess it is my fault though. My last girlfriend I pushed away until she broke up with me, which I have to say I wasn’t too disappointed with. I had a good time being single after that, I had a decent amount of hook-ups, both random and old stand-bys. I guess every now and then I miss the closeness of actual human contact (beyond the “human contact” of partially naked bodies I mean). I guess it wouldn’t have been so bad though if I was doing something other that Latin. If I was working hard composing my Magnum Opus, maybe it wouldn’t bother me so much…
As they move to the hallway and then into the living room, I start to actually hear what they are saying.
“How far did you get?” she asks about his progression in the game.
“You don’t get anywhere, you just play…and crash things.”
RRREEEEEVVVVV!HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!MMMMMMM!!! And that’s Driver. He goes right back to playing and every now and then I hear his signature “HONK! HONK!HONK!HONK! HONK! ….. HONK! HONK!” (Shave and a haircut, honk, honk), and them laughing at the pandemonium. I continue with my Latin while he plays for about another half hour or so, then I hear it become silent again, so I listen.
“What to go see if Tim wants to watch a movie?” she asks (how sweet of her)
“Not really.” he says (I know he’s just kidding, or he just really wants to keep playing)
“Come on.”
“I’m just kidding.” (see)
“I’m getting sick of watching you play this. Go see if he wants to watch a movie.”
“All right, let’s go do that work, man.” (it’s an Italian mobster thing, don’t ask)
I go back to work, pretending like I didn’t just hear that he was coming in to ask me if I wanted to watch a movie, and I notice what a mess my stuff has become. My stack of note cards is now a pile, I lost my place in the book, I can’t remember which point in the translation I’m at (I think I’m about one quarter of the way through) and my notebook page is half torn out of the spiral from turning the page back and forth so many times.
“What’s goin’ on, man?”
“What’s up?”
“Wanna come watch a movie with us?”
“No, I can’t. I got WAY too much shit to do.”
“Latin?”
“Yup. It fuckin’ sucks, like I can’t even like work on my music or anything, I gotta just fuckin’ work on this shit, ALL the time!”
“That’s URI for ya’”
“This and work, that’s it.”
“All right, Dude.”
“Well have fun.”
“Yup.”
He goes back into the living room and I listen.
“Hey, what did Tim say? Does he wanna watch?”
“Oh, no he can’t watch, he’s got too much work.”
“He works too hard.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, do you know what you wanna watch?”
“Uuuuummm, let’s watch this.”
“Okay.”
I hear them getting the movie started and him tapping on his legs (he’s a drummer too), and I can tell that the light in the living room has gone off because it isn’t coming into my room anymore. They are probably snuggling under a blanket on the couch, when I hear the opening music to one of our favorite movies to watch together…and then I go back to doing Latin.
They have a very cute relationship. They have their ups and downs like any other couple, but over all they get along really well. They’ve been together for about three years now, since sophomore year, sometime during marching band season (yes, we’re all band geeks, but cool band geeks). He’s one of the few guys I know, maybe the only one, who puts his friends before his girlfriend. They do get alone time and do romantic things, but he’s not that guy who disappears when his girlfriend comes over. A lot of times, the three of us hang out all together, and it seems to work out pretty well: I’m used to being a third wheel and don’t mind it. She and I have kind of become friends too. There are even some times when she will come over and if my roommate has work to do, she and I will hang out. One time, for fun, we made a list of all the girls I’ve kissed and hooked up with (I’d say it was about average). Sometimes the two of us just need to vent to each other, because there are things that only the two of us understand.
I’m still working on Latin long after the movie finishes and they’ve gone to bed (It was late, even for me). I finally drift off to sleep at some un-godly hour, probably close to sunrise, but at least it was still dark out. All of a sudden the phone starts to ring. I snap awake, all freaked out because I was in that place half-way between dreaming and reality. You know, when you feel like you’re falling and all of a sudden, BAM you hit bottom and wake up. I wasn’t sure at that point if the phone really rang or if I had dreamt it, so I just laid there panting. The phone rang again, so now I knew it was real. I shot up to go answer it, my mind racing wondering who it could be, if something was wrong. I make it into the kitchen and then trip over the recycle bucket as I pick up the receiver.
