Chapter 6
"Sporto"
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9:30 pm
Tuesday September 30, 2014
Friday, August 24, 2012
(On The Phone—Time Stamp)
“Was that a good delay like you really are okay? Or was that a delay of not really?”
“You’re going to analyze me aren’t you?”
“It sounds more like you may need someone to listen. I looked up your theme song; may I ask you a question about depression?”
{You’re going to scare her away, don’t tell her! It would screw everything up. How, I don’t know but she said listen. Do I really in a matter of fact need someone to listen? What are they going to listen to? Me whine like some emo fag that lost his nuts the moment he put on chick skinny jeans? Listen. You just met her, don’t turn her in to your therapist and don’t turn in to hers. Listen…. Listen... Listen. }
“You may.”
“Have you been having symptoms of depression, I imagine you would know what they are.”
“Yeah.”
“When did you notice the difference?
“It’s been a while.”
“Longer than two weeks ago?”
“Yeah.”
“You got medical insurance that doesn‘t limit you to the VA?”
“I do.”
“I recommend you call the Behavioral Health and Member Services phone number on the back of your medical insurance card. Usually you can self referral for a few sessions, and then if you need more, billing will figure it out. Is that something you think could help you get out of the dark place?”
He’s thinking more than the correct answer of hitting it right on the head.
“I guess so.”
“Did you have a plan?”
{Yes.} “Could we change the subject?”
“We could but your answer reaction makes me want to think that was a yes. You could hang up if you rather, I’d understand but for sure get yourself help if you have access to it.”
{I don’t know what to do. How did we go from saying we thought the other was cute, to this?}
“Okay.”
“May I ask why it’s been a while since you noticed something wasn’t right?”
{Why has it been so long?}
“I don’t want to bore you with my issues…”
“I wouldn’t be asking open ended questions if I wasn’t willing to get bored; for a little while at least. I know the dark place myself, and came dangerously close. I could tell you your funeral wouldn’t be a fun one like the one in the music video.
Your family of relatives and friends would be grieving and beating themselves up because they didn’t do whatever it took that would have stopped you from hurting yourself, in time. This isn’t to guilt trip you dude, it’s the most likely scenario based on the aftermath of other suicides that I know of.
Did you reach out to anyone? That’s if I may continue asking heavy questions as a fellow survivor of the dark place.”
He remembers he tried to tell the guys, but he would be handed a pint instead. And how it felt like a dismissal after he was distracted enough to put the feeling inside a little box, and put that away. But it doesn’t stay put away.
He changed the course when he pointed out I word things a certain way he’s familiar with. Did he do bad by vocalizing his observation?
“I did.”
“Did someone reach back?”
“I don’t kn…. No.”
“Did you half ass your plea for back up?”
“Whoa! But good point. Why are we talking about this?”
“Why not?”
“Gina I appreciate you being willing to listen and all, but I didn’t call you to talk about my problems.”
“Exactly. However synchronicity differs.”
“Good use of differs and synchronicity. How does it differ?”
“Thank you. Sometimes folks cross paths for a reason; to pass over a message that the Great Spirit wants them to hear. Often times it’s a trade of messages, and a contrast of reactions to remember. Well how do I segway out of this one?”
“Segway!”
“Like I know right…. I don’t know for how long we’ll know each other Michael, but the message it seems was to tell you where you can find help where you’ll be heard. As for a message to me, hmmm. You got me to admit you inspired nervous in me.”
“You’re a writer. I could so hear it.”
“Eat my shorts if that’s a bad thing to you.”
“And defensive.”
“Ah, play along to turn the table. What else have you deduced about me?”
“Good use of deduced.”
“I know.”
“You seem like a cool kitten.”
“You had to call me kitten.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing other than I’m reminded I have yet to adapt my slang for jivin’.”
“Short explanation version.”
“Did you mean to ask me to explain with a short explanation, while insinuating I would extend my answer just to annoy you now?
“Yes, and I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For insinuating.”
“So you think I over answer?”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Then what did you mean? So maybe I don’t have to feel it would be for the best if I start pulling away from feeling criticized for being myself.”
“Defensive again. I was being facetious and apparently bombed.”
“Astute observation and good use of facetious. Now what am I?”
“A smartass.”
“Only after I was a dumbass that earned wisdom.”
“That’s very true… Hey, thank you for asking if I’m okay. You don’t have to pull away. I mean we both have problems. I’m depressed and you’re defensive. Truce?”
“Like whoa Ted! Why would we need to truce? Were we arguing? ‘Cause it didn’t feel like we were.”
“We weren’t arguing?”
“Michael, may I pry? Your question left an impression.”
“What do you mean?”
“How bad did it get in the past that has you apologizing in general as if by default; and thinking we were arguing?”
{This is weird. Is she saying what I think she is saying?}
“Gina you’re scaring me; but in a good way! Don’t freak out.”
“Lucy esplain.”
“I haven’t been asked that question before.”
“Is that what’s scaring you or is it the answer?”
“The answer.”
“May I ask who were the ones that jacked you up?”
{Who were they?}
“Exes. I guess I got trained.”
“This is just my opinion, but you don’t have to apologize if you did no wrong. Saying ‘I’m sorry.’ to squelch isn’t a long term bright idea. Your apologies turn empty, and problems don’t get dealt with.”
He’s listening. He feels like I have also. He’s not sure how to answer, but will wing it anyway.
“I’m sor…”
“Don’t say it unless you’re saying it to yourself right now.”
“Tell myself I’m sorry?”
“If you feel you were trained by your exes, something made you give them that ability to do so. It could be loneliness which is usually a bad advisor, I speak from experience. It could be something completely else…”
“You’re right.”
“What part?”
{Nutless Emo Fag!} “Loneliness.”
“Can you describe it?”
“Describe my loneliness?”
“Yes.”
“Aaahya, hmmm… I don’t know I just felt lonely.”
“So your loneliness was so much to bare you didn’t get yourself away when things weren’t cool anymore?”
“The way you put it makes it sound drastic.”
“You’ve wanted to go out in style for a while, that to me is drastic. Something has you feeling depressed. I don’t know if it is all emotional or chemical, but you gave me the impression if you had a choice, you would rather stop feeling depressed and lonely. Am I close?”
“You’re close.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“I haven’t thought that deep in.”
“With me was fear and manipulation.”
“Is that why you’re single?”
“In part, but I don’t really put myself out there, so it’s a case of putting the effort in to dating, even if it has to start online. My friends drag me out, and dress me up; but I haven’t had the right kind of luck as my friends that aren’t single. Also I’m still recovering from how bad it got on my end with my divorce. I think I exude that vibe that I’m not ready, which is why I haven’t met someone, most likely.”
{Maybe you have?}
“Is that why I’m single too?”
“I don’t know you well enough to say what would be me making guesses.”
“Hey your friends! I’m keeping you from getting ready.”
“May I be further honest with you?”
“You may.”
“I rather talk on the phone with you but if you need to go, no worries. Is Sunday still good to go?”
“As far as I know it is. You rather talk with me?
“Yeah. Are you smiling?”
“A little.”
“Then yes, really. I liked the smiles you showed me last night. Thinking about them makes me smile myself. “
{Don’t get too happy. Don’t get too happy. Don’t get too happy, fucking aye! DON’T FUCK THIS UP MIKEY!!!}
“I liked your smiles as well.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Ah, orange.”
“Favorite animal?”
“Hmmm…”
“First one that comes to mind.”
“Tony The Tiger!”
“Go ahead and get it out of your system.”
“Get what out?”
“I’m not answering. That one is all you.”
“Aww you’re no fun.”
“Were you expecting a barrel of monkehs?”
“I’m picturing that.”
“Cool you do that, I’m getting myself something to drink.”
“I should get something to drink too. Okay, you’re coming with me to the kitchen.”
“That’s funny because you’re already in mine. Okies Moto Fridge, what do you have for meh?”
Michael puts his flip flops on, and heads out of his bedroom, and then down the hallway to the kitchen, and we aren’t alone. He’s as close as his own defenses would allow for him to feel like he’s on cloud 9 and those others in the kitchen notice. He opens the fridge and looks over his choices. He then asks me for input on what his choices are.
“Alright GINA, I need your help deciding on what to drink…”
He’s narrowed down his choices to beer. Now which label?
