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Book#1 Pauley's Retarded Children
Chapter 5
"Okay/Okies"
Friday, August 24, 2012
Michael’s Pad
4:16pm
Michael parked his truck in the driveway, moving up so Alex can park his Dart. Dennis parks on the street, he drives a Honda Civic, does it matter what year?
His car is easier to replace than the Dart that is a restored classic beauty with a growl. She’s a fast ‘bad girl’ and pretty much Alex’s baby.
The insurance premium would be less if he parked in the driveway. It would be better if he parked inside the garage which he does on occasion, so that's what his insurance carrier noted as parked in all the time.
Michael is usually the first one home, so he parks all the way in and he has a tool box in the bed. Yes it’s locked, but too tempting to not consider busting it open to see what is kept inside.
Besides it’s nice to see the Dart’s tale end from the street, behaving behind the gate of that naughty little kitten that gets jealous and cops attitude with the girls that ride shot gun, more so if it’s on a date.
“Julieta” (Hoo-lee-eh-tah) won’t be a total bitch when she doesn’t like who is riding along up in front. But then again, there was the time she refused to start because she reeeeeeally did not like his date.
So someone else had to take her home since it was way past late and she had work in the morning. Alex was waiting for AAA to show up to tow her to safety, but he had that feeling after the other car drove off.
He tries one more time to get her to turn, she’s purring like nothing happened. Soon after Alex stopped talking to the chick. Julieta really did not like her and for good reason.
That chick turned out to be drama, and she sensed it. Alex learned quick his car does have an opinion, and a mind of its own.
The older the car, the spirit of the horse it replaced, shows through. ‘The Horseless Carriage’, depending how in tune the driver is with the car they are driving, they know a car has a personality. Some cars adopt their driver’s personality, especially when the driver is drunk, or texting while driving.
If you want to trip out, go wander around a pick-a-part graveyard for cars that no longer drive the roads. Sometimes you’ll find things, like pictures and old toys. It makes you wonder what happened to the persons in the photo; was one of them the previous owner?
The toys… was there a car wreck and this toy left behind to show that a child used to ride inside the car that is a shell, with stories to tell, but only to the ones listening?
Anyhoo Michael brings his chunchies (stuff) out of the truck like his tool belt, his lunch cooler and trash from his Pollo Loco meal. He separates what is recyclable from the ‘trash’ and things like bones remain behind to be considered garbage that goes in the big, black trash bins. Now if it were a human bone he was throwing away, that’s fishy; but chicken bones aren’t a big deal. Interesting that is.
5:19pm
Michael finishes his workweek daily ritual prior to taking his nap. That included taking a shower and that was interesting as well.
He had picked out from his neatly folded t-shirts and comfortable shorts to lounge in, as usual.
He makes a deposit and the plug in air-freshener would cover up the smell, along with the spray of Oust air freshener. Nothing out of the ordinary there.
He took off his clothes and looks at himself in the vanity mirror. He focuses on how he let himself go, and he’s a Marine, even if retired. His 37th birthday isn’t too far off. He’s seen other dudes in their late 30’s look good. Not good to him like he switched teams, but well preserved.
He remembers how Mike Ness had all the kitten fans purring when he was the age he is now; and then he continues to remember that his looks changed the older he got.
Michael turns to his side, sucks in his belly to get an idea of how he would look if he lost 4-6 inches at the waist. And he sees he could define his pecks more if he weight lifted like Alex that could pass for ten years younger. Alex is metro, bun still manly.
This is what is Michael’s focus. He compares himself to others that have that ‘beach bod’. He sees he’s got a farmer’s tan that includes his legs, and it is pasty white where the sun wasn't shining.
He then looks at his face and hair line. He gets the hand mirror and checks the back of his head, no bald spot—yet. He still hopes he’ll get lucky and not lose his hair. He hopes it will remain thick and no widow’s peak. He thinks of one of the singers from Dropkick Murphys.
He recalls how in their music videos, his hair evolved to where he cut it all off and still looks good with his collection of covers. But what makes him feel for him, his evolution was caught on camera.
It’s a touchy subject for men, to lose their hair. Guys shouldn’t feel alone. Women can lose their hair also, the older they get, bad nutrition, drug use. Their hair thins out and more of their scalp shows.
