Part II of the "How to Not Become a Mook" Series on Modern Manners
1. Just because I have a bad or old cellphone, doesn't mean you have to diss it or that I have to buy a new one. A phone is a phone.
2. The entire "i call you, you don't pick up, you get the missed call, then you call me back two seconds after I hang up" scenario has got to end.
3. Turn your mobiles off in any of the following situations:
a. sit-down restaurants
b. movie theatres
c. while dealing with cashiers
d. when you're on a date
e. class (for the love of God)
f. when in doubt
4. People without cellphones who borrow mine are annoying. Use a payphone next time.
5. If you choose to have an obnoxious or cheesy ringtone, don't turn it up to the maximum level and ignore rule 3(e).
6. Bluetooth headsets are for yuppie businessmen, balding Lebanese guys and not you.
7. TXTing has its own sublist of etiquette:
a. one word txts like "yo," "whatever," "hey," or "damn," are entirely useless and a waste of your precious 10 cents
b. on the other hand, remember that TXTing goes by another name "SMS" or "Short Messaging Service". Make your point, or just call me, you Jew.
c. just because you send me a TXT, doesn't mean I'm obligated to respond you anytime soon. Sending another TXT would just get on my nerves. A third strike would just result in you being deleted my list.
d. Back and forth TXTing like 6 or more times ought to be reserved strictly for cutesy couples who like to bring sunshine in each other's otherwise decrepit lives. Again, if the "Short" part of SMS just doesn't work with your intended communication, call, nitwit.
8. One (maximum two) missed calls is enough. I get it, you want to talk to me. But could it just so happen that I *don't* want to talk you?
9. Three or more missed calls, especially within the span of one hour, unless the situation absolutely calls for it, borders on stalkerism.
10. Please don't complain multiple times about "my shitty battery" or "my shitty network." Everyone's battery and network is shitty. No need for reminders.
11. When having a conversation, most especially during those precious "daytime" hours, keep it brief, to the point and try to end it before a minute.
i.e. ideal conversation:
Receiver: Yo.
Caller: Yo, I'm done work at 6, where you at?
Receiver: I'm at work. ll be done at 7. I'll meet you in front of Cote-Vertu at 7:30 if you wanna chill.
Caller: Aite, peace.
Receiver: Peace.
See? That should've taken no more than 20 seconds.
i.e. more common, less ideal conversation:
Receiver: Yea.
Caller: Hey, what's up?
Receiver: Nothing, bro, chillin'.
Caller: Fo' sho.
(...Lull)
Receiver: What do you want?
Caller: What?
Receiver: Why did you call?
Caller: You know, just to see what's up.
Receiver: Yea, I just told you, nothing.
Caller: Chill. So you wanna do something?
Receiver: Like what?
Caller: I don't know.
Receiver: What do you want to do?
Caller: Um, I don't know, I'm busy tonite.
(...Lull)
Receiver: So what the f*ck?
Caller: Yea... yo, you hear about what happened at the club last night?
Receiver: No.
Caller: Oh, it was crazy, man.
Receiver. Okay, great. Yo, daytime minutes, I got to go.
Caller: What?
Receiver: Daytime minutes.
Caller: Oh, don't you got a plan?
Receiver: I do. But daytime isn't free.
Caller: Who you with?
Receiver: Yo, peace, peace.
Caller: Aite bro. I'll call you back.
Two and a half minutes of each of your lives spent and not a damn thing solved.
Let's try and keep these rules in mind, next time you hit "Send."
* * *
And in Respect to CBGB's Founder Hilly Kristal (1932-2007), I have found out what CBGB OMFUG stands for, and shall now share this knowledge with you.
"Country BlueGrass and Blues & Other Music For Uplifting Gormandizers"
Good night.
2007/08/29
2007/08/12
computer hope
Apologies for the nearly 4,000-word previous installment.
Final Chapter - These Things Happen
Okay girls & guys, before anything, I want you to play a song called "Temptation" by New Order. Download it if you don't have it already, and try to get the version from 1987, the 7 minute one. OKOK, fine, you're lazy so here's the link, whatever:
http://download.yousendit.com/5040B2C61A63EE96
Alright then, now that you have that playing in the background, I'll tell you my side of this tale.
My name is Faye Rossi, I'm 21 and a major in Business Administration at Concordia University. I have a minor in Sociology, but I might drop that and just concentrate on Business Admin. I mean, Sociology is interesting and all, but when you get down to it, it's not a real science. And the professors will admit that too. When scientists try to take surveys and analyze human behaviour and reasoning, any sort of scientific methods or control elements fly out the window and you end up with an estimated guess. Case in point, I had one professor who emphasized that you shouldn't trust the Census. She worked as a census survey person when she was young and she told us stories about how she and her co-workers made up all sorts of fake names, fake addresses because they got tired of going to sketchy apartments and crackhouses, like "Lucifer, residing in Hades, Alberta." Anyway, you all don't want to hear about this. I know when I talk too much, but fuck off, I'm a girl, that's what I do.
So yeah, the "rape". Well, most likely because Jacob was really high off his ass and being overdramatic, he sort of overwrote that part. Yeah, I read what he posts up here. It wasn't as bad as he made it seem. No honestly, I know, I'm the girl, I'm supposed to be all the victim and shit, but no. I've been exposed to enough Feminist ideas (go Camille Paglia & Gloria Steinem!) to not accept the poor, little rape victim stereotype.
I wouldn't even call it rape. We were a couple, boyfriend and girlfriend. He was intoxicated, I was sort of tipsy myself. I let him take me into that bedroom and was totally consenting. And he sort of freaked out, which, despite his harrowing description, I can understand. Yes, difficult to believe, but I know my Jake. He's no rapist. A stoner? Yeah. Bit anti-social and introverted? Check. Going nowhere fast? That too. But to throw him and Paul Bernardo and Tarquinius in the same batch of miscreants and scum? No. He's still a kid, he didn't mean it and I'm not traumatized.
What happened in that bedroom was things getting out of control, a mistake, a bad mix of drugs, horniness (sic) and adolescent stupidity. So yea. Don't get all self-righteous or outraged. These things happen.
How far's Temptation along? I want to finish before it's over.
I liked Jake from the beginning. I'd seen my brother Tony hang around with him for years and he'd always acted shy around me. Then at some point, he began to act all cool or indifferent. I would guess that's when he began to like me, or probably when he started to smoke. Jake is the sort of guy who's still figuring out who he is. I mean, he didn't work a lot, dropped out of college. Wasn't too charming or gallant or anything, but he was cute and as close to a bad boy as I had in my reach. The laptop was just the excuse to hang around together. Anyway, I'd had a few relationships before, but nothing serious. Dates, fooling around, but not like love or anything. Did I love Jake? Can't say. This might go down as just a summer fling. Then again, I'd never let a boy go as far as I let him. I liked him, a lot. Oh fuck it and this fear in modern society of using the word "love." Yeah, I loved him.