But before he figures out which one he’ll go with, Alex, Dennis and Joe are in disbelief but Michael’s excitement his buddies couldn’t deny. They start doing charades of a phone to ear, and mouthing to him “The chick from last night?” and Michael nods his head. He’s beaming now. I helped him pick a bottle of Dos Equis for the joke about what “The most interesting man in the world” prefers.
And just as he was turning back towards the hallway to go to his room, his friends show how much they care for their boy.
“Yo Mikey! Who you talking to?” Michael hears Joe ask.
He stops in his tracks and gives him the look of getting burned because it was asked loud enough that chances are I heard it as well. I did and am curious to what he’ll answer being he’s now on the spot. He thinks fast!
“The pretty brunette with the glasses from last night over at Pauley’s.”
He hopes I heard that, appealing to my vanity by being called “pretty”, intending it as a compliment, and loaded flattery.
“Tell her what’s up for me.”
“Me too.”
“Me also.”
Now Michael…
“My friends you met last night said what’s up.”
“The opposite of down.”
“What?”
“They asked what’s up.”
“Oh. She said it’s the opposite of down.”
Confused looks all around, and Michael leaves the kitchen with his bottle of beer, and I’m drinking a Jarrito de tamarindo (a Latino soda brand, tamarind flavor) from a glass bottle as well. As soon as he’s gone, their wallets open. Michael closes his bedroom door behind him.
“Okay, back in my room.”
“Right on. I enjoyed the trip to your kitchen.”
“Did you? Well there is a good chance we’ll do a return trip not too long from now.”
“Nice. Have you eaten?”
“I did earlier, but could go for a little something.”
“What kind of little something?”
{Don’t go there!}
“Sweet.”
“With beer?”
{She didn’t get it though with beer, it would make for a tasty combo come to think of it.}
“That’s right. Okay hold on, I’m taking you back in to the kitchen.”
“To what?”
“Pardon?”
“You told me to hold on, so I’m asking to what?”
{Don’t go there either!}
“To me.”
{Shit! I went there.}
{Shit! He went there, as if I didn’t set him up for that one hee hee.}
“You sure you could handle me with everything else in your hands?”
“I have a firm grip.”
“Ah, well I bruise easily, so be gentle please.”
“I’ll be gentle.”
“Awesome! So what are you gonna eat?”
“I got to think about that one.”
{Still thinking about it, and I am so going to fuck this up before meeting for coffee Sunday.}
“Well if you need help I can suggest something to snack on.”
{Please do.}
“That sounds good, okay back to the kitchen.”
“And away we go.”
Michael opens his locked bedroom door again and walks down the hallway to return to his kitchen where Alex, Dennis and Joe still are in, drinking another round of beer and the simultaneously cock their heads and look at him waiting for an update. Michael wishes he can say we’re flirting, but he’s not completely sure if we are. Him being hard up adds to this confusion because he hopes we are.
“Okay GINA we’re back in the kitchen. You said you can help me find something to snack on?”
“I did. What do you have to work with?”
“Checking the fridge now.”
He opens that door and sees he and his roommates need to go grocery shopping soon. He was thinking a sandwich but there wasn’t much to make one.
“Find anything good?”
“We’re out of cold cuts so a sandwich is out.”
“Do you have sandwich bread?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have tomatoes and lettuce?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have mayo?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have one egg?”
He opens the carton of eggs and sees there is exactly one left available.
“The last one.”
“Do you have butter or margarine?”
“Country Crock.”
“That’s a good brand, so loved the hands commercials with the couple speaking.”
“I remember those! So I’m making a fried egg sandwich?”
“You caught on! Are you in the mood for one?”
“Maybe.”
“What else do you have to work with?”
The guys still fixated on Michael and how he’s holding his cell phone to his ear with his left hand and searches with his right. Beers in hand, they watch on.
“There’s steamed white rice from ordering Chinese.”
“That’s something. What else do you have?”
“A little bit of BBQ pork.”
“Do you have any frozen or canned mixed vegetables?”
“I got to check the cupboards.”
He walks over to the cupboard with all the cans.
“I don’t have mixed vegetables but I got a small can of peas and carrots.”
“Okies sounds good so far. Do you have soy sauce?”
“I got a bunch of packets.”
“How much rice do you have?”
“About two cups.”
“You wouldn’t by any chance have green onions and garlic?”
He returns to the refrigerator and his friends still watching on. They figured out he’ll be cooking and wonder if it will be any good, but they ate earlier at Jack’s so they’ll just be nosey and entertained, or lose interest quickly and return to their own conversation.
“We don’t have green onions or garlic.”
“That works anyway. You in the mood to make friend rice?”
“Fried rice?”
“Yeah, you have pretty much all you need to make some, including using the last egg.”
That made their ears perk up. Alex asks: “You’re going to make fried rice?”
Michael responds: “Apparently so.
The three look at him wondering if he can.
“So you’re making the fried rice and not the fried egg sandwich?”
“I’ll try my hand at it, I’ve never made any before.”
“I should have asked you first if the white rice is still plump or if it has dried out.”
“It’s still cool. I take everything out?”
“Yup. Do you have an ear piece or do you want to put me on speaker? You’re gonna need both hands.”
“I guess I could put you on speaker."
He switches over to speaker and asks: “Got you on speaker, can you hear me?”
“I can. Can you hear me?”
“You sound a little distant, but I can still hear you.”
“Okies ready to try your hand at making fried rice? Oh how many soy sauce packets do you have?”
Michael looks at the plastic storage bag full of the sauce packets.
“We have a lot! So what do I do first?”
“Wash your hands, then look for a large skillet and spatula. Hey do you have oil?”
“Yeah, vegetable.”
“That works. Okies let me know when you have it out.”
{No comment.}
Michael washes his hands and his friends track him with goofy smiles on their faces. Michael notices and gives them a look of “Don’t embarrass me please?” He pulls out a large skillet and spatula besides the bottle of oil.
“What do I do next?”
“Open the can of carrots and peas and drain. Give them a rinse too, then put to the side still in the can.”
Michael is starting to relax but he knows his friends can still hear. He pulls out the can opener from their cooking tools in a jumbled drawer of I’ll be organizing their kitchen in the not so distant future.
He opens the can, drains and rinses. He puts the open can to the side.
“Now what?”
“In a bowl scramble the egg. If you have milk, add a splash to stretch out the egg.”
“I can do that.”
His friends drinking and watching. And drinking and listening to my voice on speaker. Michael did have milk and cracks open the egg in to a bowl and adds that splash. He uses a fork to beat the egg.
“Done, what’s next?”
“Chop up the BBQ pork with a knife on a cutting board and then set to the side.”
He removes the few remaining pieces of this out of the take out box and chops it up. Though he had never tried making such a simple dish, it already tastes good in his mind.
“All chopped.”
“Okies wash your hands again and dry them. Then heat the skillet on a medium high flame for a minute or so. You’ll now it’s hot enough when you sprinkle a few drops of water and it sizzles away.”
“You like to cook don’t you?”
“Friends have encouraged me to go to Culinary School but I’m not ready to go trained chef yet. One day though. After Saturday morning cartoons passed, I would change it to KCET on PBS and watch cooking shows. I would also study cook book or cooking magazine pictures for hours. I haven’t been much of a foodie since my grocery funds are low, but it’s not uncommon to find me in my friends’ kitchens giving their kids cooking lessons.”
He was smiling through out all that over answering and his friends give him looks that I can only describe as approving their friend is talking to “Gina Pic Chik” that may be the good cook score many men hope for in their dream girl fantasies. Michael smiles even more because he’s thinking that exactly and that over powered his negative thinking he’ll fuck this up somehow.
“That’s really cool. So you teach children how to cook?”
“Whenever I can in the hopes to help them with confidence building with a life skill. My most enthusiastic student actually made pineapple cashew fried rice. He was eleven years old then.”
“You teach them that young?”
“Oh younger.”
“Really?”
“But I also teach adults. One of my Marine wife friends I showed her how to make enchiladas.”
“Enchiladas really?”
“Uhmm. I started her off using spaghetti sauce and added heat to that since she and her then husband weren’t used to spicy hot food.”
His friends eyes widen hoping for the best that maybe I’ll make them enchiladas if their boy don’t fuck things up first.
“However there was one long distance student I had that made me feel stoked with his compliment when I gave him technique recipe for fish and chips. He sent me a picture and he told me I must be a great cook to be able to teach by text.”