Women buy real hair extensions to give their hair body, but by the end of the day, when the real them is revealed after stripping down the glamor to bare skin; women do worry about their hair falling out, you can tell by their shampoos and conditioners. They also look in the mirror with a critical eye.
The desire is to look more sculpted, but the discipline is the issue to be high maintenance.
Michael turns the knobs to take a shower; he’s not done feeling insecure. He’s psyching himself out that I gave him my number, because the mutual attraction being there is too good to be true.
He thinks of how I could trade up if the opportunity presents itself. This not because I’m malicious, he doesn’t want to think I did check him out as he is. He wants to think negatively because that is more familiar.
He is still under the shower head; water rushing over him with his head slightly bowed. He’s feeling down so his body language shows it. He’s clearing his mind. He focuses on the sound of water showering.
He breathes to the rhythm of the water looking down. He closes his eyes and holds his head up. He turns around. He’s now looking towards the white tile wall with the water spout and knobs, besides shower head. He needs more time to be still.
{It’s just coffee with a girl. What about that is making me feel nervous?}
Why would that make him nervous?
Lemme guess.
1. He thinks I’m "out of his league."
2. He thinks what "pretty woman" would honestly want to be seen in public and under sun, with him?
3. He thinks maybe I need new eyeglasses and it was dark out when we met. This because he forgot I got to take in his facial characteristics, when I was taking pictures at the pool table, where the brighter light was that was showing he looks a lot like my type.
4. He’s driving to East L.A. for coffee.
5. He thinks he would bore me.
6. He thinks he’s just overall not "good enough."
7. He thinks like someone that had to nurse a broken heart, that isn’t completely healed.
Knowing this changes things.
I will get a glimpse of all this internal workings of his brains when I call him out because he looked and acted like a guy that needs to be corrected and informed, he is worthy.
He is worthy of so much that comes from my soul as I did reach out to take his hand and do my best to reassure him, I’m still interested, but the insecurity psych outs need to go. This includes my own. This happens later, but for now, my guess is more #7, the more I get to know and relate with him.
5:20pm
He lies down on his queen size bed like he shared it. On The Left, his pillow is, rather than in the middle. Consciously he isn’t aware he does this; he just knows the left side of the bed is his, and that he sleeps on his side with his back to the right side of his bed.
{I don’t give a shit; I’m going out in style!}
His eyes don’t take long to turn off the light beyond his lids closed. His last thought before falling asleep was thinking what John told him. {There was something about me she likes, and she didn’t give me a bunk number.}
5:55pm
His alarm goes off again. He’s less groggy waking up this time. He takes a drink from the glass of water on his night stand. He needs to hit the head again and brush the yuck mouth out.
6:08pm
He gets his yuck mouth back smoking as he stepped outside to smoke. He has his phone in a stand off between his intent to call me, but also to text instead because he’d have time to think about what he wants to say. What to do?
He looks at the time on his phone. He decides to let a few more minutes pass before his phone dials me up. Just enough that it appears random, like he wasn’t waiting for a round off to “5” or “0”.
6:09pm
{Ask her how her day was. Answer directly, not searching for an explanation to validate what my answer is. How it is…. Be funny. Chicks like funny, but keep it clean… She could tell I was from the east coast by listening to me speak calmly. Speak calm. Don’t bombard her with a tidal wave of words, before you even make something that resembles a point. Work up to that… I can handle this. Also, she’s funny herself and it flowed. Our conversation flowed and that’s why I’m calling her…. She said only on weekdays, text better until Sunday… Her voice though. I wouldn’t mind at all listening to her tangents…. I’m calling. Cowboy Up Buttercup!}
6:13pm
My phone woke me up with its ringer. That’s a good thing, bad thing is when I’m finally tired enough to zonk out, that’s when folks have to contact me. If my mom wouldn’t worry, I’d turn off my phone and folks could leave me a voicemail or send a text I’ll pick up after I turn my phone back on. I don’t want to spend so much time on the phone, be it voice chat or text chat. I’d like a balance.
Now who be a knockin’ at my phone?
The little TV screen shows it’s a Michael Duncan calling me. Now isn’t that nice?
Yes I thought all this in a matter of 4 seconds because Annie and Susan told me not to answer on the first ring. It shows I’m eager and that can be bad juju. It can result in hilarity, but only if you look on the bright side of life. I answer:
“Hello?” (Play dumb like you didn’t already know it’s him on the caller ID.)
