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A Real-Time Saga:
First Friday of School
(Part 3 - The Long Walk Home)


"When did you get here; just now?" I asked him.
"Basically," Riley tells me, "hey, is there another live band here tonight?"
"Uh . . . nope. Why?" He then answered,
"Well, isn't it supposed to cost five dollars to get in?" Oh geez . . .
"Yeah?"
"Well they asked for six from me . . ."
"Did you show your student card?"
"Yup."
"And did you get a coat checked or something?"
"Yup."
"Yeah, that would be it."
"Of course."

Well, if I told ya that Ril' and I kept dancing and stuff that night, I'd be lying worse than a . . . . . uh . . . . . well, I'd be lying really bad. No, we just sat back down on a table along the side and just got caught up on stuff. I explained my whole night of hell, and he gave me the whole "yeah, I know, that sucks" routine. Oh well, I was just really glad that he came by - apparently he was also really glad I was still at the dance hall. So yeah, we yakked it up a bit for a little while until I asked him if he still wanted to dance with anybody. We had mutual ideals to leave. Only sad part was how he kinda wasted six bucks to get in. But yeah, he got his brown leather jacket from over the counter, and we left for back home.

As the two of us headed towards the train station, I asked him about this new schooling he's been getting.
"Well, as you probably know, I'm going to outdoor school now." I responded in the positive. "Basically it's all about being in the outdoors, staying active, ya know, camping and stuff."
"Uh huh, I see . . ."
"So we're all getting there about six o'clock in the morning, there 'til four. It really keeps you in shape. It's like, actual school where all the students actually like to go to! It's just awesome, and you learn so much . . ."

Yeah, it was standard him-and-I conversation. It's really just more of him talking about his life and such, and I'm just hanging around for the ride. I don't really mind, though, because it is actually pretty interesting. This "outdoor-school" of his sounds kinda neat. I mean, it's nothing I'll be planning to go to, but it does sound like something he would definitely be into. It all sounds very . . . out-of-the-boxish. He had just finished telling me how everyone's organized and set up, when I told him that "it sounded very militaristic." He simply said that it kind of was in some ways.

Aaaaaaaaanyways, we had just got to the train station, and I didn't really feel like rooting around for change so I could buy a transfer; we just kept walking (and just so you know, I NEVER do that usually. Today was messed up enough as is - and yeah, Riley's transfer from earlier that night was still good, so he didn't have to get one either). The train came, and naturally due to the time of day, it was fairly empty. Despite that, Riley and I STILL decided to stand, merely holding onto the bars - hey, we're both guys that like to physically test ourselves (or show off, if you must). So we continued our conversation about school and such. Somehow, I'm not quite sure, but we started talking about martial arts.

I, being a fair fan of the Chinese styles, brought up,
"So I read a little while ago that in Jeet Kune Do that a lot of the power moves are done with the lead hand or foot, as opposed to the rear limb. I thought was pretty cool."
"Oh yeah?" he says, "Dude, Jeet Kune Do and Bruce Lee rock!"
"I know that. Actually, for your birthday I was trying to find you a copy of the Tao of Jeet Kune Do, but they were all sold out."
"Ah, don't worry about it, I still really like that Samurai book you got me."
"Oh yeah?" I ask dumbly, regarding the book on Japanese martial arts I got him that August day.
"Yeah. I'm starting to really respect Samurai more." That line kinda surprised me, since Riley was a pretty chivalrous (or should I say, "Bushido-oriented") guy in himself.
"So what, you didn't respect them before?"
"Well yeah, but . . ." And he went into a big long thing about it that I didn't quite catch all of. Damn him and his long-string of thoughts . . . . . oh well . . .

About 20-30 minutes after we first got on the train, we came back to the good old 22nd Street Station. Not so good was the bus-schedule.
"Next bus'll come by in about 30 minutes." I told Riley. He took it nonchalantly and replied,
"He, it's a nice night, wanna just walk it?" Yeah, the physically oriented guys we are . . . and he always wants to walk it . . . . . ah heck, I guess I HAVE to now.
"Surewhynot?"

Generally when we walked home from here we'd take the steep little dirt and brush hill to get to the main road. Today we took to the railroad tracks - you know; the kind that "real" trains use (as opposed to the "fake" train Riley and I just got off of - of course technically that's a real train . . . ah, you know what I mean, right?). Well, we were walking down the tracks like in all those old movies where the kids are, well . . . walking down the train tracks ("Stand By Me" comes to mind). Guess what we were talking about? Come on, I'll give ya a few seconds . . . . . . . . . The answer: we were discussing how old we thought the tracks were. Who saw that coming? Anyhow, we started walking past one of the city's many parks when Riley asks if it would be a good idea to walk through it and get off the rails (which were getting really dark by now). I'll give ya 3 guesses to what I said . . . you'll only need one . . . . .

So we were walking up this big grass hill to get through the park - which would incidentally bring us back to the paved land of the living. As we hiked our way up, I suddenly wished that I wasn't wearing dress shoes . . . oh well, it wasn't like the grass was wet or anything. But yeah, for what's going to be a 20-some block walk, I could probably use something a little more comfortable than what I've got; oh well.

Once we hit concrete and street lamps, we started talking about school and stuff. Since he hasn't been around too much, I filled him in.
"I hate those bastards and their damn music!" I complained.
"What are they playing?"
"Pop music. But not only that - it's crap-pop!"
"Oh no!"
"It gets worse . . ." I won't go into this too much, since you already know what's going on with the situation. I just vented on how I can't stand those "cool" kids and their damn music congesting the already-congested walls of the "hellway".
"Aw, they changed it to THAT? That's not right, man!" I answered,
"I know that!"