Dennis face lit up. He LOVES fish and chips. Never learned how to prepare them, but he’s now curious to be shown this technique recipe. Then he couldn’t help himself.
“Hey Mikey can your friend teach you how to make that?"
I heard and Michael squints at him. I’m rolling with it.
“I can pass on the basics ah, which one are you?”
“Oh it’s Dennis, you took my picture holding my cue stick.”
“I remember you! Blond and blue eyes right?”
“Yeah that’s me.”
“Well the steps are easy but I will get back to you, I am still walking Michael through making fried rice.”
“That’s cool. Mikey listen to her!”
“Fine I’m listening. You said sizzling water drops?”
“Yes. Once it shows the pan is hot and dry, add about a tablespoon and a half of oil to the pan and swirl it around and then pour the beaten egg in. Bring the outer cooked edges in to middle of the pan to allow the raw egg fill out the pan and keep doing it with a gentle hand, and fold over and flip to cook the top.
Once you get to that stage where the egg is cooked but not dry looking, use your spatula to cut up the scrambled egg and transfer it to a plate you cover with another upside down to keep it warm. This should take about one minute or so.”
“Doing that now."
Michael pours in the oil and scrambles the egg as described, cuts it up and transfers it to a plate and covers it with another one facing down, as a lid to keep it warm.
“What do I do now?”
“Keep the pan on the flame. You should still have some oil in the pan, if not add a little bit more. You’ll be giving the chopped BBQ pork a pass in the pan. When heated through transfer to the same plate with the eggs and cover. Let me know when you’re ready for the next step.”
Michael does as he is told and I can hear the sounds of cooking but not the guys speaking. This is because they are still waiting for Mikey to fuck up.
“I got it heating up. So what other things do you know how to make?”
A total loaded question, and of course for his friends to hear and for him to smile more with what he can possibly be eating if he doesn’t fuck it all up.
“Oh wow, there’s a few things! I’ve made country fried steak with biscuits and sausage gravy from scratch. Meatball grinders, but also Reubens and French dips. Shrimp scampi my way, coconut fried shrimp, clam chowder. Chicken fried chicken tenders and these teriyaki chicken skewers. Stir fries, fried wontons, sopes, chilaquiles, migas, huevos rancheros, deviled eggs, stew, Sheppard’s pie, chili, French toast, skillet potatoes and so on. I also know how to bake and make other desserts.”
“You don’t say?”
“Actually I just did. How’s the meat coming along?”
“I try a piece?”
“Best way to check.”
“It’s heated through. I transfer it to the plate with the eggs?”
“Yup. Next add about two tablespoons of oil, swirl to coat and carefully add the white rice, breaking it up with your spatula. Give the grains of rice a coating in the oil and what you are looking for is not just heated through, but a tinge of golden color. When you reach that point, start adding the soy sauce packets. You’ve had fried rice before, so you know what color and level of saltiness it has.”
He follows directions and his tummy is growling knowing he’ll soon be grubbing. He returns to Q&A.
“You said you bake and make other desserts?
His friends still listening because all I described earlier did sound good to them, well except the shrimp and clam chowder. Alex is allergic to shellfish, but what caught his attention was los huevos rancheros.
Joe never heard of chicken fried chicken, but hearing the tenders part he figured out what it was. He was curious about the Sheppard’s pie also. His wife has not made it, but he’s heard Pauley talk about it. The meatball grinders also stood out being he is Italian and it’s one of his favorite sammies. What made them all curious the most was the deviled eggs. Before I could answer about the sweets, Dennis speaks up about those little suckers.
“Hey Gina, how do you make your deviled eggs?
Michael didn’t want to be interrupted but he was focusing on frying the rice to the light golden before he adds the soy sauce.
“I make it the Russian way, I was told, by using sour cream rather than mayonnaise. It really does make a difference. I also add Gulden’s brown mustard, horseradish or wasabi, it depends what I have on hand. I add garlic salt, black pepper, cumin and fresh finely chopped parsley or dried if I must. I then sprinkle paprika on top and if I feel up to it, a round slice of black olive on top of that.”
Dennis mouths to Michael “Don’t fuck this up!” because the three are used to the heavy mayo tasting deviled eggs that use too much yellow mustard. Only one of the other wives in the pack makes these for the barbeques she and her husband host on a regular basis. They still eat them, but it’s that eternal search for the perfect deviled egg that keeps them chomping and swallowing and at times gagging and laying some rank ones to make your eyes water and gag as well.
“The rice seems ready, I add the soy sauce now?”
“Yeah, just taste test after the sauce starts coloring the rice darker. It’s easier to add than take away.”
“Okay got it.”
“Getting back to your question Michael, I bake cookies from scratch, same with cakes unless I doctor up a cake mix. Like if you take Devil’s Food cake mix, melt butter or margarine for the oil and for the liquid called for, use Khalua.”
“Khalua, you serious?”
The guys were also surprised by that.
“It gives it a more complex flavor. I use Sailor Jerry in my carrot cake. My mom loves my coconut banana cream pie which is more assembly than anything. I also make a decent rice pudding and 5 cups salad that is like ambrosia. Oh my ice cream sandwiches were popular too. So you at the right salt level with the soy sauce?”
“Yes! Do I transfer this to a plate to heat up the peas and carrots?”
“Nope. Just add them to the rice carefully folding in as to not break the grains of rice. Add the BBQ pork and egg also but lower the flame to medium and once everything is the same temperature, you’re done.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Taste test in case you need more soy sauce."
He does and he is still allowing the flavors to penetrate his taste buds. The guys look on wondering how the fried rice turned out. Alex mouths to Michael “So?” Michael gives a thumbs up. That’s when the three sit up from the kitchen table to sneak a taste.
“So is it edible Michael?”
“It’s more than edible! You really know your stuff Gina. Thanks for walking me through. I had no idea how easy it is to make. Would you guys quit it!?!”
Michael takes the skillet away from the stove. The guys ate earlier so they leave Michael be with his meal rather than reduce it to a snack.
“Well now you could make it again but double or triple the recipe to feed everyone. Oh plate up using the plate you transferred things to. Why dirty another one y‘know?"
He plates up what the guys didn’t eat, and grabs a new bottle of beer and heads to his bedroom so he can eat in peace while listening to me though I did ask if he wanted to call me after he ate. He didn’t want to end our call yet, but he knew he’d be chewing and talking with a mouthful. I rode back in his pocket and I could hear him close and lock his door.
“Back in my room.”
“And us without a chaperone!”
{Eat or flirt? Ahhh...}
“Nah, we don’t need one.”
“If you say so. So do you feel at least a little better?”
“I do, thank you. Oh I am so sorry, I didn’t ask if you have eaten, Have you?”
“I had some cereal.”
“That’s it?”
“I’m a light eater.” (Bullshit--I don’t have too much left in groceries so I’m surviving on Spooners cereal and 7Eleven chili cheese dogs with a 1ltr of Brisk Lemonade/Iced Tea Fusion.)
“Oh. Well all you said you can cook sounds great. Your ex had it good.”
“Yeah he did have to switch to his big boy pants after I fattened him up post deployment. But even my cooking wasn’t enough to save our marriage.
He did brag about it to the other Docs at the BAS and his Marines, where he was too eager to pass on the message from the other wives to stop making them look bad because their husbands would repeat I make this and I make that, while they don’t.
I mean some of these young wives were barely out of High School when they got themselves mixed up with the Home Front reality.
It didn‘t help I would send him to work with goodies to share like this one time he took these Buisquick danishes for the guys’ morning coffee . I became his Stepford wife, it wasn’t fun but I did enjoy feeding the other Docs since many were geo-bachelors.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you but you’re not him. It would have been nice if he shown remorse for how he treated me and our sons.”
“You have sons?”
“One by birth and one through marriage. I also have four daughters from my previous engagement. But three were stepdaughters and you don’t break-up with children.”
“So you have two kids and four step kids?”
“Uhmm. You have any kids?”
“I do, a daughter.”
{Daughter?} “Right on."
That’s when we both hear a knock at his bedroom door.
“Excuse me, I got to answer that, I’ll be right back.”
“Aw so no more holding on to you?”
“You could still hold on.”
“Okies you could put me on hold.”
Michael puts his phone down to check what they want. He answers the door and sees his three friends standing before him.
Joe speakeths first:
“Hey Mikey, we’re going to Pauley’s, you coming?"
Alex and Dennis smile hoping their bro would answer the right answer.
“I’m still on the phone.”