“Hello?” I ask half asleep and disoriented.
“Hello, Timothy,” a sultry woman’s voice.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“I’ve been watching you.”
“What!?”
“I can’t wait to finally meet you in person…and I bet you can’t wait to meet me either.”
“Whatever.”
I slam down the receiver and head back to my room. When I’m at my door, about to go in, my roommate peeks his head out of his room.
“Who the hell was that?”
“Some bitch.”
“Great. G’night.”
“Night.”
So I finally get home at like eleven or twelve, and as I walk in I hear a car engine revving and a horn blaring. This means only one thing - my roommate is playing Driver for Play Station - one of our favorites. Now let me explain this game to you. Most people, when they play this game, will play it the right way and try to actually progress through the game…not us. Our goals when we play are to see who can make the coolest wreck and/or flip the car, who can get the most cops after them and avoid them the longest, who can find jumps and make the car go flipping through the air, and if you’re really lucky, and this is rare, get caught in the scenery of the game because there’s some sort of glitch. Oh yeah, and you are supposed to wail the horn as much as possible. It probably doesn’t sound like it makes much sense, but oh man, at three in the morning it’s pure bliss! The scary part is that there were times when, after playing till all hours of the morning, I would be driving to class and see a cop on the side of me. As God as my witness I almost instinctively jacked my wheel so I would crash into him in an attempt to drive him off the road, maybe into a telephone pole, and start the chase. Luckily the part of my brain that cares about not going to jail kicked in and stopped me in the nick of time. I don’t blame it on the game though like most parents and crazy people do…I think it’s unsafe to be driving to class before noon.
So I go into the living room to see how he’s “progressing.”
“What’s up?” I ask as he pauses to wipe the sweat off his hands.
“What’s goin’ on, dude?” After some honking, “How was your day?”
“Sucked.”
“Oh yeah?”
“What’d you do?”
“I’ve been playing Driver all day.”
“Nice.”
HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!“Cool man.”HONK!
I stay and watch for a little while longer, then head to my room to start my homework. Now remember I said I was a Music Major? Yeah well, tonight anything music related will be last on my list. Instead it’s Latin. I know, I know, “why did you choose Latin? Why not just do something easy like Spanish or French?” I already took Spanish in high school, so if I did it in college I would have to take a more advanced class, because I’m supposed to already know some. Too bad for me I’ve had a four year lag in between to forget everything (not that I really learned anything to begin with). French just makes me mad because sooooo many of the letters are silent. Plus whenever I think of “French” I think of French-Canadian senior-citizens who combine French and English, or creepy French men hitting on dumb American girls. So I’d either feel like a sixty-year-old or a pervert. Plus I think music should count as a second language. That one I can read, write and speak fluently, probably better than English (At least I pronounce my R’s). I was actually interested in Latin. I liked that it was a dead language that many of the others stemmed from and it has a timelessness to it. I was also fond of Gregorian Chant and was interested in incorporating it into my music somehow, so I thought this would be a good way to get very familiar with it. Yeah right! This was the hardest class I have ever taken…EVER! That was the only time in my life that I felt stupid. I know I’m not stupid but Latin did a number on me. I would spend hours doing a simple translation. I guess it wasn’t what I thought it would be.
So I’m in my room getting ready to start my Latin. I’m sitting on my bed, I’ve got my notebook, my note cards, which have key vocab words on them, my textbook, which has other information key to correct grammar translation, ant the translation book that has the story in it that I’m supposed to translate. This is all spread around me in a semi-circle so I have easy access to all of it. I get to work, still hearing the horns and revving engines from Driver in the next room.