But will I forgive him? I don't know. Not that I hold a grudge or anything. If he comes and apologizes and asks me tomorrow for forgiveness, I believe I would. Forgiveness is as important as love on this Earth. Jesus, Muhammad, Joseph Smith, Jr, what have you, all stress over and over the nobleness, the sacredness of this most human of things.
But in terms of us getting back together...that is what I don't know. It'd be different now. I personally think I've had a bad influence on him. I want him to take some time off from me and get his bearings straight. As I told him numerous times, he's got to get his life together, he's got to move on and leave the aimlessness and volatility and transience of adolesence behind. Big words, yeah. So you just want a "yes" or "no" answer? Will we or won't we? The name of this story is Computer Hope after all, isn't it? I believe in hope, I like hope. Forever is a long time. Take that for what you will.
*The end*
* * *
Special thanks to all who've hung around and read this far, any and all comments and responses were considered, appreciated and inspiring. I took suggestions and made changes where reasonable and appropriate. This blog will return to its regular columns about politics soon. Until then, as ever...
=//Turnquest
Final Chapter - These Things Happen
Okay girls & guys, before anything, I want you to play a song called "Temptation" by New Order. Download it if you don't have it already, and try to get the version from 1987, the 7 minute one. OKOK, fine, you're lazy so here's the link, whatever:
http://download.yousendit.com/5040B2C61A63EE96
Alright then, now that you have that playing in the background, I'll tell you my side of this tale.
My name is Faye Rossi, I'm 21 and a major in Business Administration at Concordia University. I have a minor in Sociology, but I might drop that and just concentrate on Business Admin. I mean, Sociology is interesting and all, but when you get down to it, it's not a real science. And the professors will admit that too. When scientists try to take surveys and analyze human behaviour and reasoning, any sort of scientific methods or control elements fly out the window and you end up with an estimated guess. Case in point, I had one professor who emphasized that you shouldn't trust the Census. She worked as a census survey person when she was young and she told us stories about how she and her co-workers made up all sorts of fake names, fake addresses because they got tired of going to sketchy apartments and crackhouses, like "Lucifer, residing in Hades, Alberta." Anyway, you all don't want to hear about this. I know when I talk too much, but fuck off, I'm a girl, that's what I do.
So yeah, the "rape". Well, most likely because Jacob was really high off his ass and being overdramatic, he sort of overwrote that part. Yeah, I read what he posts up here. It wasn't as bad as he made it seem. No honestly, I know, I'm the girl, I'm supposed to be all the victim and shit, but no. I've been exposed to enough Feminist ideas (go Camille Paglia & Gloria Steinem!) to not accept the poor, little rape victim stereotype.
I wouldn't even call it rape. We were a couple, boyfriend and girlfriend. He was intoxicated, I was sort of tipsy myself. I let him take me into that bedroom and was totally consenting. And he sort of freaked out, which, despite his harrowing description, I can understand. Yes, difficult to believe, but I know my Jake. He's no rapist. A stoner? Yeah. Bit anti-social and introverted? Check. Going nowhere fast? That too. But to throw him and Paul Bernardo and Tarquinius in the same batch of miscreants and scum? No. He's still a kid, he didn't mean it and I'm not traumatized.
What happened in that bedroom was things getting out of control, a mistake, a bad mix of drugs, horniness (sic) and adolescent stupidity. So yea. Don't get all self-righteous or outraged. These things happen.
How far's Temptation along? I want to finish before it's over.
I liked Jake from the beginning. I'd seen my brother Tony hang around with him for years and he'd always acted shy around me. Then at some point, he began to act all cool or indifferent. I would guess that's when he began to like me, or probably when he started to smoke. Jake is the sort of guy who's still figuring out who he is. I mean, he didn't work a lot, dropped out of college. Wasn't too charming or gallant or anything, but he was cute and as close to a bad boy as I had in my reach. The laptop was just the excuse to hang around together. Anyway, I'd had a few relationships before, but nothing serious. Dates, fooling around, but not like love or anything. Did I love Jake? Can't say. This might go down as just a summer fling. Then again, I'd never let a boy go as far as I let him. I liked him, a lot. Oh fuck it and this fear in modern society of using the word "love." Yeah, I loved him.
But will I forgive him? I don't know. Not that I hold a grudge or anything. If he comes and apologizes and asks me tomorrow for forgiveness, I believe I would. Forgiveness is as important as love on this Earth. Jesus, Muhammad, Joseph Smith, Jr, what have you, all stress over and over the nobleness, the sacredness of this most human of things.
But in terms of us getting back together...that is what I don't know. It'd be different now. I personally think I've had a bad influence on him. I want him to take some time off from me and get his bearings straight. As I told him numerous times, he's got to get his life together, he's got to move on and leave the aimlessness and volatility and transience of adolesence behind. Big words, yeah. So you just want a "yes" or "no" answer? Will we or won't we? The name of this story is Computer Hope after all, isn't it? I believe in hope, I like hope. Forever is a long time. Take that for what you will.
*The end*
* * *
Special thanks to all who've hung around and read this far, any and all comments and responses were considered, appreciated and inspiring. I took suggestions and made changes where reasonable and appropriate. This blog will return to its regular columns about politics soon. Until then, as ever...
=//Turnquest
2007/08/08
MSN Etiquette
One too many faux-pas on the part of my contacts on MSN have spurred me to type this list up. Criticize away. See if I care.
MSN Etiquette (for beginners and wankers)
1. If you are having a convo and are delayed in your responses, offer a simple apology, explanation for your tardiness or "brb."
2. If you say "brb," that means 5 minutes or less. Don't just go offline or flop.
3. Hanging around as "Appear Offline" all the time makes you sad and anti-social. Why are you even on MSN anyway?
4. Custom smileys are cute. The first time. And then they are annoying.
5. Don't nudge. Ever.
6. Change your display pics from time to time. You haven't been to Cuba since 2005.
7. If you like your nick so much that you just can't fathom taking the twelve seconds to change it, or because it's just "sooo good" and represents you so well, then see above (6).
8. Try and clear out all those contacts who you don't even know and probably talked to like once. Yes, it seems impressive that you have 471 friends. But then again, you don't.
9. Online means Online, Ready to Chat & Respond Within 15 seconds. If you can't meet these criteria, pick another status.
10. If your chat partner goes offline without a "bye," "peace," or "one," or otherwise offends your sensibilites, don't bring up the issue in real life.
11. MSN is not real life. There can be pauses, random starts to convos, and unsolicited contact at 4am.
12. LOL is not what it means, ever. Stop using it. Also see "OMG, ROFL, :DDD."
13. If you are having a chat that lasts longer than one hour with a person who lives in the same city and you are both otherwise unoccupied, feel free to use a device from the 1900s called a telephone. Or better yet, meet them face-to-face. MSN is not a substitute for actual communication.