Alex speakeths second:
“Still with your friend from last night?"
Joe and Dennis hope he still answers the right answer.
“Yes.” Smiling and hiding the awkward topic of our convo--thus far.
Dennis doesn’t even turn, he puts his hand out flat palm face up and both Joe and Alex pull out a dollar each out of their pockets and place them on his palm, for Michael answered the right answer.
(Dennis bet his boy would get further in before fucking this up.)
“Two bucks, that’s it!?!”
Michael was offended, though he would have bet low on himself too.
Dennis speakeths third:
“I’ll win the other eight when you’ve kept her on the phone without her talking your fucking ear off.
That don’t count.”
“And if I don’t keep her on the phone?”
“Show up at Pauley’s and Dennis will buy you a beer.” Explains Joe.
“Mikey don’t let me down.” Dennis again.
Michael has just been communicated it was a total of $10 riding against him. He knows that even if my voice sounds good to him, and he’s heard it in person and seen me first, I can still be one of those chicks that doesn’t know how to be concise, stay on track, and divulges way too much informative data he is welcome to research for faults.
It’s a fault talking a lot, which surprises him he’s not rambling as much as listening---yet.
“The convo has been cool so far.”
All three look at their friend with an expectant look of still settling a bet, but then it turns to fist taps because regardless of two betting against him, they would like their friend to score. In what particular way could be offensive and insulting to me if I knew what that meant. I know very well what it means to a guy that is more than lonely.
It’s very likely this guy will ultimately have sex on his mind by the end of our coffee date he won’t know until later will be “downgraded” to a “hang out."
Dennis got lucky recently at a Casino so he’s feeling a little generous with his party cash. The three leave but leave him thinking how little faith his friends have he won’t fuck this up. He considers giving up and making a quick exit.
Though there is still beer in the house and I walked him through cooking a slap together dish he liked, he’s not liking that his depression has been the topic of our conversation. He sighs and looks at his phone with me on hold, on his bed. The thought did cross his mind if he doesn’t fuck things up, perhaps I’d hold on to him for real on his bed. That premature thought crossed my mind as well, but it was on my bed rather than his.
He decides to brave it and hopes Dennis wins the bet. He knows Dennis is more interested in the fish and chips technique recipe I mentioned and truth is, he’s also curious. I haven’t given him the clue of what kind of steak sandwich I can make with my very own sweet red wine onion sauce I created around ten years old in fourth grade back in Elementary School.
Thank you Grandma for liking to sip occasionally on Manechwitz Kosher wine to have provided the booze I needed for the reduction that used the fawn or pan drippings of the steak and played up the sweetness of the onions. And thank you PBS for offering free cooking show programming for poor kids like me to help me become the “Foodie” I am today. What’s that?
A food geek basically.
“Hey I’m back.”
“Welcome. Was it your friends that knocked?”
“Yeah. They were heading over to Pauley’s and asked if I was going.”
“Are you?”
“Honest?”
“Honest.”
“I rather stay on the phone with you.”
I wonder if he could tell how much that made me smile.
“Good thing we aren’t Skyping, or you would have seen how that just made me blush a bit.”
*****!!!MALFUNCTION!!! NO! NO! NO! NO!!!! YOU DON’T TELL A GUY THAT!!!! IT ENCOURAGES THINGS TO HAPPEN!!!! HE’S GOING TO THINK YOU’RE CRUSHING ON HIM BACK!!!! YOU CAN GET RUSHED AGAIN!!!! WHAT WOULD BE YOUR EXCUSE THIS TIME!?! NOW REBOUND!!I!!*****
“I made you blush?”
His tone of voice changed. There was a jingle to that. DAMN STRAIGHT DEFENSIVE! I have almost no experience in what just occurred. I feel sick. It’s like a bunch of butterflies just puked in my gut and it’s slight heartburn in my chest from their spew cramped up my esophagus. What body chemistry is being set off here!?! Fucking Aye!
The splits of a second still pass by.
The Twirl-A-Round Ride just bungeed in to my abdomen and is back in my stomach that feels contracted like I remembered getting punched. My head hurts at what feels like my nasal passages ready to tell me off. My heart rate increased, my body temperature changes, I need to gasp for air!
YOU DON’T TELL A GUY SHIT LIKE THAT UNLESS YOU WANT HIM BUZZING AROUND!!! This isn’t WWII or Shanghaied X 2. Too late to take it back pendeja! Now commit to it or back the fuck out slowly, and then fucking floor it the fuck away!!!
That second continues…. .
If you go there, you’ll set yourself up for disappointment when you form expectations anyway. REBOUND!!!!!
“For a second, but it passed.”
“Oh.” {Oh.}
(8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1.) “You still there?” (That was a long pause in to the wrong zone.)
“Yeah. I was chewing. {Oh.}
“Ah, you sure you don’t want just talk again Sunday, so you could eat? I sensed multitasking strain. You eating and listening. Me hoping to not bogart the conversation so you could eat…. I feel bad, like I’m distracting you.”
“You’re not distracting me, but if you need to go. You said your friends were expecting you, I don’t want you to break your plans so it’s cool.
{Oh. That was quick. She’s spooked. She’s being a smartass again. That’s her defense mechanism. I’m not all that hungry anymore. She’s gonna pull away. What the fuck? Why do I keep attracting these types of chicks?}
“I could call them. I sent my friend a text earlier but he didn’t reply…”
{Her friend is a he. Yea.}
“…so I text his girlfriend…”
{There could still be more.}
“…but she hasn’t replied either. I also checked my Carabook and no one confirmed they were going…”
(Actually my friends were in pleasant shock that I mentioned this dude and liked the heck out of that post. But it’s true none confirmed and by the time Toro would, I would have still been sleeping if this dude didn’t wake me up. It’s cool though.)
“Kahrah-book?”
“Cara, face. It’s something my friends and I call the social network sometimes. But yeah, it is very statistically possible I was going to walk around and chill alone if I went. I rather stay home comfy so I can write later.”
“I was right. You’re a writer.” {Okay, what play is this? Is she going or staying so I can get my appetite back?}
“I know I talk like one, don’t rub it in.”
“So you don’t have to go?”
“No. I can though, I’m sure I could beat your ear off for hours if you don’t interject and I’m self-conscious about that.”
“Well I do want to keep eating and I don’t want you to leave, so Man-Up Bullets! And monolog while I eat your food.”
“You cooked it.”
“I know, but you taught me how, so it’s your cooking; I just followed directions.”
“Correction! I didn’t season the BBQ pork and that makes a difference!”
“Whatever then, so you mind talking while I eat?”
“You promise it won’t become a habit?”
“You almost sound like you don’t like talking, but you do because things need to be said. You being a smartass about it is cute, but I can’t talk and chew at the same time, so you going, you stayin’?"
“I guess stayin‘. Okies what do I go on about while you eat what’s left? How much do you have left?”
“More than half. I had to let it cool down.”
{Shit! I have to monolog for a while. He’s right I don’t like to speak and won’t for most of the day with very little words exchanged. I wouldn’t say it’s part of my own depression issues beyond my depression making me a night owl recluse awake while the rest sleep.
And it isn’t from trauma from spending a lot of time alone in isolation. I really don’t want to listen to myself speak when I’m not saying anything that is vital or just fucking abridged. I get off point. I sometimes take the scenic route and talk in circles when I can‘t focus.
Why anyone would want to sit through listening to me knowing I get long in the tooth, I don‘t understand. Why does anyone return to talk to me all cool with having to force myself to talk since we haven‘t evolved towards telepathy---yet!
POINT!!!
I don‘t want to speak in speeches. I could write them for others and do more cover letters for grant applications, but me speaking…. He didn‘t make it a dialog, but he wanted me around. Then he didn‘t and I‘ve written volumes to a blind wall. I need a moment.}
“Do you eat fast?”
“I like to chew my food.”
“I need to hit the head, excuse me.
I put my phone down and sit up and breathe in deeply. I’m being ambivalent, but I do got to go pee. I’m also hungry but there is no way I can eat that cereal, that is affordable and given out at the food pantries; that bares that old nickname I gave when I adopted that Army Flight Medic that was familiar with Stumps, Punk and Rockabilly. Yeah, always something there to remind me.
Naturally, as usual, I got to dry my face when his picture comes to mind. Moving along, I take my piss, wash my hands, and then face. My head hurts but I think it’s all mental. If I decide it’s mind over mater, then don’t fucking mind so it don’t fucking matter! I pop the Rite-Aid brand of Ibuprofen and hope for the best as I pretty much felt the worst of it this round.