“Hey Gina, it’s Michael. Did I catch you at a bad time? {Don’t say I did. Don’t say I did. Don’t say I did.}
“I was sleeping.”
“I’m sorry, I’ll let you go so you can go back to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow. {Shit! }”
“Oh no it’s cool, I needed to wake up anyway, I’m supposed to meet some friends over at the farmers market. So it was good you called. Anyhoo... Howdy, how are ya Michael?”
“I’m okay. I’ll let you go so you can get ready.”
“No, you don’t have to. I can talk for a bit. How was work?”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure, so how was it if I may ask?
“You may. Tiring. How was your day thus far?”
You snuck a ‘thus’ in there! Great use of that odd word.”
“Okaaay.”
He’s laughs because he’s feeling it flow again and it’s fun to pretend we’re fucking “proper”. But the statement itself was odd to him.
“I have a thing with words. Good use of a word that isn’t as popular as others; and sometimes I am introduced to new words and my vocabulary grows. It’s fun, at least to me, to be playful with being smartass with verbage.”
“Verbage?”
“Yeah.”
“What is it?”
“What do you think it means?”
“The usage of verbs?”
“Technically yes, but it includes a broad spectrum of words that intend to communicate.”
“Ah.” {?}
(What formula am I following this evening for the convo comebacks?)
“So what happened to talking Sunday?” (Direct. That is the formula.)
{Think quick.} “We still are, unless you changed your mind.”
{Part the focus and giving her a chance to back out and I could focus instead on going with Alex and Dennis to Pauley’s, and drinking just another day off my mind. She changed her mind, no surprise.}
“I didn’t change my mind.”
{Surprised. Okay still in the game, second inning….} “Cool.” (silence—why is there silence?)
“You still there Michael?”
“Yeah. I was waiting for you to go next. I mean talk next. I was listening.” (Isn’t he adorable? Aww…)
“I appreciate that. May I ask you another question?”
“Ah, you thought ahead. I caught it. Yes you may.”
“Yes, I did. Good for you and my question is: You know never mind.”
“What did you want to ask me?”
(Direct.)
“It’s nothing, never mind.”
(Not Direct anymore. Why?)
“What kind of question were you going to ask me?”
(Indirect set up for the first pitch and strike out?)
“One of those trippy questions about rhyme and reason.”
“Ask away.”
“Why aren’t we saving our voice convo for Sunday?”
“I don’t know. Why aren’t we?” (Swing batter batter swing…. Reverse the “trippy” on the spot question.)
(Direct)
“Oh, it seemed like you couldn’t wait ‘til Sunday to talk. I was feeling flattered, but I could be wrong. I’m sorry if I was.”
(Strike! On the spot again to respond so she can listen. Will the boy punk out or roll with what the girl throws at him?)
“No, you are correct.” (Hit.)
“Well then we’ll move up our voice convo early.” (On the ball. Throws from the infield and then to first and Who’s on it, do we know?)
“Okay.” He says with a smile.
“Hold on, I got to get my notebook and a pen.”
“Okay.” He wonders why.
I put my phone down to search, last I seen it, there it is! (It was with my other books, on the bookcase shelf.) There was a pen held by the spiral wire of the notebook. I look for my last entry and begin to note how this guy will be remembered in my book.
This probably has a shelf life also that will be over before I relax, but for now I’m in the present and going to enjoy this. I’ll find the value and enjoy realizing it later. Like later, later.
“Back.”
“Yay she’s back! So what’s up with the notebook?”
“I note factoids about the person I am hanging out with over the phone. Also when I start rambling, I come up with ideas, like I’m vibing the cool energy of being inspired, with light bulbs turning on like crazy when I get on a roll. Plus it makes for a memento. You’re welcome to factoid me too.”
He thinks about it. He likes the idea.
“I’ll be right back. Gonna fetch my own notebook, and a writing stick.”
“Awesome. Kuddos on the use of ‘fetch.”
He responds with his chuckle.
He goes to his own bookcase and pulls out his sketch pad since for some reason his notebook isn’t where he thought it was. He’ll get in to the ‘Mystery of The Missing Notebook’ another time, plus he could draw and get inspired also.
“Hey Gina, still there?”
“Yuppers. Hey Michael, want to play ‘5 Question Truth’?”
“What’s ‘5 Question Truth’?”