=//Turnquest
MSN Etiquette (for beginners and wankers)
1. If you are having a convo and are delayed in your responses, offer a simple apology, explanation for your tardiness or "brb."
2. If you say "brb," that means 5 minutes or less. Don't just go offline or flop.
3. Hanging around as "Appear Offline" all the time makes you sad and anti-social. Why are you even on MSN anyway?
4. Custom smileys are cute. The first time. And then they are annoying.
5. Don't nudge. Ever.
6. Change your display pics from time to time. You haven't been to Cuba since 2005.
7. If you like your nick so much that you just can't fathom taking the twelve seconds to change it, or because it's just "sooo good" and represents you so well, then see above (6).
8. Try and clear out all those contacts who you don't even know and probably talked to like once. Yes, it seems impressive that you have 471 friends. But then again, you don't.
9. Online means Online, Ready to Chat & Respond Within 15 seconds. If you can't meet these criteria, pick another status.
10. If your chat partner goes offline without a "bye," "peace," or "one," or otherwise offends your sensibilites, don't bring up the issue in real life.
11. MSN is not real life. There can be pauses, random starts to convos, and unsolicited contact at 4am.
12. LOL is not what it means, ever. Stop using it. Also see "OMG, ROFL, :DDD."
13. If you are having a chat that lasts longer than one hour with a person who lives in the same city and you are both otherwise unoccupied, feel free to use a device from the 1900s called a telephone. Or better yet, meet them face-to-face. MSN is not a substitute for actual communication.
=//Turnquest
2007/08/07
C.H. Links
Links to 6 Chapters of "Computer Hope" :
I - A Woman I Admire
II - The Laptop
III - Acquisition
IV - In the Aisles
V - Kissing After Dark or: I've Got a Bad Feeling About This
VI - Overdrive
VII - These Things Happen (under construction)
=//Turnquest
I - A Woman I Admire
II - The Laptop
III - Acquisition
IV - In the Aisles
V - Kissing After Dark or: I've Got a Bad Feeling About This
VI - Overdrive
VII - These Things Happen (under construction)
=//Turnquest
2007/08/05
C.H. VI
Before anything, R.I.P. and God's mercy be upon Porky, Ingmar Bergman & Michelangelo Antonioni.
*** Disclaimer: Despite many attempts to discern some kernel of truth or insight into this story, all characters are entirely fictitious, all experiences are fictitious and all references to acts, quotes and events are fictitious. Only the places and settings might be real, so don't kill yourself trying to find out if this is what happened or didn't, cuz it didn't. It's just a story. ***
Part VI - Overdrive
Alright alright, things were going sort of well between me and Faye. We had managed to keep things on the down-low. Faye's brother Tony wasn't aware of anything aside from that we were sharing the laptop (then again, Tony didn't really notice too much aside from when Sublime Directory updated). Our parents were being skillfully misdirected (Yea mom, I'm going to my friend Mike's house, I'll be back tomorrow morning.) And we had settled a lot of the important relationship issues that would've normally come back to bite us. No expectations on the bills at restaurants. No drama if one or the other is busy on a certain night. Yes, gifts are encouraged. No, nothing too expensive. No grudges against chilling with friends, etc. So yeah, things were going well.
I found myself reflecting on Faye from time to time and how she seemed to possess rather good but rare qualities in girls. Like for example, she had that good girl/bad-girl thing down pat. To elaborate, in public at any point, she was always extremely well-dressed and put together, but never flashy or exhibitionist. A totally respectable and proper, almost to the point of being intimidating, member of society. Subtle. But for those who got a closer look, all the exquisite details that elevate regular girls to true ethereal beauties were right there. The right contrasting colors in clothes; the minimum amounts of makeup that simply enhance rather than totally overhaul her look; a modern, well-taken care of cellphone; shoes that even laymen take notice of; soft hands, astonishing and almost tragic grey-hazel eyes; and that gliding-on-air grace that only the best can muster. Oh, an ass that wouldn't quit. Of course.
I was in way over my head.
Tony and I were driving on an August Friday evening on the 15 in my car which had finally been released from the mechanic. The ol' girl, a 1987 Ford Tempo, had a solid 276,000 KMs on it and constantly emitted grinding or whirring noises. I thought it was just the car's way of asking me to put it out if its misery.
Anyway, we were on our way to pick up Faye who was getting ready at her house. Tony's buddy Roy was having a get-together at his place cuz his parents had gone to the States for the weekend. Of course, as things would have it in the hokey, sheltered community of Montreal-West, every kid, mook, homo-thug, tween, stoner, jock and skank west of Atwater St. had heard about it. Though the sun had yet to set, we could tell from the amount of txts and phone calls circulating around that poor Roy's house was going to be swarming with hopped-up kids.
Us two had just come from burning a spliff on the mountain. I was switching the radio towards K103.7 when we got a blip of the hourly news reports.
***A car bombing in Sadr City, Baghdad killed 27...Chairman of the Joint Chiefs is making plans to delay any review of the Iraq mission until next year...Iran and Syria's leaders were meeting in Damascus against the wishes of Israel...U.S. to sell $20 billion of arms to Israel, Egypt and Saudi Arabia...***
I passed the news report, feeling sort of queasy and reached K103.7 where BuddaBlaze was spinning some old NaS. Rolling down the windows to let in the humid summer air, I caught a glance of the big giant orange near Jean-Talon.
Tony was aroused out of his weed stupor and couldn't help but comment on the report.
"Yo dog, what's up with all these bombings and shit?"
I paused for a minute, wondering how to answer his question properly and explain it in terms understandable to him.
"Man, that's just Middle East shit. Don't worry about it."
"Naw, but like mad people die like every day," he said.
"Yea...and?" "So like why can't they stop it?"
"Who, the Americans?" I asked.
"No...yea, the Americans or whoever else."
"Yo, it's complicated and shit."
"No man, like there's bombings and shit exploding in the streets like every day. That's not complicated. And fuckin' no-one's doing shit," he said sharply.
"Guy, this shit's been going on for a long time."
"Yea, but I don't here shit about car bombs or kidnappings in like Japan or Brazil or any of these other places"
"Yea, well Japan or Brazil weren't invaded and bombed to fuck by the U.S. Army for no good reason and had 160,000 troops occupying it...Well maybe Japan but that's another story."
Tony paused a second before replying. "So it's the Americans' fault? That's what everyone keeps sayin', like Bush this and Bush that."
"Well in a way, because before the Americans came, there was no such thing as suicide bombings in Iraq and people being kidnapped."
"Yea but they had Saddam Hussein naw? He was pretty fucked up."
"No, for sure, Saddam was a son-of-a-bitch but I mean, he was completely zero percent threat against the U.S. or anyone else. He was contained. And, I mean, if you're gonna start invading countries cuz they got dictators runnin' them, then they oughta start with North Korea or some shitty African country or Burma or somethin'." "Yea..." said Tony, seeming to agree. I tried to offer an analogy.