Roundabout ways back to a meaning:
He’s Sporto and I’m the Basket Case he calls out, then horse whispers down. I’m thinking of the two plates Spooner mentioned we both had a lot on while I was pretty much in the buildup to the clusterfuck of a lifetime that was very hard on me and my children.
He’s not going to be a problem. He’s just a memory of being told he didn’t understand me half the time, but figured it was therapeutic for me. That’s why he was kind before and told me to hang in there while shit hit the fan on his end too.
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10
I wipe my eyes again, sniff and inhale deeply and exhale out that tension. It don’t fucking matter and this dude I’m talking to I need to hold back or if it gets as far as I last remembered, would push away when it felt too intense because I was opening up, letting someone in and a lot was involuntary and I pretty much hated it, and I’m not one to hate.
If I left a good enough impression, they’ll try to stop me to tell me not to be afraid to care about them. From all the ‘Snow Whites’ that one left the biggest impression through Immaculate Conceptualization.
Yeah, I created a little imagination box for his memory by remembering the Saint of my own making that pulled a miracle out of their ass to get me to breathe for the second time after being in a real bad situation.
He was more Priest that humored me, though part of the punishment was to remember how much he didn’t need to be humored. Son of a Gun needed The Calvary to do a search and rescue for how lost he came off to be in his head.
Is Michael the second chance to fix what has felt like a burdensome bad call I haunted myself with because I couldn’t help it?
Why think so far in advance with a guy I haven’t known very long, and be worked up about it?
Why can’t I appease whatever the fuck put that damn monkey on my back, so no one’s memory holds me back again?
So none of the pain lingers when nostalgia betrays?
I’m not ready for even a coffee date
This is fucking bullshit! Stick to the Marine and forget the Soldier. Whatever ties we had got cut. I made sure of it when I napalmed the fuck out of that bridge and the since when’s don’t mean a thing. So what if I woke up still crying in the morning, there was the sent of brewing coffee to love. To love.
Why did I blush and found that out of bounds?
The obvious, there are bounds and I was made aware of how limited they are for how quickly it conflicted. I’m a drama queen goth punk middle child that watched too much John Hughes shit. That’s the simplest way of putting it and now I got to do a real monolog with Michael. That’s actually kind of funny.
Before I picked up Ziggy my cell phone I walk over to my altar on top of Crowley my retro, vintage looking record/CD/Tape/Radio player. I face straight ahead and see the seven Archangels with Michael in the middle. He’s a Saint I know is real and since I’m more comfortable with Angels, the added bonus. I’m cool with Chuy of course; he’s my cool cosmic hippie uncle that I need to talk to later too as my Mr. Sandman.
I touch St. Michael The Archangel’s chest plate from his armor. I pull my hand away, kiss my index finger and place it over his face. I already know there’s griping he always gets the girls, amongst that pack, but Cassiel is the Archangel that is one of my Patrons. Michael and Michael.
What lesson will this man bring with him?
Will he prove the theory that the Kreacher of The Loon Lagoon showed there was promise in?
When I was with Eric, I didn’t mind ______ being the proverbial Ten of Swords with The Lovers in Reverse, along with The Hermit card, Death, The Devil, Temperance and Judgment. But the Six of Cups would show up and the Nine of Cups as well.
Whatever, but I didn’t mind, Eric was able to distract me but there was no stable foundation with him. He’s still a kid that has more growing up to do if he’s going to be a man worth being and staying in love with. I wasn’t torn up about him, but for a few beautiful hours, I was focused on him and not the other one, so I know it is possible.
I pick up my phone, my sinuses ache along with my eyeballs.
“Hello.”
“You fall in?”
“Actually no, my own depression issues decided to crash the party.”
“You okay?”
(4.… 3... 2.. 1.…) “My head hurts from choking up.”
“I can reheat the rest. Talk to me, what’s wrong?”
He heard me breathe in deeply and kinda hold my breath, then kick start again to exhale.
“I’ll try to be funny about it. So I’m sorta facing that I’m really not used to chatting up a guy I think is cute that I didn’t meet online first through emails and digital photographs. It’s not a bad experience but I feel I should give you the option to back out anyway.”
“Back out? Why?” {What bullet from her armband am I dodging here?}
“I’m very awkward when it comes to showing interest with grown men. The young bucks I have a mental block in becoming interested, because well, they’re young and impressionable. I’ll talk to them like an advisor when it comes to the feminine mystique, but grown men in my age group I don’t know how to relax with. I start trying to be cute, I guess, it’s nauseating in retrospect.”
“Cute. How?”
“Well my latest experience was for an online situation, but before tha… Heh.”
“What?”
“The last real time I was involved with a guy I liked was so long ago, I don’t think I should be concerned.”
“Should I?” {That was supposed to be a thought in my head, not said out loud. Too late but it’s the truth. Should I be concerned about anything?}
“Good looking out for yourself, I’ll do the same. Anyway, no. All that happened did when I was still developing maturity. Others showing a lack of it didn’t help, but I understand at least that I wasn’t prepared for everything that comes attached to being attracted to someone.”
“Like what?”
“When attraction turns to fondness and then the gambit of positive and negative reactions.”
“Who fucked you up?”
I don’t hesitate answering.
“Bad guys that confused me with how hot and cold they were, but expected me to always greet them with a smile. Instead they were aware of my depression, but showed no consideration to it and eventually it came down to the quality of attention I got.
They had their own communication issues, just sucks that synchronicity leads me to find out the key players did think of me and cared in a way that I scared them; if not they didn’t feel good enough, or they were just unsure. But I think with one, he wasn’t honest about being single or any sort of available.”
“What tipped you off?”
“It doesn’t matter, he’s no where near being in my picture, but it just occurred to me that I wasn’t the typical gal he was talking to behind his old lady’s back, but that’s more speculation. Like seriously would any player risk it and think of me as more than T&A to hit and run on and still not get caught?
“You don’t think a player can get attached slightly?”
“I wasn’t around him enough to analyze his psychology, but I think it’s wishful thinking, so somehow it would make me feel better to stick to that story about what was doomed to begin with.”
“I don’t understand.” {Much like that guy, I imagine. Maybe I should back out and go drink over at Pauley’s. Dennis is paying.}
I think about how to answer this one.
“A player is thrown off when someone starts to stand out in a different way. In a way that a fondness forms. They may feel something genuine and sweet for that someone, but they can’t promise exclusivity because they haven’t thrived in that sort of arrangement, hence why they play the field while stringing along.
Some I can tell you aren’t malicious about it, it’s just their nature to not have long standing ties where they feel content. They have a need to explore. Be it from a dissatisfying romantic relationship, or just none are worth going tame for.
But I have found it could be from indecisiveness because the pro’s and con’s kinda all balance out the same, to where they don’t know who to focus on and would rather act aloof which just creates a challenge for the determined and blind.”
“Interesting. So what happened to that guy you think was married when you were talking?”
“He finally put stock in his wedding band, as far as I know. I know whatever fondness there could have been had it’s ending before I realized and accepted it. Besides, why incur the bad Karma of helping a guy cheat on his lady. It doesn’t matter if there was no sex, a heart that covets, still covets and that’s a form of not being loyal if promises were made to forsake all others.
Yeah maybe the promise was made when they were too young to know better, like themselves, and that ending is inevitable; but it’s better to finalize feelings towards a dead connection, before considering anyone new.”
“And you just found part of what has me depressed.”
“What did I find?”
“My ex-wife met a guy online and they got attached, so she told me she wanted to divorce, and now they are married while her husband plays father to my daughter.”
“Were you still in and deploying?”
“No, I had been out a while. I met her after I was Honorably Discharged.”
“Congratulations with your Honorable. So military spouse standard wouldn’t exactly apply, except for it happened through the internet. Did she ever say she felt neglected? That you never have time to talk anymore, and that you only showed interest in her when it was about the sexual?”
{PING!}
“In not the exact words, but yes.”
“You grew apart and this guy she met supplemented what she felt probably starved of.”
“I tried doing date nights with her and suggested as it was suggested to me, about us shutting off our phones, TV and laptops, and just talk. But she tuned me out for the internet in general. She was social with all these folks I never met or she; and they became her closest friends compared to what we used to have when I did consider her my best friend.