After a little while, I asked him,
"Hey, my CD-player in your garage would fit in a locker, right?" His eyes went to the top corners of his head as he thought about my little stereo that's been at his place when we needed a player for hanging out over there.
"Yeah, it should, it's pretty small."
"Yeah that's the other thing: how loud you suppose it can get?"
"Well, it should be able to work pretty well, why?" I answered,
"I think I have to bring it to school so we can play our own music." At that point he 90-degreed around to face me.
"Dude, that would be awesome!"
"I know that."

We were about halfway home when Riley piped out,
"You know what you should do?"
"What would that be?" I say.
"Well, you have pretty good taste in music," he starts, "you should go to Gavin or someone and burn a CD of . . ."
"You mean like my own personal soundtrack?"
"Exactly!"
"Yeah, Meg has a burner. I've already messaged her about getting something like that put together some time. I'm way ahead of ya."
"Oh, very nice."

We had both seen "High Fidelity" (a very DAMN good movie), and he had also apparently read the book, so we knew how to put together an album. Well . . . kinda. We knew we had to make it flow and stuff.
"Alright," I began, "It has to start of with a hook and stuff . . . War, Edwin Starr." Riley laughed, and thought that was a great idea. "Now, track 2 has to be even stronger than track 1, so . . . . . You and Me and a Bottle, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy." So far, so good. We were then trying to figure out what should ease off and cool down the album at track 3. We let some ideas flip back and forth, shared a joke or a laugh here or there, and finally it hit me. "Styx. Come Sail Away." He laughed again; thinking about the song so blatantly butchered on Southpark (but in a good way).
"That, my friend, is brilliant thinking."
"Oh, I know that."

There was some more thinking as we continued homeward. I thought of One, by Metallica; Brown Eyed Girl, Van Morrison; Story of a Girl, Nine Days . . . . . the ideas kept coming.
"Uh," Riley says, "I don't want to butt into your scheme,"
"Oh please, by all means,
"Thank you. Anyway, I can't believe you missed it so far but . . . what about American Pie?" I just about slapped my own face then and there (but I didn't)! I couldn't believe I completely left out Don McLean's (NOT Madonna's) wonderful piece! I thanked him enormously for that, and then proceeded to sing a few bars. "So you know what's cool about that song?" Riley asks me. I ask him what. "It's that he wrote it how an elementary school kid would; find all the rhyming words first, then put in the rest." I started laughing out loud for that - it was true! Those lines were just so cute for that, and I loved them. I then started singing more bars of it, chuckling as I hit the rhyming words.

By the time we reached the commercialised area of town (which was pretty close to where Riley lived), we had figured out about 12 songs for my special CD (for the record, I was coming up with most of the songs - it was, after all, going to be my project). At this point it was clear that we had to end it on Layla, by Derek and the Dominoes. Anything else we added would have to go before that somewhere. As we brainstormed a little more, Ri' asked me,
"Hey, do you like Pink Floyd?"
"Yeah, he's pretty good," I answered, suddenly flash-backing to the day we tried the "Dark Side of the Moon/Wizard of Oz" thing. "But . . . I don't know, I don't think . . ."
" . . . That it's the right mood for a hallway, yeah." I was glad that he was able to mutually feel that.
"Hey, is it starting to rain?" I asked him, as something light hit me above the eye.
"Feels like it, yeah."
"Damn it."

"Okay," I started again, "Track 14: American Woman, Guess Who."
"Oh, very nice," he ends. "Sounds like a good plan."
"Yeah. I don't know; I've always liked that one more than the other version . . . who was that by again?" Riley instigated his lips, but suddenly cut himself short.
" . . . Damn it! I can't remember his name! Argh . . . this sucks, it's on the tip of my tongue!" I was equally troubled by the problem at hand.
"Ack! It's by . . . it's by . . . . . ah! I forget! It's by the same guy that did that fly away song!"
"I know!"
"Yeah, me too . . . . . . . WHO did that song???"
"I forget! Oh man . . . this is gonna piss us off tonight!"
"I know that!"

Well, once we got to his place, we still hadn't figured out whom it was that had sung that other version of American Woman. Eventually we decided to change the subject and not worry about that anymore (good call, me thinks). As he entered the back door, he asked me,
"Hey, do you have to go home, or do you want to come in or anything?"
"Nah," I answered, "I said I'd try to get home as soon as I could."
"Oh, alright." The rain started to pick up at that point. Figures.
"Yeah, I think I'm gonna start running now; gotta beat the rain."
"Alright. Well, this whole CD thing sounds cool, and I can't wait to hear more about it."
"Yeah. Alright, I'll see ya later then."
"Yup. See ya."

So then I started running back home. I ran as fast and as long as my breath would allow. I was amazed at how far I actually got, actually - either the cool air of the night or I was actually getting back in shape or something, but I got a good 2/3rds of the way home before I had to slow down and walk. Heck, maybe it was the rain keeping me refreshed! AaaaaaaAAAAAaaaaaanyways, I guess today kinda picked up, didn't it? I mean, it's still kinda sucky, considering all the crap that happened earlier today, but hey, I still got to end it with a friend I hadn't seen in a while. And besides, one Friday in a long line of Fridays can't be too bad, right? Well, when the next Friday comes by, I'll tell ya what happens.

And yeah, it was Lenny Kravitz. I figured it out the next morning.

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