At one point I notice there is silence which must mean that he paused the game because his girlfriend is here and he has to let her in. I hear the muffled greeting in the kitchen and I get jealous. Why don’t I have a girlfriend that will come visit me? I guess it is my fault though. My last girlfriend I pushed away until she broke up with me, which I have to say I wasn’t too disappointed with. I had a good time being single after that, I had a decent amount of hook-ups, both random and old stand-bys. I guess every now and then I miss the closeness of actual human contact (beyond the “human contact” of partially naked bodies I mean). I guess it wouldn’t have been so bad though if I was doing something other that Latin. If I was working hard composing my Magnum Opus, maybe it wouldn’t bother me so much…
As they move to the hallway and then into the living room, I start to actually hear what they are saying.
“How far did you get?” she asks about his progression in the game.
“You don’t get anywhere, you just play…and crash things.”
RRREEEEEVVVVV!HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK!MMMMMMM!!! And that’s Driver. He goes right back to playing and every now and then I hear his signature “HONK! HONK!HONK!HONK! HONK! ….. HONK! HONK!” (Shave and a haircut, honk, honk), and them laughing at the pandemonium. I continue with my Latin while he plays for about another half hour or so, then I hear it become silent again, so I listen.
“What to go see if Tim wants to watch a movie?” she asks (how sweet of her)
“Not really.” he says (I know he’s just kidding, or he just really wants to keep playing)
“Come on.”
“I’m just kidding.” (see)
“I’m getting sick of watching you play this. Go see if he wants to watch a movie.”
“All right, let’s go do that work, man.” (it’s an Italian mobster thing, don’t ask)
I go back to work, pretending like I didn’t just hear that he was coming in to ask me if I wanted to watch a movie, and I notice what a mess my stuff has become. My stack of note cards is now a pile, I lost my place in the book, I can’t remember which point in the translation I’m at (I think I’m about one quarter of the way through) and my notebook page is half torn out of the spiral from turning the page back and forth so many times.
“What’s goin’ on, man?”
“What’s up?”
“Wanna come watch a movie with us?”
“No, I can’t. I got WAY too much shit to do.”
“Latin?”
“Yup. It fuckin’ sucks, like I can’t even like work on my music or anything, I gotta just fuckin’ work on this shit, ALL the time!”
“That’s URI for ya’”
“This and work, that’s it.”
“All right, Dude.”
“Well have fun.”
“Yup.”
He goes back into the living room and I listen.
“Hey, what did Tim say? Does he wanna watch?”
“Oh, no he can’t watch, he’s got too much work.”
“He works too hard.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, do you know what you wanna watch?”
“Uuuuummm, let’s watch this.”
“Okay.”
I hear them getting the movie started and him tapping on his legs (he’s a drummer too), and I can tell that the light in the living room has gone off because it isn’t coming into my room anymore. They are probably snuggling under a blanket on the couch, when I hear the opening music to one of our favorite movies to watch together…and then I go back to doing Latin.
They have a very cute relationship. They have their ups and downs like any other couple, but over all they get along really well. They’ve been together for about three years now, since sophomore year, sometime during marching band season (yes, we’re all band geeks, but cool band geeks). He’s one of the few guys I know, maybe the only one, who puts his friends before his girlfriend. They do get alone time and do romantic things, but he’s not that guy who disappears when his girlfriend comes over. A lot of times, the three of us hang out all together, and it seems to work out pretty well: I’m used to being a third wheel and don’t mind it. She and I have kind of become friends too. There are even some times when she will come over and if my roommate has work to do, she and I will hang out. One time, for fun, we made a list of all the girls I’ve kissed and hooked up with (I’d say it was about average). Sometimes the two of us just need to vent to each other, because there are things that only the two of us understand.
I’m still working on Latin long after the movie finishes and they’ve gone to bed (It was late, even for me). I finally drift off to sleep at some un-godly hour, probably close to sunrise, but at least it was still dark out. All of a sudden the phone starts to ring. I snap awake, all freaked out because I was in that place half-way between dreaming and reality. You know, when you feel like you’re falling and all of a sudden, BAM you hit bottom and wake up. I wasn’t sure at that point if the phone really rang or if I had dreamt it, so I just laid there panting. The phone rang again, so now I knew it was real. I shot up to go answer it, my mind racing wondering who it could be, if something was wrong. I make it into the kitchen and then trip over the recycle bucket as I pick up the receiver.