I mean that’s why I picked her to propose to. And for not having time… I was trying to support our family, but looking back, we could have gone without the expensive things so I could afford to work less hours and *sigh*.”
“What was that sigh over?”
“There was no satisfying that woman, or at least by me. I mean sex wise we were fine, up until the time she met her new husband.”
“How did you figure that out?”
“I was looking for a digital picture of us together when we first started dating. I was collecting pictures to have printed in a bound book, for our wedding anniversary. It got scanned in and it was in the external hard drive we shared, when I seen she had a file with pictures of her online friends, but one guy stood out because she saved more pictures of him than anyone else. I seen the date the file was uploaded, and I got the heads up I didn’t listen to, like my gut said I should have.”
“That’s unfortunate irony, did you try to drink her off your mind?”
“I did for a while, but I was only hurting myself while she and her new dipshit fiancée were all over town planning their wedding. Our divorce was not even final yet on paper, and they’re picking a fucking china pattern!”
“Ah the added insult to injury. How long after your dissolution did they wait to get hitched?”
“About 3 months. The hall they were holding the reception at had no openings prior. Can you believe she and him had sent out wedding ceremony announcements on postcards saying the date was yet to be determined? It had only been 3 months since we separated!”
“Someone that was a mutual friend got one and showed it to you?”
“Yea. That hurt, but she wasn’t worth drinking myself to death because she was that unhappy with me. She even had the audacity to say that she loves me, but isn’t in love with me, so she was setting me free to find who I was meant to be with.”
“Good use of audacity.”
“Thank you. Wow I have not spoken about that in I can’t remember.”
“You were taking inventory so you could deal with it after taking a break from it a long while, you think?”
“There’s nothing left to deal with. (Bullshit) I wasn’t her “The One” and I’ve accepted that.”
“How about with being offended?”
(Silence. Thinking. Considering. Results Returned.)
“I’m not angry.”
“You don’t have to be angry to be offended. It sounds like she was callous about how she went about it, but maybe she’s right.”
“That I’m too much of a loser to want as a husband?”
“You just summed up the stress point as it applies in your mind.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Her rejection affected your self-esteem. You called yourself a loser. She helped put that idea in your head rather than remove it. That idea has tinted your view towards yourself. Michael, if you aren’t telling stories like my son’s dad did about his ex that he had the audacity to call ‘baby mama’ when he was the one that deserves to be called a ‘baby daddy’; then what you’ve described is a psych out.”
“A psych out?”
“Yeah. Her BS has affected you long enough. She is no longer qualified to judge your ability to be a husband worth having. She did right to set you free even if you felt abandoned. You could have spent the rest of your life in a total sham of a marriage and she have a straight up affair and start validating it because how she thinks, she can. The ones with a guilty conscience can convince themselves of anything if they think hard and long enough about it. It still is a trip when you do discover what they had to hide from you.”
“So that’s it? She’s disqualified to keep making me feel like shit? Oh excuse me for swearing, it’s still a weekday.”
“After 5pm when Happy Hour starts, that’s when the weekend does too on Friday. I speak French myself sometimes so no worries.”
“So I can stop feeling I just wasn’t good enough to keep her happy?”
“I can deliberate it, but I think you’re able to decide that her actions that don’t affect your child, don’t mean squat shit now. Be civil and cordial of course, but look at the truth telling you, you were right. She wasn’t worth drinking yourself in to an early grave because you missed her and felt like you failed your union.
You realized it before you went there. It’s just that things seem to have combined to amplify the other, making you feel depressed. What really is bringing out the death wish where you’ve imagined your funeral/going away party?”
I sense he’s processing all I just said, but also searching for the answer. Michael just got asked not why he’s depressed and suicidal, but what has him teetering between the will to live and the will to give up. And being I know he’s a Marine that probably owns a fire arm too, would also shoot his brains out in a violent, but quick sort of way as other Marines that have taken their lives when their training to survive couldn’t save them.
I can hear him starting to form syllables in to a word.
“I… (pause) …It’s… (pause) …it’s… I’m a fuck up. Yeah I can afford to pay my bills and have money left over so it’s not hand to mouth, but other guys my age have Master Degrees and own their homes and cars. They take care of themselves and women check them out while I’m invisible. My friends also remind me that I’m a fuck up with how they all say I can’t do anything right.”
“Whoa Michael. I can see friends kept that can jest without sensitivity, but friends kept that are verbally abusing you seems unlikely. The ones you hung out with when I met you didn’t give off a vibe they consider you their bitch and inferior to them. But that’s the message that registers regardless of not using the words that you can’t do anything right. Am I anywhere near close?”
“They don’t say I can’t do anything right, but the ones that were here have a bet going that I won’t keep your interest, and you just be another chick I scared off.”
“I’m not scared. You’re the one I was scaring earlier in a good way, I remember being said. So you bet you wouldn’t lose my interest?”
“No, my friends bet against each other.”
“How many placed bets?”
“That I know of, three.”
“That you know of? Okay, uhm that means at least one bet you would keep me on the phone and meeting you up to hang out over coffee. That doesn’t sound like all your friends doubt you.”
He’s quiet taking that truth in, but also the reality check I consider Sunday a hang out and not the coffee date he mustered the courage to ask me out on; because he didn’t just think I was cute, he liked our instant rapport. Now he’s thinking he was right to tell himself not to get too happy.
What he doesn’t get is that we are having the ‘get to know you’ chat of a coffee date now, over the phone with distance and a lack of picture. No, it’s not a date we’re having. He’s opened up to me, I opened up to him. He’s not “Friend Zoned” in a bad way at all.
“I guess.”
“Your morale is low but you aren’t hopeless. I am concerned that this also include that you’re not in danger of harming yourself. If we did cross paths for me to debunk some of your negative thoughts, I hope it was at least the one where you feel unworthy of caring about for more than friendship because you are psyched out as a failure that doesn‘t measure up.”
“You think I’m worth that?”
I didn’t deliberate it like my defensive self would. The self that cringes at anything resembling being ‘in like’ with anyone new after the emotional beatings I’ve taken this latest round of birthday years. I didn’t even think of how to contain that hope so it doesn’t spread because when it spreads, there tends to be unrequited feelings. I’ll get over it but what I did say without deliberation was:
“I don’t know you as a fuck up loser. You had a clean slate when you broke the ice last night, and I agreed to meet you out front to smoke which I imagine you could go for a smoke break right about now.”
“I totally do, thank you.”
“I should actually be apologizing that I suggested you smoke at all, but I was a smoker too and right now, I wouldn’t mind a smoke break myself.”
“Feel like going to the back yard with me to spark up?”
“Sure. You getting another round while you’re at it?”
“Way ahead of you.”
He uncapped a fresh beer and brought with him his Camel Wides. He’s home alone on a Friday night, but not really. It seems Dennis isn’t just going to be $10 richer before it’s spent on more beer; it looks like his friend is going to pass on the recipe technique to make fish & chips.
Michael got to spend the rest of the evening talking with the girl that gave him her real phone number. Yeah he’s still not thrilled I “reduced” our “date” to a “hangout” because he’s been so out of practice talking to a woman “willing” to talk to him.
In his world, having a heart to heart with me he hasn’t seen was a bonding opportunity where we’re showing each other kindness, that a friendship foundation has begun to be established. It turning in to more will get figured out down the road. For now he’s taking it easy because old wounds were reopened, but it wasn’t so bad he couldn’t handle more; he just rather not to. I can’t blame him there.
“Oh wow it’s Saturday Michael. We’ve been talking on the phone for about six hours!”
“We have!?!”
“Yeah, check out the time on your phone. You called me a bit after 6pm and it’s past midnight.”
“Holy shit we’ve been on the phone that long!?!”
“Yeah. How much longer until your friends return?”
“It’s still Friday Night for them, so it may be sunrise when they stagger in back home.”
“Ah. I was going to stay on the line so you could pass the phone to Dennis and I could wish him a goodnight also.”
“You would have done that?”
“Yeah. He was willing to lose ten bucks on you, betting we’d have a long first talk over the phone. I figured he needed confirmation he won and you could go to sleep feeling accomplished because you hushed those that bet against you.”
“Actually I think the stakes will be raised the more we keep talking and hanging out. I already know it’s going to be the topic of conversation over at Pauley’s.”
“Hey I meant to ask you. Why is the tavern called Pauley’s when the sign out front said it’s name is ‘The Iron Horseshoe Tavern Est. 1974?’”