"Look, they can't stop it because they're the ones who started it. It's like telling a guy who committed assault to help his victim or the weed dealer to get his custies to quit doin' drugs. No-one takes the U.S. seriously, and no-one over there likes 'em."
"Yea but I hear if they pull out, then it's gonna be even worse and there'll be genocide or sumthin'."
"Yea, probably."
"But, look, I saw enough movies about Vietnam and shit, and they pulled out and nothing like that happened. If they get out, then somebody else is gonna take over and that's, y'know, the natural way of shit to happen."
"Good point," I said, sort of surprised.
"Pff, I dunno man, I'm just sayin' from what I remember watchin' movies."
We pulled off of Decarie on to Sherbrooke and followed De Maisonneuve with all its mechanics' shops and abandoned warehouses till we reached Tony and Faye's house on Melrose. A cellphone call later and Faye was walking towards the car carrying the laptop. A side note: you've gotta love punctual women. She squirmed into the backseat without even a glance in my direction. I pulled away from the curb.
Tony looked in the rear-view mirror, as typical of people who want to talk to those in the backseat.
"Hey Faye, what do you think about all this Middle East stuff?"
"Like what?" she said.
"Like what's going on in Iraq and everything."
She glanced out the window a little solemnly before replying.
"It's pretty sad."
"Yeah yeah, I know but I was asking this guy if he knew why it's happening."
"Well I mean Tony, it's a broad question. In terms of Iraq and the current civil war..." "So it's a civil war?" he interrupted.
Faye continued unfazed.
"Yes Tony, it's a civil war. Anyway, in terms of that, you can trace its roots back as far as the 80s when Reagan and the States supported Saddam against Iran, which had just gone through its Islamic Revolution and brought the Ayatollah to power. Or, if you want to get historical, you could trace it all the way back 1400 years to Islamic times and the death of the Prophet Muhammad and who amongst his companions had the right of succession. Then of course, there's the slaying of his grandson Husayn by the Caliph Yazid's forces at Karbala. That's essentially where the whole Sunni-Shia thing started."
"So fuck, like this has been goin' on for 1400 years?"
"No, not exactly, but that's where the roots of the secular violence began."
I couldn't keep quiet anymore.
"Fuck that, I read the Wikipedia articles.The Iraqis were pretty damn peaceful aside from the whole Iran War thing. It's the States that messed it all up. You want history? Go look up the Crusades or the British or French empires. The West never knows when to mind its own business."
"I did look it up, I took a course," Faye replied with a naive authority that made me want to lash out at her.
"Taught by some white dude, huh?"
"Yeah, Professor Higgins."
"Pff. And that's what this Higgins guy told you? That it's the Muslims fault?" "Well, not exactly... but he did say you can't trust Wikipedia."
"See, that's bullshit. Wikipedia is just as accurate as the Encyclopedia Britannica."
"No, because anybody can edit it."
"Yea, but if there's any inaccuracies, it gets corrected. Fuck, I'll prove it to you. Give me that laptop."
I pulled over to an apartment building on Sherbrooke and West Broadway. Starting up the laptop, I began looking for a network to log into. Faye inquired to what I was doing.
"I'm showing you it's accurate, hold on."
"You can't just log into other people's networks."
"Why the fuck not?"
"That's stealing!"
"Yeah, whatever."
I found an unprotected network called "Linksys" and logged in.
"Look, I don't care what your website says. Let's just go," said Faye, relenting.
"No, you want to see if it's right or not? We'll find out."
Tony couldn't take this anymore.
"Alright enough. Look, don't you people see this is how shit gets started over there? Bitching about history and Yazid and all these things that don't fuckin' matter one shit."
I paused halfway into typing the URL.
"So much stupid shit. Agree to disagree, whatever I don't give a shit, nobody cares. Let's go."
I shut the laptop's lid and we continued to the party in silence.
"Are there going to be any drugs at this party?" Faye asked.
"Most likely," I replied.
"Well I don't want neither of you to take anything stupid. I don't care about weed, but relax with the rest of the stuff," she said.
Tony and I feigned agreement with nods.
We parked on Connaught a couple blocks away from the house and walked over. It was about 10:30pm now. The sun was gone, the little old English-style street lamps had been turned on and the neighborhood was generally quiet, except for distant rumbles of bass coming from Roy's house. Little gaggles of girls in minis and tanktops were walking excitedly along on the sidewalk. The house came into view. The lights were on in every room. At least a dozen kids were hanging around on the porch already. Heading up to the place, we heard what sounded like Wolfmother and Cypress Hill blasting out of stereos inside. I looked back at brother and sister. Faye was sort of expressionless, which I took to be a sort of disapproval. Tony was already shouting out to one of the kids he knew. We had to cross through a thin fog of cigarette smoke to make it inside.
The main lobby of the house had a staircase going up to the second floor with teenagers sitting on the steps drinking beer out of clear plastic cups. The Wolfmother seemed to be coming from the den which was to the left of the stairway, while the familiar Cypress Hill basslines came from the basement door on the side of the stairway. Now if there's a rule-of-thumb you can say about house parties, it's that the real chilling always seems to take place in the basement. The potheads and couples making out always seem to find their way there. Or if the house doesn't have a basement or if it's an apartment, you figure the kitchen is where the centre of the action is.
Faye saw her friend Sarah and disappeared into a sideroom as Tony and I headed downstairs. In the basement we found a few couches, a computer playing 'How I Could Just Kill A Man' and like twenty kids of all races doing what can only be described as 'chilling'. Two black kids dressed in Roc-A-Fella were sitting on a couch stoned out of their heads, eyes red and barely open. They couldn't have been more than sixteen. A blonde girl with one of those belts lined with little metal pyramids was talking very closely with a kid with spiked hair and a red Canadiens shirt in the corner. Another kid sporting glasses and an acoustic guitar was looking behind a dresser for a cigarette he had dropped. Three girls, all obviously minors, were in a circle laughing hysterically about something they had just remembered, cigarettes and Dixie cups of alcohol in hand. Three white dudes with dreads wearing raggedy wool and plaid were sitting on the floor around the coffee table chopping up trees and chatting about "hip-hop in the 90s." We headed for these guys.
Smoke and the odour of alcohol floated in the air as we sat down next to them. After the customary greetings, I asked one guy where Roy was. He said he didn't know any Roy. Another one said to check upstairs. As I was about to go back up, Roy came barreling down without a shirt and giant fake Ray-Bans. He saw us and gave us hugs, thanking us for making it to the party. I asked him if it was okay to smoke in the house. He replied "Yeah it's fine, as long as you stay in the basement," before excusing himself to go yell at the kid who was messing with his guitar.
We sat back around the table and Tony dropped a 7s on the table. The three dreadlocked kids looked at the Ziploc bag, then at us and smiled.