“Hello?” I ask half asleep and disoriented.
“Hello, Timothy,” a sultry woman’s voice.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“I’ve been watching you.”
“What!?”
“I can’t wait to finally meet you in person…and I bet you can’t wait to meet me either.”
“Whatever.”
I slam down the receiver and head back to my room. When I’m at my door, about to go in, my roommate peeks his head out of his room.
“Who the hell was that?”
“Some bitch.”
“Great. G’night.”
“Night.”
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Foreword and Chapter 1
FOREWORD
My name is Tim Girard.
Beginnings are always difficult. The end is easy, either because it’s the most recent and it’s still fresh in your memory, or it’s the most exciting or interesting. Chances are, it’s what happens in the end that makes you want to tell the story to begin with. The beginning is just all the exposition crap you have to go through, just so you can justify what happens in the end. Beginnings are boring and full of unrecognizable foreshadowing that only makes sense in retrospect. Most of the beginning I don’t even want to try to remember because it pales in comparison to what was eventually to come.
Is my story even worth telling? I think so. I think that what I have become and why will be very significant in the near future, so it’s important to know how I got here. Maybe it’s just out of loneliness. This could be the result of not having anyone to really talk to for a long time. An attempt at appealing to a larger audience in the hope that someone out there has seen what I’ve seen and know what I know. Then I won’t feel that time was wasted. Maybe one of you is looking for what I am looking for and like me you’ve thought you’ve found it countless times, only to realize you are now even more lost than before.
Oh well, the only way to begin is to begin…
BOOK I
CHAPTER 1
My story starts like most other days for me: I was running late for class. I was a Super Senior (fifth year) at the University of Rhode Island working towards a Music Composition degree and I lived off campus. I was on Route 1 north, waiting at the stoplight to turn left onto 138 west and time seemed to stand still. That must be what it would be like if you were conscious while you slept, to be sitting still for a long period of time with no discernable way to tell just how much time has gone by. Don’t get me wrong, I was checking my watch constantly, but I think time moves differently when you are sitting still. Finally the light turns green, but apparently no one in front of me is in as big of a hurry as I am. Plus you’d be surprised how many people forget that “GREEN” means ”GO”.
Now the drive along 138 has the potential to be a very beautiful enjoyable ride, but not when you are late for your 1 o’clock class (that’s right, I overslept for a 1 o’clock class, that’s me, deal with it). It’s fall and there are lots of trees all along both sides of the road, so the colors are stunning…not to me, not today. I am able to relax a little however when I’m able to pick up some speed and cruise along at a fairly reasonable amount over the speed limit. That is until, for no apparent reason, the car in front of me suddenly brakes and slows to a speed well below the speed limit requiring me to slam on my brakes and join his pointless deceleration. Oh, and just a side note, my car, a 1980 Buick Skylark, had been dead for some time so I was driving my parents’ Dodge Ram Van. So that’s a lot of extra weight to bring to a crawl. This slower speed also gave all my frustration that I left behind a chance to catch up with me, as well as adding the anxiety of almost hitting the car. I check my watch again, like knowing what time it is will help get me there faster, and think out loud how I would like to know what it is like to be on time for this class.
After what seems like an unnecessarily long amount of time, and another slow light, I’m in the home stretch. I turn right onto the back road behind campus, stop and rush through the stop sign, turn left, race the engine and then turn right into the parking lot behind the Fine Arts Center (from here on affectionately referred to as the FAC) and…the van stalls. Oh, I’m not kidding, apparently if you are going fast and then turn and decelerate at the same time she doesn’t like that and goes into total shutdown, which includes the power steering and power brakes. So here I am, late for class, standing on the brakes and pulling the wheel with all my might, so I don’t smash into the car that’s leaving the parking lot as I’m trying to enter it. Once I am able to regain control, stop and restart the van, now it’s time to zip (and when you’re talking about a van ‘zip’ is a relative term) up and down the aisles looking for a spot. Now here’s the thing with the FAC parking lot: it’s usually full. At this point everyone has already parked and gone to class for this hour, or has already left from their class that ended last hour, so because I’m late, I’m probably S.O.L. What’s that you say? “Maybe if you didn’t come so late you would have a spot.” Here’s the thing, if I got here on time, I would be fighting with everyone else who has a class this hour for a spot, in addition to the traffic of everyone leaving, both vehicular and pedestrian. Oh, you think you still have the answer do you? “If you come early, you can beat the rush.” Oh my God you are so smart, why didn’t I think of that!? Oh wait, I did. If you get here too early, the lot is full because everyone has already parked and gone to class for this hour, or has already left from their class that ended last hour. (Does it sound like I’m repeating myself? It irritates me as much as it does you, believe me.) It’s this vicious cycle and the only answer is to actually have enough parking spots for everyone who goes to your school. Sorry, I digress.
