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writings


Narrow Escape


I was staring out my second story apartment window at a man sandblasting the yellow paint off the curb. They were going to repaint it. Matt called from his mothers and wanted a ride to a bar. I had a hangover and wanted to die in my own bed before dinner time. He said, “There’s a rhythm and blues bar downtown that said I could sit in with the band!” Matt was a guitar player and practiced in a room at his mothers eight hours a day. He was in a couple of bands but they all just stopped.

“You have to pick me up tonight at eight because I’ve got to be there to warm up before nine.” I told him no, and this time I was really sick. “You have to because this is a one time in my life thing and there is no way I can miss this.” “Have your mother take you, I am gonna throw up on your guitar.” “Cool, man I’ll just wipe it off and give you the rag,” he said. “You take the fucking rag, not drinking tonight Matt and you can be mad if you want, but you need to get your own car.”

I eventually agreed to pick him up because I considered him a good musician and I felt sorry for him somehow, but I was always a puppet; I always had a car, I just couldn’t live without one. At one time I had a van, and then I was a one man moving company that took beer donations. I hung up and watched my roommate’s girlfriend collect all my books in the living room and she put them by my bedroom door like my mother organizing the house. She looked at me and my hangover like a judge peering at a long haired criminal. She was soft looking and I let her get away with it. I passed out for a while and dreamt I was floating and hit the ceiling of my bedroom. I woke up and thought it was a near death experience. If I had floated beyond the ceiling, I thought I would never come back. I wanted to smoke marijuana to make the pain go away but I didn’t have any.

I started up my silver Dodge Aspen and let out the clutch. It wined and I lurched out of the parking lot. Matt’s mothers was out amongst the bean fields and it was going to take concentration on my part to stay awake while I drove through the empty scenery, but it was getting dark and I thought my headlights would inevitably make things look interesting. As I pulled up to his house he walked swiftly towards the car and carried his guitar case like a top secret weapon. He was a little kid that weighed more than me. He was at least six foot and kind of overweight. He had a big round baby face and a head of thick black curly hair that was like his mothers favorite mop. He was useless in a fight. As soon as he got in the car he was kissing my ass. “Man this is what friendship is all about, you know I would a done the same for you.” He sounded like a wired coke fiend. “Yeah maybe,” I said, but didn’t really believe what I was saying.

He didn’t show any guilt and started playing the air guitar against his guitar case and was squeaking out unintelligible high pitched noises with his mouth; you could tell they were supposed to be words and not guitar sounds. He had me stop at a gas station in the middle of the bean fields so he could buy a 40 but informed me I had to lend him the money because he was saving it for the blues bar. “Take it,” I said, “But don’t drink it in the car, it’ll make me sick to even see the shape of the bottle.” “Hey, whatever you say man, no problem here.” He went inside and I watched like I was the getaway car. I lit a cigarette and hoped the smoke would absorb the sickness I felt in my head; it didn’t, but at least it made things smell different. Then he came out with the brown paper bag and held it like it was full of hard cold cash. He got in and unscrewed the top of the bottle. “I told you to drink it outside, the brown bag is making me want to puke in it,” I said. He opened the door and put his legs outside the car and drank some of it with his back towards me. “O.k. man, I’ve had enough,” and he pretended to screw the top back on. We left and he drank the thing all the way to town.

We were downtown by the river and even though Matt had never been to this place before he knew exactly were it was. I lived on the other side of the river and this neighborhood was considered a different city altogether. I didn’t know this area very well but recognized a bridge that could get me the hell out of here. The neighborhood didn’t bother me; it was my stomach that was killing me. I wanted to drink soda pop but it was too sweet. We drove past the bar and circled around the block looking for parking. We had to pull into a lot, and squeezed into the only spot left. We walked to the bar.

The place was called Mama’s House of Blues. The words ‘Mama’s House’ burned in dark red glowing letters and the front windows were covered in gold metallic paper. We went in, both a little nervous and the doorman immediately asked for money. Matt said, “Ah yes, my name is Matt and me and my buddy are hear to sit in with the band.” He told us to go into the other room because that’s where the band was. Matt still offered to give the guy the cover charge and I felt like he was trying to spend my cash; I was near broke and paying both our cover charges would have killed me. Matt always said he’d pay me later.

