JUST LIKE DAYDREAMING9...
Wednesday night, made the hellish drive crosstown to Carmichael. The enjoyment of visiting my grandmother is diluted by the five o clock traffic butshes 82, you know. Sooner than I care to think, I will be getting *the phone call* from my mother or my aunt. I remind myself of this and the traffic doesnt seem too bad.
My aunt Jill and my mother drove to Carmichael a few days ago to visit Mum. They helped her with her living will and brought her some food. Welcoming me in, Mum told me about the visit, let me know what songs she wants played at her memorial. I already wrote about this, didnt I? I guess its still forefront in my mind though I dont want it to be. Ill have to face *the phone call* one of these days and I know itll lay me out. I wont have anymore grandparents. This is the way it works. You lose your grandparents one by one, then your parents, then a few friends, then its your turn. Keep this in mind next time youre stuck in traffic on the way to a loved ones house and feel yourself getting frustrated with the traffic.
Thursday morning. Someone has pulled the string in Thelmas back and she is recounting her latest court battle with her ex-husband. You know, I genuinely like her, but she tends to go on and on. Yes, your ex is an asshole, he deserves whatever shovel karma decides to hit him over the head with, but everyone has problems. Leigh has back problems. My love life is a joke. Mr. Ives has the burden of knowing everything.
Its hot in here, Thelma makes a face. Did I tell you about the message Jerry left for me? Last night
Insert five minute recount of phone message tied in with previous questionable things done by ex.
They need to turn the air conditioning on or something, she makes another face. Damn, Im hungry, Im always hungry. I wonder if I have any Lean Cuisine left? I think I left a Salisbury steak dinner in the freezer, or maybe it was the chicken parmesan. Hey, Dave--why dont you bring us food anymore? Youve left us hanging
Need a temp that will not stop talking? A temp that will chat about cobwebs, languish about lint, prattle about paperclips, and be garrulous about goulash? Indenture Temps can help, we want to be your temporary staffing solution.
Desperate for an escape, I slip behind the painting of Aaron Burr and down the hallway. I go past the Battle of Gettysburg, past the room with the girls working at the loom, make my way further down the hall than I have ever gone before. The air gets clammier, theres a strong musty smell, the sound of water dripping somewhere up ahead. I pass the shooting of Crispis Attacus that started the Revolutionary War in 1770, pass one of Benjamin Franklin at a desk writing something, keep going even past Leonardo Di Vinchi working on his famous ceiling. Shortly past that, the hallway opens into a chamber maybe twenty metres square with a ceiling of equal height. On the other side of the room is a stairway curving down. I have no idea where the stairs lead, but something is urging me to turn around, that I am not ready for whatever is down there.
The following is excerpted from Bierce, copyright Knopf 2058: Yes, I chose to write this bio in the style of the person I am writing about. I think Jody Bierce would appreciate that, he certainly had an appreciation of the perverse. I am writing this on the 52nd anniversary of his death. Knowing what I know about the lackadaisical publishing world, you will read this around the 53rd anniversary of his death. He was 37 when he died. I am 37 as I write this. Kind of perverse, isnt it? I think Bierce would appreciate it.
It is a common story, a clich really. Some talented unknown, works away to make a living at art but has no luck until he or she dies way before their time. Automatically, there is an interest, and they become many times more gifted than they actually were. Kurt Cobain. James Dean. Lord Byron. The list is very long and Jody Bierce is on it. It gets even better. Here he was, this lonely guy who was focused on finding someone to share his life with. He finds such a person, they seem meant for each other in fact, but something awful happens and he loses her, never recovering from her death and dying himself a few months later. His friends and family manage to get him published and this cult forms. Its a small group but their regard for him is intense buthes dead. He never lives to see it. Maybe he understood he was more valuable dead than alive. (end excerpt)
Trish is walking across the office. I overhear her talking to Leigh about how shes enduring the single life. She trying to make a joke of it, but clearly is wishing she had a boyfriendand I am not that person. I mean, each time Ive asked her out shes had a reason to decline. I cant just keeping asking her, thatd be creepy. I have to back off and hope theres some night a bunch of us go out to a bar or something and then I can talk to her. This is one way I have changed. I am not the wallflower you may assume I am. I will walk up to the most beautiful woman in the room and talk to her. I am quite fearless in that regard, maybe a bit too much so.
The following is excerpted from Bierce, copyright Knopf 2058: Jody is living proof guilt can kill you, his half brother Stone told me in an interview. Stone Bierce operates what could be called Bierce, Inc., overseeing publication of various manuscripts, that the website is current, making sure the money is divided among those who get a share. As youve probably figured out, my brother could be an asshole. It wasnt often, but when it happened it was pretty severe. He was in one of his moods, and his girlfriend had been getting more and more messy around their apartment. She had been feeling sick, but had been keeping it to herself. So, she gets home and hes all bitchy so they have a fight and she storms out, probably planning to drive to a friends house. A drunk runs a light and broadsides her, killing her instantly. Jody is the one who had to go down and identify the body, Stones voice becomes much softer, nearly breaking apart. The coroner said, in a very offhand manner, She was pregnant, you know. Jody never told us that, in fact, I dont think he spoke again, but he wrote about it, wrote about it a few times. (end excerpt).