* * *
It had to have been about 1 by the time I pulled myself away from the orgy of weed-smoking and make-out sessions happening in the basement. I had recalled that Faye was still somewhere about. Upstairs, I looked for her but instead found Roy who stopped me.
"Did you see Tony's sister?" I asked.
"Yo guy, you ever try speed?" Roy replied, casting aside the question.
"Yeah, a few years back. It didn't work on me, I just fell asleep."
"Oh fuck, yo, I can hook you up with real shit for like 10 a pill."
"What, like live?"
"Yeah dog, right now. You down?" I looked around the house, which had really begun to degenerate now into hedonism. I figured, why not? I expressed my approval to him.
"Okay, hold up, I'm gonna find the guy."
He vanished. I sat on the stairway. A lonely, introverted girl with glasses and a Weezer shirt sitting a couple steps up made eye-contact. She said in a bored voice,
"Didn't I see you at Trevor's show?"
"Naw, I don't know any Trevor."
"Oh."
She turned away, staring off into nothing.
Roy returned with his fist clenched around something, his sunglasses removed. As he handed me a triangular orange pill, I could see his eyes were almost totally black, the pupils fully dilated and glazed over, sparkling.
"Here, try it. It's Dexedrine, the real shit."
I looked around for something to down it with, then asked Weezer girl if I could borrow her cup for a second. She gave it to me and I swallowed the pill with a mouthful of lukewarm Molson Ex. Roy giggled and vanished before I could give him the 10 dollars. My mouth tasted like piss and I had to get outside to smoke a cigarette.
The gathering on the porch had spilled out on to the yard. Bass rumbles from inside echoed throughout the otherwise quiet neighborhood of upper middle-class Victorian and brick houses. I thought I heard a smattering of The Misfits now. As I took a drag on the cancer stick, I wondered how long before the police would break up the party. There was a cool breeze to give the weather a sort of perfection.
And then it hit.
It was, well the word used on Erowid and other drug-geek websites is "euphoria." This was the first thought that repeated itself in my head as I held on to the railings of the porch. An extraordinary, intense glowing feeling enveloped my body and mind. I continued to smoke, but I had wild urges to run, to talk, to explore, to feel. Then I started to feel my heartbeat. Normally, when you're in a very quiet environment, you can stop and hear your heartbeat if you specifically want to. This was different. I could physically feel my heart accelerating, the pulses causing a sort of rhythm to develop inside my chest. It wasn't painful. Pain had been forgotten, as had depression, anxiety or sadness. This was just pure hyperactive bliss. Like piloting a single-engine Cessna at takeoff or what Jimi Hendrix must've felt when he played 'The Star-Spangled Banner' at Woodstock.
I flicked the cigarette away and headed back inside, every footstep unleashing little tremors of joy and excitement. Entering the foyer again, I noticed as I turned my head the lights were leaving little streaks behind them. "Shit," I thought, "this shit is hitting faster than I thought." I saw Roy still walking around, his sunglasses now back on and draped in a bedsheet he was using as a cape. He saw me and hugged me and we both let out exclamations of awe and happiness. I staggered into the TV lounge where a few fat kids were playing some shooter game on an X-Box. On the dining table behingd them, I saw a two girls tapping a razor blade on a mirror. My mind reacted instantly, recalling what this meant. I walked over and from the reactions on their faces, I knew that they knew that I knew.
"Want a line?"
"Yes."
I clumsily rolled up a five-dollar bill they gave me and after watching them each do one, I knelt down and under their vacant gaze, snorted my first line of cocaine. Now, I won't go into what that instant felt like. It's like...torture and an orgasm. Or something. I blanked out and walked around, pushing my fingers through my hair and rubbing my eyes from the dazzling light. I found myself in the lobby again when I heard a voice.
"Hey Jim."
I looked up at the top of the stairway. Faye stood there with her black skirt and grey stockings and a torn t-shirt with a phrase I couldn't make out, looking down at me.
"What?"
"Whip it on me, Jim. Come on."
I paused, not breaking eye contact. She seemed to be emanating light or something, but I swore I could see circles or some kind of shimmering around her, the way fire can distort the air above it on a cool day. I had no choice. Every other voice and noise and thought fell away. I ran up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time until I was at her side, my arms around her hips. She looked at me, sort of bemused and letting slip a rare smile. She'd probably had a few drinks herself.
"Do you like this shirt? Amy gave it to me."
I looked down, trying not to stare too hard at her chest while reading the white-on-black text:
The now familiar aura of glee and euphoria rippled through me. My eyes went back to her grinning face. I noticed she had dimples.
"I thought you'd like it...Jeez, is it that nice? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"It's because I love you," I replied.
"What?"
"Come on."
I took her by the hand and led her off into one of the bedrooms upstairs. All were locked, save one; Roy's.
We had started kissing before I even managed to close the door. Freeing one of my hands, I managed to lock it from the inside as we began to embrace. The sounds of the party had dissipated now, the small room with its poster-lined walls filling with the sounds of breathing and lust. I couldn't even begin to describe how ecstatic and glorious it felt to have her in my arms and returning all that I was giving her. It felt like the first time all over again. Faye.
But every touch, every gesture was just pushing the speed rush further. My heart was pounding, visibly trembling my chest. I must've been at 200 beats per minute, at least. Blood was pulsating throughout my body, but she hadn't noticed yet.
I took her to the bed and laid her down. She complied, watching with a sort of curious fascination as I disrobed myself, then began to do same to her.
"Wait."
But I didn't hear. I continued, my limbs working of their own accord, her body sending her signals that I couldn't fight.
"Are you sure?"
Her skin was still smooth. My own was slick with sweat, beads dripping out of my hairline.
"I don't know about this..."
It was moving too fast, a freefall out of an airplane, a dive off of a cliff, a trip through hyperspace. She shivvered underneath me, her muscles beginning to clench.
"It hurts...I think you should slow down."
I was gone now, not even in the moment. My head was off watching the stars form from gases at the dawn of time, my body a machine stealing all it could from another, fueled by chemicals and hunger.
"Okay, stop it. Fuck, it hurts. You're hurting me."
The unmistakable sound of flesh slapping against other flesh resounded in the room. Suddenly, her hands were pushing at my shoulders with surprising force. I wanted to stop. God, how I wished I could've stopped. I could've let her push me away and we still could've made up, apologize. Anything, I was ready to pull away.
But I couldn't.
"STOP, get off me. STOP IT, WHAT THE FUCK'S THE MATTER WITH YOU!?"
She was hitting me with all her strength, punching me in the face, the nose, in the side of the head.
"HELP!"