The doorman waved us by and the whole place froze. We were the only white guys in the place and they were suspicious of us. Everybody was dressed up and looked successful. We looked like two sewer rats wearing leather jackets. Matt turned to me and said, “Hey, we’re not narks, are we man?” He tried to say it loud so some of them would hear. The walls were covered in deep red fuzzy wallpaper and gold mirrored tiles were behind the bar. The lights were fairly bright and we felt naked walking to the other room; at least I did. Matt had a guitar case and a reason for being there but I sure as hell couldn’t play a note.

The other room felt a little like New Orleans and had a bit of the Deep South feel. We both sat way in the back to be invisible but some men turned in their chairs and stared as they drank their beer; they were trying to figure us out. The women turned smiling and their men didn’t appreciate it. We felt like dogs that knew our place; or maybe two just novelties. Our biker coats weren’t enough Armour. Someone walked over to us and asked Matt to come up on stage. They asked what I was going to be playing and I told them nothing, I was just the chaffier.

The red walls were starting to hurt my brain and they were making me roast. A statuesque waitress carrying a golden drink tray bowed in front of me and asked what I wanted. She was a fountain. I couldn’t resist her and ordered a draw. She glided away like she was standing on a moving sidewalk and transported me to another dimension. If I got drunk again it would make me feel better since I was trapped until Matt was finished. I made the best of it. She brought my beer and waited for a tip as I pulled more money out of my pocket. Since I wasn’t sitting at the bar I felt I had to tip more than usual and that was going to break me. As she stood there in my small world I started to melt and felt like I was lusting for the English teacher. I watched her as she glided off and a man two tables away looked at me and mouthed the words, “Mother fucker.” I imagined she had many boyfriends.

Matt was warming up and seemed too self-conscience. He needed to relax but wanted to impress them and wanted to learn from them at the same time. He was in an awkward situation. Suddenly a wired white guy came out of a back room and walked passed my table checking me out. Nobody noticed him because everybody knew him and he got a beer and sat at my table. He was all greasy and wore a brown corduroy sport coat. “Hey, are you sitting in?” he said as he sat there sweating. “No, I can’t play anything I’m more comfortable building stuff.” “So you’re not busy then?” he said with a grin.

He asked if I wanted to get high and I said yes. I didn’t trust this guy but I needed some medicine. We walked outside and asked were I parked. “Over in that parking lot way over there.” “Perfect,” he said. We got in the front seat and he asked me to turn on the radio. “Radio doesn’t work, sorry,” I said, and his slick face became antsy and suspicious. “Hey, I want to listen to it too but I’m low on funds and think I need a new one, this thing can’t be fixed.” He relaxed and said, “Yeah money’s tight,” and wiped off his forehead with his hand and spread it on his coat. I could tell he really wanted the radio on.

He looked around and pulled out a pipe and handed it to me. As soon as I took it, half of it fell on the floor somewhere between my feet. “Oh shit,” he said, “Grab it.” “It’s defective, I barley touched it,” I exclaimed. I searched for it between my feet and felt exposed to any whim of violence that might pass through him. I felt he was going to hit me over the head and rob me and I was glad I mentioned I had no money. I found the piece and handed it to him. It was a pipe carved out of soapstone and it had broken in the middle. “I think it’s about time for a new one,” I told him. “Oh it’s been this way for three years, I just put it back together with tar.” He picked a little residue out of the bowl and smeared some on one of the broken ends and put it back together. “Hold it for a second so it will stick,” I said. “No, it’ll be alright.” He looked at the pipe like he was communicating with it and it told him it would stay together at least for a week or so.

We smoked and he bragged about how rare the stuff was. “This came all the way from Jamaica.” The way he said it reminded me of some snake oil salesman in a western. It didn’t taste special to me. We finished and he said, “Do you want to buy some coke? Downers? The rest of my pot is sixty dollars.” “Thanks for sharing but I don’t have sixty dollars.” From the look he gave me I figured he’d pull out a knife and rob me for whatever I had. I wanted to hide my car keys. I told him we better go inside and listen to the band because my friend wanted me to tell him if he was any good. I had distracted him enough. We walked back to the bar and he left me along.

I was light as a feather. Beer tasted beautiful and I imagined the waitress and I having children together and she was going to take care of all of us. I was fixed on her and gave her too much of a tip and was broke from then on. I was so relaxed I thought my head was covered in pillows. I couldn’t even hear the music. It all sounded good and all the same. I was going to tell Matt he was great but I didn’t know a thing. The others finally looked as if they weren’t suspicious of me anymore and we were a family.