So I’m frantically looking for a spot and eventually I find one waaaaay in the back. I now go through my routine of unbuckling my seatbelt, putting the car in park, rolling up the window, turning off the engine and taking out the key grabbing my bag off the seat, opening the door and locking it, jumping out, and then shutting the door all in one fluid motion. It’s really quite beautiful actually, like a ballet. Now it’s time to check my watch again (to tell you the truth, I don’t know the purpose of this) as I mad dash at top speed across the parking lot to the FAC.
I get to the door yank it open and run through making an almost immediate left as some of my friends call to me but I tell them I can’t talk I’m late for class but ask them if they’re coming to the party at my house on Friday they say yes I’m still running and around the next left more people yell to me and I remind them about the party as I run down the ramp I grab the handle to the door on my right and pull expecting it to open but it sticks and doesn’t open and that hurts my shoulder but I give another hard pull and it gives so I yank it open and lunge through it and bolt up the stairs three at a time my shoes squeaking to the door and grab the doorknob and…nothing.
The door is locked. So now, instead of sneaking in quietly, I have to knock on the door, and disrupt the class, alerting everyone to my tardiness. By the way, this isn’t some big lecture class you can sneak in the back of and the professor doesn’t know you. It’s a classroom with less than twenty students, and it’s a music class, so the professor definitely knows me. There’s nothing else I can do so I suck it up and knock as quickly and quietly as possible. The student sitting closest to the door opens it for me and I come in with my head hanging low, still hoping that maybe no one will see me. Yeah. No such luck. All eyes are on me. I finally meet the gaze of my professor.
“Sorry,” I say as I make my way to an empty seat.
“Mister Girard,” He looks at his watch, “You know it is quarter after already.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I slip into the chair.
“This is the third time you realize.”
“I…Uh…Never again,” as I start to unzip my bag but the zipper sticks.
“Well I’m counting on it.”
“Sorry,” still tugging at the zipper.
He holds his gaze a little longer, then, “So, where was I? Oh, yeah…”
He goes on with his lecture as I yank the zipper and it opens, spilling most of my stuff onto the floor. I scramble to get everything I don’t need for this class back into my bag and find the right notebook so I won’t get any more behind in the notes.
After class I take a minute to organize my things that I crammed into my bag. A few students were waiting to talk to the professor, so I knew I would be safe from another disappointed look. I finally sneak out and head down the stairs and out the door back to the van. Next it’s time for me to drive half an hour to work at the Warwick Mall Structure, where in addition to cashing people out, I had to endlessly fold clothes (now I know how my mom felt), and pretend like these clothes make me, and everyone that wears them, a better person. Now don’t get me wrong, I did like the clothes, that’s why I started working there. I guess it’s probably like this with all retail jobs, but I’m still confused as to why, I was required to be a whore. But, it was a job and being a college student doesn’t leave many opportunities outside of retail, and there are worse jobs.
And everyone needs money, right?
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Coming soon: Tim Girard's "The Path I. Genesis"
So I’ve decided to start putting my book on here. I will do one chapter roughly once a week. I figure this will keep me working at it, but a little at a time. I probably won’t put the entire thing on here, just enough so that you’ll still want to buy it when it gets published, haha! I’m going to take a week to start cleaning it up, then begin posting it. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!
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