The door burst open and two girls stood there. They immediately let out wails and began crying. I turned and in the moment of surprise, Faye shoved me off. She leapt away from the bed, draping her self in her t-shirt and being consoled by the girls. I sat on the floor naked, in a daze, unable to speak. Seconds after, two huge white guys I'd never seen before came into the room and turned on the light. I squinted, the light piercing my fully-dilated eyes. They saw her, saw me, and a look of malevolence and fury came into their eyes. This was about it for me. I leapt to my feet and dodged their meaty fists, barely able to grab my boxers. While running towards the stairway, I managed to slip them on and slid down the banister. No-one else seemed to take notice of this scene, the music still blaring away mindlessly. Everything was now a blur. I ran down into the basement and found Roy, who knew something was wrong. I tried to explain myself, but he himself wasn't in any condition to help. I turned and expecting to see the angry white guys, saw Tony.
My head shut down. The last image I remember was Roy's traumatized face, frozen in shock. A bang, a blast of pain in my cheekbone as it fractured and a final explosion of light as all went to black.
* * *
Birds chirped. My eyes were glued shut. I awoke on the floor, unsure where I was. My shirt was laying on my stomach. Somebody had put it there. I put it on automatically, still confused. It was the bright yellow light of dawn streaming from the basement window that had roused me from unconsciousness. There were only a handful of people left, all passed out. No Roy, no Faye, no Tony, no white guys. Total silence, except the birds. I walked out of the house, finding a bicycle left lying against the tree.
I rode home, towards the sun, with the birds singing, alone.
=//Turnquest
*** Disclaimer: Despite many attempts to discern some kernel of truth or insight into this story, all characters are entirely fictitious, all experiences are fictitious and all references to acts, quotes and events are fictitious. Only the places and settings might be real, so don't kill yourself trying to find out if this is what happened or didn't, cuz it didn't. It's just a story. ***
Part VI - Overdrive
Alright alright, things were going sort of well between me and Faye. We had managed to keep things on the down-low. Faye's brother Tony wasn't aware of anything aside from that we were sharing the laptop (then again, Tony didn't really notice too much aside from when Sublime Directory updated). Our parents were being skillfully misdirected (Yea mom, I'm going to my friend Mike's house, I'll be back tomorrow morning.) And we had settled a lot of the important relationship issues that would've normally come back to bite us. No expectations on the bills at restaurants. No drama if one or the other is busy on a certain night. Yes, gifts are encouraged. No, nothing too expensive. No grudges against chilling with friends, etc. So yeah, things were going well.
I found myself reflecting on Faye from time to time and how she seemed to possess rather good but rare qualities in girls. Like for example, she had that good girl/bad-girl thing down pat. To elaborate, in public at any point, she was always extremely well-dressed and put together, but never flashy or exhibitionist. A totally respectable and proper, almost to the point of being intimidating, member of society. Subtle. But for those who got a closer look, all the exquisite details that elevate regular girls to true ethereal beauties were right there. The right contrasting colors in clothes; the minimum amounts of makeup that simply enhance rather than totally overhaul her look; a modern, well-taken care of cellphone; shoes that even laymen take notice of; soft hands, astonishing and almost tragic grey-hazel eyes; and that gliding-on-air grace that only the best can muster. Oh, an ass that wouldn't quit. Of course.
I was in way over my head.
Tony and I were driving on an August Friday evening on the 15 in my car which had finally been released from the mechanic. The ol' girl, a 1987 Ford Tempo, had a solid 276,000 KMs on it and constantly emitted grinding or whirring noises. I thought it was just the car's way of asking me to put it out if its misery.
Anyway, we were on our way to pick up Faye who was getting ready at her house. Tony's buddy Roy was having a get-together at his place cuz his parents had gone to the States for the weekend. Of course, as things would have it in the hokey, sheltered community of Montreal-West, every kid, mook, homo-thug, tween, stoner, jock and skank west of Atwater St. had heard about it. Though the sun had yet to set, we could tell from the amount of txts and phone calls circulating around that poor Roy's house was going to be swarming with hopped-up kids.
Us two had just come from burning a spliff on the mountain. I was switching the radio towards K103.7 when we got a blip of the hourly news reports.
***A car bombing in Sadr City, Baghdad killed 27...Chairman of the Joint Chiefs is making plans to delay any review of the Iraq mission until next year...Iran and Syria's leaders were meeting in Damascus against the wishes of Israel...U.S. to sell $20 billion of arms to Israel, Egypt and Saudi Arabia...***
I passed the news report, feeling sort of queasy and reached K103.7 where BuddaBlaze was spinning some old NaS. Rolling down the windows to let in the humid summer air, I caught a glance of the big giant orange near Jean-Talon.
Tony was aroused out of his weed stupor and couldn't help but comment on the report.
"Yo dog, what's up with all these bombings and shit?"
I paused for a minute, wondering how to answer his question properly and explain it in terms understandable to him.
"Man, that's just Middle East shit. Don't worry about it."
"Naw, but like mad people die like every day," he said.
"Yea...and?" "So like why can't they stop it?"
"Who, the Americans?" I asked.
"No...yea, the Americans or whoever else."
"Yo, it's complicated and shit."
"No man, like there's bombings and shit exploding in the streets like every day. That's not complicated. And fuckin' no-one's doing shit," he said sharply.
"Guy, this shit's been going on for a long time."
"Yea, but I don't here shit about car bombs or kidnappings in like Japan or Brazil or any of these other places"
"Yea, well Japan or Brazil weren't invaded and bombed to fuck by the U.S. Army for no good reason and had 160,000 troops occupying it...Well maybe Japan but that's another story."
Tony paused a second before replying. "So it's the Americans' fault? That's what everyone keeps sayin', like Bush this and Bush that."
"Well in a way, because before the Americans came, there was no such thing as suicide bombings in Iraq and people being kidnapped."
"Yea but they had Saddam Hussein naw? He was pretty fucked up."
"No, for sure, Saddam was a son-of-a-bitch but I mean, he was completely zero percent threat against the U.S. or anyone else. He was contained. And, I mean, if you're gonna start invading countries cuz they got dictators runnin' them, then they oughta start with North Korea or some shitty African country or Burma or somethin'." "Yea..." said Tony, seeming to agree. I tried to offer an analogy.
"Look, they can't stop it because they're the ones who started it. It's like telling a guy who committed assault to help his victim or the weed dealer to get his custies to quit doin' drugs. No-one takes the U.S. seriously, and no-one over there likes 'em."
"Yea but I hear if they pull out, then it's gonna be even worse and there'll be genocide or sumthin'."
"Yea, probably."
"But, look, I saw enough movies about Vietnam and shit, and they pulled out and nothing like that happened. If they get out, then somebody else is gonna take over and that's, y'know, the natural way of shit to happen."
"Good point," I said, sort of surprised.
"Pff, I dunno man, I'm just sayin' from what I remember watchin' movies."
We pulled off of Decarie on to Sherbrooke and followed De Maisonneuve with all its mechanics' shops and abandoned warehouses till we reached Tony and Faye's house on Melrose. A cellphone call later and Faye was walking towards the car carrying the laptop. A side note: you've gotta love punctual women. She squirmed into the backseat without even a glance in my direction. I pulled away from the curb.