Matt told me he had the time of his life but thought he was a little stiff. “No, you were the best you ever were,” I assured him. He carried his guitar case like a machine gun and we walking through the deserted streets to my car. I was parked close to the car next to me and had to walk sideways to get to the driver’s side door. Just then two fat white women with switch blades closed in on me from both directions. Once again thought I was going to be robbed and wished I had enough money to give them so they’d at least be happy. One of them closed in on me with the knife held as high as my chest and said, “Excuse me.” She looked like a big moving couch. “Sure,” I assured her, and somehow she squeezed pass me and the knife floated by my face like it was sniffing out its victim.

As soon as she got by she stopped and violently thrust the knife threw the open window of the car next to ours. In it was a drunken man who was starting to wake. The other woman squeezed down our way, nodded at me, and I nodded back. She also stuck her knife in the car and they both started to scream and they kept their blades an inch from his face. I slipped into my car and opened the passenger door for Matt who had been standing outside waiting. “Should I take off?” I asked Matt, who had just sat down in a hurry. “Dude, get the fuck out of here!” he had the eyes of a sick monster. These women were bigger than him and he was turning into a scared puppy. “Yeah but if I back out I’ll probably knock over one of them, their buts are leaning on my car.” Matt bounced up and down in his seat like a baby. “Just go! Tuff shit if they get knocked over, they’re fat and that’s their problem!” He was worried they’d heard his insults and said, “Get out of her before they turn around for you!” I put it in reverse and their back pockets scrapped the dirt off my fender. They tried to take their buts off my car but they stayed fixated on the man.

We drove around the block in order to get to the bridge that would take us to my apartment across the river. We drove past the girls again. A police car had arrived and was creeping by the scene but you could tell they didn’t want stop. The girls either didn’t notice them or didn’t care because they were still holding their knives yelling at the man. We drove over the bridge and Matt looked exhausted. He hugged his guitar and said, “Man, I was worried they would steal the only thing I love.” “I don’t think either one of them play the guitar,” I said. “How do you know?” he yelled.

We drove down my street with the newly painted yellow curb and it caught my headlights and gleamed like gold along the edge of a river. Matt and I walked up the stairs to my apartment and tried to not to make too much noise. Each stair creaked and tonight they seemed twice as loud. We went inside and Matt told me to cook a frozen pizza. “How do you know I have a frozen pizza?” “Everybody does,” he said half asleep and fell into one of the upholstered chairs. “You’ll be asleep before it’s done and I’m not waiting up for it, I’m not going to burn the house down,” I said. “Just wake me up when it’s finished,” he said and fell asleep.

I went to my room. I looked outside at the curb and waited for someone to drive by so it would light up. The street was empty and nothing moved. I lay down in bed and before I knew it I was floating up towards the ceiling again. I was smashed against it and felt its applied texture against my cheek. I felt if God wanted to take me it was his choice. I broke through the ceiling and floated away but woke up the next morning to find out I was back in my bed alive. I was starting to get confused. I walked out into the living room and found Matt eating. He had cooked the pizza in the middle of the night, and after it was done he turned off the oven and went back to sleep. “I wanted it to be ready when I woke up, I wanted it already cooked for breakfast.” I asked if there was any left and he said, “Sorry man, but I was hungry.”

I gave him a ride back to his mothers and his little sister was outside in her nightgown with their dog. The dog was tied to its stake next to the house and was at the end of his leash barking at a squirrel in the front yard. His sister ran and put her back to the house. She was inching along, with her hands clinging to the siding trying to look like she was completely terrified of her own dog. She scooted down the side of the house and just froze. She wanted our attention. “She always does that,” Matt said, “She’s going to grow up and become an actress, she is always pretending.” I happened to have a camera in the car and took her picture without her knowing.

After I developed the film I showed the picture to some other friends. One woman said, “Oh my, is she alright? Did the dog attack her?” “The dog didn’t attack her, it’s hers,” I said. “Well she’s obviously terrified of it and I hope she someday doesn’t get bit.” “It’s her dog, and she was just pretending to be scared, she wants to be an actress and she fooled you.” “I wanted to be an actress too,” the woman said, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t be scared of dogs!” I kept the picture of Matt’s sister and never saw her again.

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