“I can’t tell you until you’ve returned trice.”
“There’s that ‘trice’ again! Is it part of some club house jargon?”
“No comment.”
“You’re really not going to tell me until I return there three more times?”
“Rules of The School House. I can’t repeat a thing until you grace that fine establishment again for three more times.”
“I guess I’ll be left hanging until then.”
“So we still on for Sunday at noon?”
“Yes! I’m sorry I can’t stay on the phone longer to settle their bet.”
“Oh no need to apologize, but thank you for being open to listen. I do feel better. I got a whole new set of questions now, but I don’t feel as down anymore.”
“You think you can keep that in a holding pattern until you’re ready to land?”
“What happens when I land?”
“I can’t tell you until you’ve done it trice more times.”
“But I would know after the first time.”
“True, but the second time you know what to expect and may not want to land again.”
“Is landing that bad?”
“Well when there is no crash and burn, it’s not so bad.”
“Why would there be crashing and burning?”
“I’m just fucking with you. You can land on your feet like that big cat you like.”
“Big cat I like?”
“Forget about it. So no worrying! There won’t be any crashing and burning related to you figuring out what you’re holding on to, is just a tinsy bit above the ground. So you hold on as long as you have to, and when you are ready to let go of what you are hanging on to, you’ll know you when you find yourself still standing, not hung up anymore. Buenas Noches Michael.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Sweet dreams Bullets, I’ll catch you on the flip tomorrow.”
“Is Bullets my new Code Name because you adopted me?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the secret question only you and I would know the answer to?”
“Good question. I got nuttin’.”
“Think. Think. Think…. Got it!
Anytime we need to confirm it’s really us in case we lose touch without meaning to, or our numbers change and we text from the new one; we’ll ask ‘Who said they’re great?’ and the answer is Tony the Tiger.”
“I get it now. Alright, Tony the Tiger is the password; but I would just call you from my new number rather than text.”
“I’d do the same, but just in case remember you like orange and the big cat is too. Not too many iconic big orange cats out there.”
“There’s Tigger.”
“That’s true, but just in case you ever get a paranoid girlfriend that hacked your phone or online profile and decides to message me or text, if I don’t get the right answer, I’m not going to trust the text is from you or the one in the inbox.”
“How would you be able to tell my online profile got hacked?”
“Actually the typical thing to do is to steal a picture and create a bogus profile, telling a story about getting locked out of your email account you registered with, so password recovery was not an option for your online profile.
That’s what my friend’s stalker did when she tried to pose herself as his wife on Carabook. What’s creepy, she eventually started posting sexual tension types of updates with his name, and she cut and dyed her hair to resemble his wife’s hairstyle. The Katty Perry stalker video on her profile added to the creepy of ‘Single White Female.’ It you recall the movie.”
“Yikes! But what makes you think I would have a paranoid girlfriend keeping tabs on me?” {You’re not interested at all anymore?}
“You said it right there, ‘keeping tabs’. If she’s insecure and doesn’t believe your word even after you thought you proved you showed her it’s genuine, chicks like guys are capable of doing some fucked up things like giving shit because someone was kind to you, but was easy on the eyes, so they were seen as a potential threat towards getting dumped.
I know I had chicks wanting to start shit with me because their mates they refer to each as their man, that says a lot about how their loves were seen as; shown me kindness they didn’t hide and that made them flip because they couldn’t control who they are and are not kind to. It’s sad it ever gets that bad and I’m getting put down with insults, and harassed until they feel I was fend off. But the last time I thought was funny interesting.”
“What happened?”
“Long story short, the night shift clerk at Save-on, I forget, but I was traveling with two Marine friends that were my Rosecrans and Guildenstern, and one of their southern rack mates that drove to East LA from Camp Pendleton to visit and get away from the base.
The guys were in LA, they wanted to go out, see and be seen. I ask this guy if by any chance he knew of any cool clubs or bars to go on a mission to find, being I had Marines I was babysitter to. Well turns out he was a Devil also and you know how that goes, get a cluster together, they start to bleed green and it’s grunt calls, etc.
Well this Marine admired my wedding band since I remained in LA, while my ex Doc was covering up what happened over at Whisper Alley, over on The Rock that was an unaccompanied tour. I wasn’t going to spend my first deployment stranded in Hell Stumps where I knew no one while his unit was gone; and I would be cut off from civilization. That happened instead with the following two deployments to Iraq and I do still get my own flashbacks that are disturbing.
So this Marine tells me he’s been looking at wedding bands since he wanted to propose to his girlfriend. Anyhoo I was the only one with a cell phone that wasn’t roaming, I write down my number and give it to the guy since he wanted to tag along and hang out with his ‘brothers‘ be a bunch of Yut‘s. This is so not a long story short. But he was supposed to call after his shift ended so we can all meet up.”
“Did he call?”
“No and I had forgotten about it up until about a week to two weeks later, I kept getting a call from a restricted number one evening. I wasn’t going to answer a restricted number because I didn’t know anyone with a restricted number, so I thought something was up, especially calling again and still not leaving a voicemail. It was too late for it to have been a business related call.
So to end the calls, I answer sounding like I got a cold because I had a feeling it was a chick. I wasn’t tramping it, I was social yes, but it was kept cool. Turns out my feeling was right and this chick that sounded like she’s never hit someone up before, starts to explain she found my number in her boyfriend’s wallet which made me feel bad for the guy his chick went through his wallet and they aren‘t even engaged yet.
Yeah she found my number, but it wasn’t given for a hook up, but that’s what she was trying to find out if she was getting played or not. I thought fast to get her off both our cases by sounding like I thought about it and it came back to me.”
“What you tell her?”
“I asked if he worked at Save-on or whatever, which she answered yes. I clear it up by telling her that her boyfriend liked my wedding band and was thinking of getting something unique for the ring set he wants to buy.
I could hear her sigh of relief and also smile because she found out she was gonna get proposed to. Whatever happened beyond that, fucked if I know. But with me, my ex opened a MySpace profile back when it was still cool, to contact a male friend that wasn’t going to hide we’re cool with each other. My profile wasn’t set to private because I had nothing to hide, because I didn’t want to live afraid. Risky choice obviously.
My friend said this message from an unmarked profile warned him about me, but after it showed it was read, the MySpace profile was deleted, taking with it the message sent talking smack. I knew it was him from how dramatic the wording was. ‘I feel I must warn you she is a liar and a cheat and will replace you too.’
I was already back in East LA and the divorce petition on file so what the fuck ever! He was posting couple pictures on Carabook with this little skeeze that ate my food, in my own home and gave me hugs.
He didn’t ever post pictures of us together like the one he posted with her so quickly after I moved out. It got to me that my ex put me through so much in front me and his family and friends back home while we were married and I was pregnant which he… ugh!
Anyway I busted him shopping around on me one time with his psycho ex-girlfriend he had a very toxic relationship with and he had the nerve to suggest she be our wedding planner; as if I didn’t know what cover that was for. And also with the other Sailors that were female over at Robert E. Bush on base.
I know the nickname put down for those chicks too and how to too many, the name fit perfectly and wedding bands didn’t mean anything to them either. It took other Sailors with a sense of honor to make up for the bullshit of those squids out of water that burned me back in 29; so I’m not bitter against the US Navy thanks to the cool ones that also out ranked him.
They also all laughed their asses off when they seen the picture of him in his Cracker Jacks wearing a stupid stick and only being an E-4 after like 6 ½ years in, including the extra year for Corps School training Docs go through for their first tour.
“Are you serious!?! He couldn’t pick up E-5 for that long?”
“He was almost processed out because of that exactly. I also had to push him to get his FMF pin finally, since he was not the motivating vision of the senior line Corpsman he thought made him hot shit. And to top it off, he stacked his fucking ribbons wearing Devil Doc Charlie’s at our elopement. There was so much I should have known before even talking to the guy.
“Stacked his ribbons? Wow."
He proved he was cyber stalking when I set a trap for him and he couldn’t bullshit he wasn’t still trying to be controlling and oppressive with my happiness.”
“What you do?”
“I’ll tell you Sunday but remember Tony the Tiger is the answer in case either one of us gets a text from a different number or an inbox message where one of us is put down with out of the blue cruelty.