Tony looked in the rear-view mirror, as typical of people who want to talk to those in the backseat.
"Hey Faye, what do you think about all this Middle East stuff?"
"Like what?" she said.
"Like what's going on in Iraq and everything."
She glanced out the window a little solemnly before replying.
"It's pretty sad."
"Yeah yeah, I know but I was asking this guy if he knew why it's happening."
"Well I mean Tony, it's a broad question. In terms of Iraq and the current civil war..." "So it's a civil war?" he interrupted.
Faye continued unfazed.
"Yes Tony, it's a civil war. Anyway, in terms of that, you can trace its roots back as far as the 80s when Reagan and the States supported Saddam against Iran, which had just gone through its Islamic Revolution and brought the Ayatollah to power. Or, if you want to get historical, you could trace it all the way back 1400 years to Islamic times and the death of the Prophet Muhammad
"No, not exactly, but that's where the roots of the secular violence began."
I couldn't keep quiet anymore.
"Fuck that, I read the Wikipedia articles.The Iraqis were pretty damn peaceful aside from the whole Iran War thing. It's the States that messed it all up. You want history? Go look up the Crusades or the British or French empires. The West never knows when to mind its own business."
"I did look it up, I took a course," Faye replied with a naive authority that made me want to lash out at her.
"Taught by some white dude, huh?"
"Yeah, Professor Higgins."
"Pff. And that's what this Higgins guy told you? That it's the Muslims fault?" "Well, not exactly... but he did say you can't trust Wikipedia."
"See, that's bullshit. Wikipedia is just as accurate as the Encyclopedia Britannica."
"No, because anybody can edit it."
"Yea, but if there's any inaccuracies, it gets corrected. Fuck, I'll prove it to you. Give me that laptop."
I pulled over to an apartment building on Sherbrooke and West Broadway. Starting up the laptop, I began looking for a network to log into. Faye inquired to what I was doing.
"I'm showing you it's accurate, hold on."
"You can't just log into other people's networks."
"Why the fuck not?"
"That's stealing!"
"Yeah, whatever."
I found an unprotected network called "Linksys" and logged in.
"Look, I don't care what your website says. Let's just go," said Faye, relenting.
"No, you want to see if it's right or not? We'll find out."
Tony couldn't take this anymore.
"Alright enough. Look, don't you people see this is how shit gets started over there? Bitching about history and Yazid and all these things that don't fuckin' matter one shit."
I paused halfway into typing the URL.
"So much stupid shit. Agree to disagree, whatever I don't give a shit, nobody cares. Let's go."
I shut the laptop's lid and we continued to the party in silence.
"Are there going to be any drugs at this party?" Faye asked.
"Most likely," I replied.
"Well I don't want neither of you to take anything stupid. I don't care about weed, but relax with the rest of the stuff," she said.
Tony and I feigned agreement with nods.
We parked on Connaught a couple blocks away from the house and walked over. It was about 10:30pm now. The sun was gone, the little old English-style street lamps had been turned on and the neighborhood was generally quiet, except for distant rumbles of bass coming from Roy's house. Little gaggles of girls in minis and tanktops were walking excitedly along on the sidewalk. The house came into view. The lights were on in every room. At least a dozen kids were hanging around on the porch already. Heading up to the place, we heard what sounded like Wolfmother and Cypress Hill blasting out of stereos inside. I looked back at brother and sister. Faye was sort of expressionless, which I took to be a sort of disapproval. Tony was already shouting out to one of the kids he knew. We had to cross through a thin fog of cigarette smoke to make it inside.
The main lobby of the house had a staircase going up to the second floor with teenagers sitting on the steps drinking beer out of clear plastic cups. The Wolfmother seemed to be coming from the den which was to the left of the stairway, while the familiar Cypress Hill basslines came from the basement door on the side of the stairway. Now if there's a rule-of-thumb you can say about house parties, it's that the real chilling always seems to take place in the basement. The potheads and couples making out always seem to find their way there. Or if the house doesn't have a basement or if it's an apartment, you figure the kitchen is where the centre of the action is.
Faye saw her friend Sarah and disappeared into a sideroom as Tony and I headed downstairs. In the basement we found a few couches, a computer playing 'How I Could Just Kill A Man' and like twenty kids of all races doing what can only be described as 'chilling'. Two black kids dressed in Roc-A-Fella were sitting on a couch stoned out of their heads, eyes red and barely open. They couldn't have been more than sixteen. A blonde girl with one of those belts lined with little metal pyramids was talking very closely with a kid with spiked hair and a red Canadiens shirt in the corner. Another kid sporting glasses and an acoustic guitar was looking behind a dresser for a cigarette he had dropped. Three girls, all obviously minors, were in a circle laughing hysterically about something they had just remembered, cigarettes and Dixie cups of alcohol in hand. Three white dudes with dreads wearing raggedy wool and plaid were sitting on the floor around the coffee table chopping up trees and chatting about "hip-hop in the 90s." We headed for these guys.
Smoke and the odour of alcohol floated in the air as we sat down next to them. After the customary greetings, I asked one guy where Roy was. He said he didn't know any Roy. Another one said to check upstairs. As I was about to go back up, Roy came barreling down without a shirt and giant fake Ray-Bans. He saw us and gave us hugs, thanking us for making it to the party. I asked him if it was okay to smoke in the house. He replied "Yeah it's fine, as long as you stay in the basement," before excusing himself to go yell at the kid who was messing with his guitar.
We sat back around the table and Tony dropped a 7s on the table. The three dreadlocked kids looked at the Ziploc bag, then at us and smiled.
* * *
It had to have been about 1 by the time I pulled myself away from the orgy of weed-smoking and make-out sessions happening in the basement. I had recalled that Faye was still somewhere about. Upstairs, I looked for her but instead found Roy who stopped me.
"Did you see Tony's sister?" I asked.
"Yo guy, you ever try speed?" Roy replied, casting aside the question.
"Yeah, a few years back. It didn't work on me, I just fell asleep."
"Oh fuck, yo, I can hook you up with real shit for like 10 a pill."
"What, like live?"
"Yeah dog, right now. You down?" I looked around the house, which had really begun to degenerate now into hedonism. I figured, why not? I expressed my approval to him.
"Okay, hold up, I'm gonna find the guy."
He vanished. I sat on the stairway. A lonely, introverted girl with glasses and a Weezer shirt sitting a couple steps up made eye-contact. She said in a bored voice,
"Didn't I see you at Trevor's show?"
"Naw, I don't know any Trevor."
"Oh."
She turned away, staring off into nothing.
Roy returned with his fist clenched around something, his sunglasses removed. As he handed me a triangular orange pill, I could see his eyes were almost totally black, the pupils fully dilated and glazed over, sparkling.
"Here, try it. It's Dexedrine, the real shit."