“It’s an icebreaker game I play, the rules I make them up as I go. I should write them out… anyways so it’s keeping track that makes it entertaining, because you are allowed bonus questions if the 5th got pled. Or we can figure out what we want to say without playing. It’s up to you.”
“Hmmm… we can play that Sunday.”
“Okies. So what do you figure we say?”
“Good question…. I got nothing.”
“Don’t pass the buck bucko, I know you have something else to say.”
“Do you really? How do you know?”
“Because you just answered.”
“Okay now I’m lost.”
“My condolences. Anyway how do I know? I picked up a bit of nervous, but brave too.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Yeah. I know I am blabbing out of nerves, and brave is talking about it. Wait, it’s obvious with me or did you mean with you?”
“I meant me. You’re a smartass Gina.”
“Only after I’m a dumbass that earned new wisdom.”
He chuckles, but something else was his reaction also. He’s relaxing. He’s not as nervous as he was before he called. Another reaction is he’s got a goofy smile on his face. He hasn’t smiled like this in a while. A long while. He was too busy keeping up appearance of not being depressed. He smiled and joked around, but this smile is different.
He hasn’t had the back and forth like this since his ex-girlfriend; before she went ‘Queen Psycho Bitch from Hell’ Then he remembers how it progressed in to the worst “thus” far, toxic romance where he learned a lot in 20/20 hindsight. What he didn’t learn with her, he’ll learn in other ways. He’s refocusing back to the here and now with a new chick that hasn’t shot him down—yet.
“Michael?”
“Oh sorry, I was thinking about something.”
“I won’t pry.”
“Good use of ‘pry’.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You said you were nervous?”
“A bit. Couldn’t you tell?”
“Not at all. Could you tell with me?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. (silence) “Gina?”
“Still here.”
“Cool. Uhm…. Aaaaah….”
“You’re blanking and processing at the same time, huh?”
“Something like that. You don’t mind?”
“Why would I?”
“I dunno; I mean it’s kinda embarrassing you were able to tell I’m nervous.”
“Bummer you didn’t say was. Okies I may be able to do something about that.”
“Like what?”
“I’m thinking as I guess, I left behind a good impression. Am I anywhere near ‘close’?
“You’re close.”
“Andale! Mees Happee!”
“What was that?”
“I was celebrating. Okies, uuuuuh what I do and say that left me in good standings?”
“The way our chat went, and you’re very cute.”
(Smartass or School Girl Regression?)
“Ditto…. I haven’t really put myself out there so I’m kinda out of my element. Is it the same with you?”
Honest with volunteering I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, this is different. I am not accustomed to this. I’d like this to not be in a hurry and I said a lot with how I don’t put myself out there. Asking if it is the same, is like asking for feedback that includes a heads up for what to expect if we’re leaning ourselves towards the other.
Or I am completely off, and I could verbalize being at peace with not giving a fuck about saving face. I said it, he heard it. What will he do with this new data?
The new data just made him take a big breath in and smile huge. He’s doing a good job keeping it quiet this just made his day though earlier I said month. (“I don’t give a shit, I’m going out in style!”) It’s going to be a while before I get to know Michael deals with bouts of depression, but this latest one had him really wondering about what it would be like at his funeral.
For A Reason. For A Season. For A Lifetime.
Who’s on 1st Michael now has the ball in his court to change sports, and wants to keep going back and forth.
“Yeah, pretty much. So it’s been established both of us are nervous, and we both think the other is cute.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“Not as nervous. How about you?”
“I think I can still be a smartass and it not be a defense mechanism.”
“May I pry a bit?”
“It depends. What do you want confirmed?”
“You sound like someone that’s been in therapy. I mean…. Don’t take it the wrong way, the way you word things was familiar.”
Emilio Estevez, may he look up to you! Michael looks more like a hooligan than a jock, but he seems to know I’m the basket case. I know how to do the Molly Ringwald dance okay, but I’ve never been the prom queen. I didn’t go to prom. Instead I grew up watching John Hughes movies and whatever else the TV babysitter had to offer.
“Familiar, really? You or someone else?”
“Both, but more me.”
“You did give me a vibe that was familiar also. It would be prying to go beyond that, so I’ll leave it be.”
“I don’t mind, well I mean right now.”
“How have you been doing?”
( 4…3…2…1…) “Okay.
Chapter 6
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