I seen it happen with my own very eyes when I was an admin for a specialty social network when a young wife and new mother of an infant busted baby daddy. She hacked his password and told off all the eye candy he was “just chatting“ with on a profile account synchronicity lead her to find out about, much like it lead me to find out the characters of who I dealt with, time after time.
I had to disable his account so his old lady couldn't harass the female members he lied to about being single with no children, any more. I read the responses from the chicks his wife went livid on. It wasn‘t the first time a guy faced losing their child to a bitter divorce/custody case, at that place, over flirting while married and it became scandal fodder that got stupid pretty fast.
And I had to deal with it on my first day flying solo officially, along with dealing with a minor crying wolf that if I didn’t look at both sides and then add what I do know, a different admin would have crucified a dumbass Soldier that wore his best dress showing his unit information. If I wanted to pull strings to hunt him down, I could have and reported him to his command if not the MP’s for contacting a minor with a poem that was rated G.”
“Holy fuck!”
“Duuuude I got stories for days! I knew the guy was really only guilty of having no game with the ladies by sending bad, unsolicited poetry and fucked up contacting that minor that was presenting herself in a very promiscuous way, bringing attention to her body in suggestive poses; but claimed she had a boyfriend.
Where boyfriend’s picture was in her gallery showing she’s in a relationship with him as the adoring, content girlfriend, fucked if I know either. But I seen how tasteless comments pointing out she has a nice ass and rack, she didn’t delete or complained about before.
She also had a questionable unbalanced ratio of male friends to female friends that were hardly any, for being a devoted good girl girlfriend. And some of these guys weren’t minors like her that was jail bait. Those guys were sick boys and that’s what got her off, being she was such a little girl at 16!
She only had a boyfriend when it was convenient and rejected that Soldier’s attention because he wasn’t cute and full of swagger in his picture like the peacocks; looking tough and shit.”
“So you didn’t take her side automatically?”
“That’s what was expected because I am a maternal female, but that Soldier’s career wasn’t worth destroying over a little girl that all of a sudden got picky with who can give her a compliment.
Sadly the poetry he sent to her was the only respectable complement any guy on that site had given her since I had to investigate by basically lurking to set a profile on her as well. I addressed the issue by first going ‘Mija/Sweetie’ on her in a maternal tone when I really wanted to be straight up with no sugar coating and scold her for not showing she’s a young lady to respect, by how much of a hoe bag her words and gallery gave that impression she had no sense of self-respect or an inkling of maturity.
Honestly she acted a bit like she was hyper sexual from probably getting sexualized when she was younger. It wouldn’t have shocked me if she had a sob story of molestation or date rape. The tip offs were all over her.
I suggested she tone down her default pic and post a picture of her with her boyfriend so the other male members can see she is to be treated as spoken for and off flirting limits. Also suggested for her future safety to edit out of her blurbs the part where she talks about her ass needing a bra from how plump it was and her default selfie substantiated that claim.
I so held back from treating her like the adult she thought she was by playing the part well of a cock tease that is going to get herself in trouble one day, if she didn‘t change. She complied. The Soldier I was straight up with, however.”
“What you tell him?”
“Basically, ‘Hey dude, I got a complaint about you sending a poem to a minor I read. I know you didn’t mean to disrespect, but keep it 18 and over to stay out of the brig. Also take down your uniform picture, it has your unit information on it along with your last name. I’m married to a Doc, don't let there be a next time.’ And he thanked me profusely because he did see after his uniform meant to make him look sharp, was a liability.
Oh how I had to remind others about OPSEC on that website, because I had one little twerp boot, I don’t remember if he was Army or Corps, but he posted movement dates before it was cleared for public release. I thought the girlfriends and new brides would have given me that headache, but nope.
I know it gets lonely being in and talking to eye candy makes up for the shittiness, and the Soldier was in to rockabilly also. He was at that site to make friends but his lack of better judgment could have turned out differently and fucking however many articles could have been cited from the UCMJ to paint him as a sexual predator."
“You don’t think he was?”
“His poetry was that of someone lonely, not horny for little teenie boppers. She didn‘t look her age and another female that wasn‘t a minor, said he sent her a poem too I made comparisons to, but just blew him off as a dork.”
“So you covered his ass to help him avoid the brig with statutory rape charges. Wow.”
“Yeah. At that point my gut told me he didn’t want jail bait, just friends to chat with, maybe pen pal while he was deployed in country as infantry. I understood the complexity of the situation and my verdict was to defuse rather than lynch the dude without actually investigating what was up. I’ve had to help sort out other pickles since with service members. I’ll tell you another time I’m feeling nostalgic to scuttlebutt about what didn’t happen.”
“Too bad your Doc fucked you over, you come off as a hard charger that took care of confusion and despair.”
“Not with everyone.”
“Yeah, I know there’s a lot of P.O.S.’s in.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“A Service Member that was in between rough deployments to Stan; back when Iraq was getting all the attention and not how hot it was with the other ‘Freedom’ operation, that got also called ‘The Forgotten War‘ like Korea that didn‘t have an official end either; I wasn’t able to help when they were on the edge, feeling very overwhelmed.”
“Did he…?”
“No, but a different Doc I met did kill himself. I don’t know if he’s thriving, we don’t talk anymore; but as far as I know he’s still breathing. That’s what matters, but it’s hard to forget when it comes to outcries for help.
His suicide would have stayed with me probably forever because I thought he was a worthwhile human being and we related on so much. It would have felt like one of my own died. I know when I thought he was KIA I…”
(Loud pounding on Michael’s door.)
“Hold on.”
“Okies.”
Michael goes to his door but not after seeing how much more we’ve been on the phone. He unlocks his door and opens it. Standing before him the trio went down to a duet of Alex and Dennis smiling shit eating grins that are toasted to say the least.
“So?” They both ask.
“We’re still on the phone.”
“BULLSHIT!!!” Alex screams and Dennis is “I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU!!! PAY UP MOTHERFUCKER!!!”
“Not without proving it! I want to talk to her!”
“Alex you’re drunk and we’re both tired.”
“Like I care! I want to hear for myself that I just lost $40 betting you wouldn‘t be on the phone still talking when we got back!”
“FOURTY DOLLARS!?!"
Michael is in shock. He’s wondering who else raised their bet to bring it up that high. Alex pushes his bro out of the way and Michael tries to beat him to his phone, but Alex gets to it anyway.
“Hey! Who’s this?”
He had to have that tone of hitting me up. Okies fine, hit me up cabron and we’ll find out how quickly you’ll turn mamon; guey.
“Gina from East LA. Who’s you?”
He hands the phone back to Michael and walks away muttering. Fucker hits me up and can’t even say who he is so I would know exactly who copped attitude. Dennis snuck around Michael and Alex and grabs his phone out of his hand to ask me:
“So can Mikey get that recipe for fish and chips from you?”
“Goodnight Dennis, wish Mikey and Alex the same for me.”
“No problem doll! Hey Mikey she said (click).
I guess I didn’t quit smoking after all. 7Eleven Pall Mall Reds 100’s, a chili cheese dog and a 1ltr of Brisk Iced Tea/Lemonade Fusion mission run at 01:01.… . ? Don’t forget to season with Zyprexa for that added kick of knock me out already!?! I don’t want to think or feel anymore for tonight but too late.
{It wasn’t being a hard charger to care. It was taking on what others turned to me with because I was older and more spiritual, besides was available to listen. Any decent human being would have done the same if they could help save a war veteran’s life.
Trick is to be able to turn caring off so I can maybe get more continuous sleep and not obsess they weren’t okay and… I don’t want a cigarette that bad. It’s not like I went to his funeral and paid my respects to a headstone, along with the countless rows of others.
It’s late. Focus on sleep and appease with:
‘Mr. Sandman, please bring me a dream….
where I don’t picture him burning alive while screaming?
Where no bird got shot down with him scattered in pieces on the ground….
Even from getting drunk, at home hating life wishing for reasons to keep holding on?
Mr. Sandman, please release me?
I still can’t forget him and all to me that he still means.
Please Mr. Sandman, distract me with a siren’s song….
And help me find closure so his chapter can be done?
So perhaps his memory can finally be gone .}
*breathe*
“He wasn’t KIA. Take comfort in that at least and pretend you didn’t remember a single thing tonight. He never existed. He wasn’t a real person. You never gave an inconvenient fuck about his well being at all. He is NO ONE! Just like you. That’s all the appeasing you’re gonna get girl, so lights out and Goodnight Chesty, wherever you are. Amen.”
Chapter 7