I looked around for something to down it with, then asked Weezer girl if I could borrow her cup for a second. She gave it to me and I swallowed the pill with a mouthful of lukewarm Molson Ex. Roy giggled and vanished before I could give him the 10 dollars. My mouth tasted like piss and I had to get outside to smoke a cigarette.
The gathering on the porch had spilled out on to the yard. Bass rumbles from inside echoed throughout the otherwise quiet neighborhood of upper middle-class Victorian and brick houses. I thought I heard a smattering of The Misfits now. As I took a drag on the cancer stick, I wondered how long before the police would break up the party. There was a cool breeze to give the weather a sort of perfection.
And then it hit.
It was, well the word used on Erowid and other drug-geek websites is "euphoria." This was the first thought that repeated itself in my head as I held on to the railings of the porch. An extraordinary, intense glowing feeling enveloped my body and mind. I continued to smoke, but I had wild urges to run, to talk, to explore, to feel. Then I started to feel my heartbeat. Normally, when you're in a very quiet environment, you can stop and hear your heartbeat if you specifically want to. This was different. I could physically feel my heart accelerating, the pulses causing a sort of rhythm to develop inside my chest. It wasn't painful. Pain had been forgotten, as had depression, anxiety or sadness. This was just pure hyperactive bliss. Like piloting a single-engine Cessna at takeoff or what Jimi Hendrix must've felt when he played 'The Star-Spangled Banner' at Woodstock.
I flicked the cigarette away and headed back inside, every footstep unleashing little tremors of joy and excitement. Entering the foyer again, I noticed as I turned my head the lights were leaving little streaks behind them. "Shit," I thought, "this shit is hitting faster than I thought." I saw Roy still walking around, his sunglasses now back on and draped in a bedsheet he was using as a cape. He saw me and hugged me and we both let out exclamations of awe and happiness. I staggered into the TV lounge where a few fat kids were playing some shooter game on an X-Box. On the dining table behingd them, I saw a two girls tapping a razor blade on a mirror. My mind reacted instantly, recalling what this meant. I walked over and from the reactions on their faces, I knew that they knew that I knew.
"Want a line?"
"Yes."
I clumsily rolled up a five-dollar bill they gave me and after watching them each do one, I knelt down and under their vacant gaze, snorted my first line of cocaine. Now, I won't go into what that instant felt like. It's like...torture and an orgasm. Or something. I blanked out and walked around, pushing my fingers through my hair and rubbing my eyes from the dazzling light. I found myself in the lobby again when I heard a voice.
"Hey Jim."
I looked up at the top of the stairway. Faye stood there with her black skirt and grey stockings and a torn t-shirt with a phrase I couldn't make out, looking down at me.
"What?"
"Whip it on me, Jim. Come on."
I paused, not breaking eye contact. She seemed to be emanating light or something, but I swore I could see circles or some kind of shimmering around her, the way fire can distort the air above it on a cool day. I had no choice. Every other voice and noise and thought fell away. I ran up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time until I was at her side, my arms around her hips. She looked at me, sort of bemused and letting slip a rare smile. She'd probably had a few drinks herself.
"Do you like this shirt? Amy gave it to me."
I looked down, trying not to stare too hard at her chest while reading the white-on-black text:
White Light/White Heat
1968
1968
The now familiar aura of glee and euphoria rippled through me. My eyes went back to her grinning face. I noticed she had dimples.
"I thought you'd like it...Jeez, is it that nice? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"It's because I love you," I replied.
"What?"
"Come on."
I took her by the hand and led her off into one of the bedrooms upstairs. All were locked, save one; Roy's.
We had started kissing before I even managed to close the door. Freeing one of my hands, I managed to lock it from the inside as we began to embrace. The sounds of the party had dissipated now, the small room with its poster-lined walls filling with the sounds of breathing and lust. I couldn't even begin to describe how ecstatic and glorious it felt to have her in my arms and returning all that I was giving her. It felt like the first time all over again. Faye.
But every touch, every gesture was just pushing the speed rush further. My heart was pounding, visibly trembling my chest. I must've been at 200 beats per minute, at least. Blood was pulsating throughout my body, but she hadn't noticed yet.
I took her to the bed and laid her down. She complied, watching with a sort of curious fascination as I disrobed myself, then began to do same to her.
"Wait."
But I didn't hear. I continued, my limbs working of their own accord, her body sending her signals that I couldn't fight.
"Are you sure?"
Her skin was still smooth. My own was slick with sweat, beads dripping out of my hairline.
"I don't know about this..."
It was moving too fast, a freefall out of an airplane, a dive off of a cliff, a trip through hyperspace. She shivvered underneath me, her muscles beginning to clench.
"It hurts...I think you should slow down."
I was gone now, not even in the moment. My head was off watching the stars form from gases at the dawn of time, my body a machine stealing all it could from another, fueled by chemicals and hunger.
"Okay, stop it. Fuck, it hurts. You're hurting me."
The unmistakable sound of flesh slapping against other flesh resounded in the room. Suddenly, her hands were pushing at my shoulders with surprising force. I wanted to stop. God, how I wished I could've stopped. I could've let her push me away and we still could've made up, apologize. Anything, I was ready to pull away.
But I couldn't.
"STOP, get off me. STOP IT, WHAT THE FUCK'S THE MATTER WITH YOU!?"
She was hitting me with all her strength, punching me in the face, the nose, in the side of the head.
"HELP!"
The door burst open and two girls stood there. They immediately let out wails and began crying. I turned and in the moment of surprise, Faye shoved me off. She leapt away from the bed, draping her self in her t-shirt and being consoled by the girls. I sat on the floor naked, in a daze, unable to speak. Seconds after, two huge white guys I'd never seen before came into the room and turned on the light. I squinted, the light piercing my fully-dilated eyes. They saw her, saw me, and a look of malevolence and fury came into their eyes. This was about it for me. I leapt to my feet and dodged their meaty fists, barely able to grab my boxers. While running towards the stairway, I managed to slip them on and slid down the banister. No-one else seemed to take notice of this scene, the music still blaring away mindlessly. Everything was now a blur. I ran down into the basement and found Roy, who knew something was wrong. I tried to explain myself, but he himself wasn't in any condition to help. I turned and expecting to see the angry white guys, saw Tony.
My head shut down. The last image I remember was Roy's traumatized face, frozen in shock. A bang, a blast of pain in my cheekbone as it fractured and a final explosion of light as all went to black.
* * *
Birds chirped. My eyes were glued shut. I awoke on the floor, unsure where I was. My shirt was laying on my stomach. Somebody had put it there. I put it on automatically, still confused. It was the bright yellow light of dawn streaming from the basement window that had roused me from unconsciousness. There were only a handful of people left, all passed out. No Roy, no Faye, no Tony, no white guys. Total silence, except the birds. I walked out of the house, finding a bicycle left lying against the tree.
I rode home, towards the sun, with the birds singing, alone.
=//Turnquest
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