Friday morning. The landlord sends round a young woman with a basket full of cookies. Each of us is given a packet with two cookies inside. The outside of the bag says Otis Spunkmeyer. Whos brilliant idea was that? I dont know about you, but Id dont want anyone named spunk anywhere near my baked goods. They are good cookies, though. I get a peanut butter one and a chocolate one with chocolate chips. A couple of hours later, my bosss boss brings in a cardboard box with homemade tamales in it. Mr. Ives turns to me with an evil smile, nodding in my direction as he speaks down his walkie talkie in Hebrew. Were all getting fatter and fatter and there are more and more boxes in the hallway, making escape very difficult. Soon we will be lead down the hall and onto the killing floor. If I close my eyes, I can nearly hear the bolt gun.
The following was submitted to the Sacramento Bee by Bonnie Brown is 2058 Sacramento Bee: This submission is for your remarkable teachers contest. Most of my favorite teachers were at Stanford, but the one that stands out is from when I was in 11th grade. I am a proud graduate of Sacramento High, class of 12. The year before I got my cap and gown and was allowed to move out to the real world, I was taught history by Jody Bierce. I had heard about him as he stood out among the teachers; he was either seen as really weird, a totally hard teacher or amazing, the most fun teacher, no one seemed to take the middle ground. He encouraged us to think for ourselves and would not accept papers or essay questions where we seemed to be on auto pilot. As my aunt was the vice-principal, I actually got to meet Jody--(he never used his last name and never explained why he didnt use it)--and was part of a dinner party he was at where he explained to us how he proposed to his wife. It seems she was having morning sickness and couldnt manage to clean house. Jody got angry at her and they had a fight. She went out to her car and, after a moment, he ran after her. She just blurted out that she was pregnant and aside from being sick, she was confused about how to tell him if even she should tell him and he proposed to her right there, right on the street next to her car. I never told any of my fellow students this story, I felt privileged to know something about Jody they didnt, made me feel a bit closer to him. I saw him working in his garden a few times, considered going up to him, seeing if hed like to go out for coffee or something, but never got up my nerve. His wife was always around anyway. She never seemed good enough for him. The few times we spoke, I felt the two of us had more in common. He mentioned one time he liked short girls with dark hair, just as I like guys with beautiful brown eyesI got to see them when he told that story about his wife. He had his glasses off and when he turned to me and smiled, his eyes caught the light like precious stones. I gave him a hug goodbye that night and he hugged me back, I could smell his cologne. His wife gave me a lookno, I dont think she was good enough for him. But I went off to Stanford, didnt I? Met the man I would marry. One night I called out Jodys name when we were making love. Mistakes happen. Sometimes I try to engage my husband in conversation, just like Jody used to do with us in class, looking over at me and smiling, but its not the same. We never had children, its probably for the best. My niece went to Sacramento High and had Jody as a teacher. I tried to ask about my favorite teacher, but she grew less and less receptive to my inquiries. Teenagers. I was still able to follow Jodys life. He still lived in the same housewith his wife. They seemed happy together, certainly spent a great dealing of time laughing together in their living room. Isnt love grand? He retired in 35 and died of a heart attack last year. I checked into the County Records and the coroner had attributed the coronary to using Viagra. Isnt love grand? He was just trying to keep his wife happy and it killed him. I always knew she wasnt good enough for him. Mistakes happen. (end excerpt).
Friday afternoon. Leigh, Trish, and Beth go to Trishs apartment to watch Dr. Phil who I am convinced has a lover named Pepe. Its the mustache. With few exceptions, if you have a mustache these days youre either a cop, have a male lover, or are from another country.
James car is in the shop getting the brakes fixed so I leant him my Corolla. After work, he was sitting in the passengers seat reading my bio on the Clash.
Joe Strummer was kind of a dick, dont you think?
I didnt know him. The book makes him out that way, makes Mick Jones out to be a dick as well, but I choose not to judge people unless I actually know them.
Fair enough, James laughs. So, whats turned you into a fair minded person?
Its Friday, younger brother. It is Friday. I can sleep in two mornings in a row.
As he cannot relate, James just nods.
Ive been thinking about the aliens again, older brother, he rolls down the window and lights a cigaret.
Ah, the aliens
My brother tends to go on and on about he feels some people on this planet were deposited here by aliens, our family among them. Hes been talking about this since we were kids so I know he is deadly serious. I dont think James is crazy, I just think hes always had the luxury of being detached from the so-called real world; hes never had a real job, never went to college.
Dont act so aloof, older brother. I know you feel the same, feel deeply different from most the people around you, feel a deep, inexplicable loneliness
Yeah, but that doesnt make us aliens, younger brother.
He sits forward to gaze up at the sky through the windshield.
God, the sky is beautiful tonight, he says softly. I wish theyd comeI wish theyd come, younger brother. Carry us off through that lovely, purple sky, take us home.
He sits back in his seat and looks sad.
I would like to go home, Im just not exactly sure where that is
Wednesday night, made the hellish drive crosstown to Carmichael. The enjoyment of visiting my grandmother is diluted by the five o clock traffic butshes 82, you know. Sooner than I care to think, I will be getting *the phone call* from my mother or my aunt. I remind myself of this and the traffic doesnt seem too bad.
My aunt Jill and my mother drove to Carmichael a few days ago to visit Mum. They helped her with her living will and brought her some food. Welcoming me in, Mum told me about the visit, let me know what songs she wants played at her memorial. I already wrote about this, didnt I? I guess its still forefront in my mind though I dont want it to be. Ill have to face *the phone call* one of these days and I know itll lay me out. I wont have anymore grandparents. This is the way it works. You lose your grandparents one by one, then your parents, then a few friends, then its your turn. Keep this in mind next time youre stuck in traffic on the way to a loved ones house and feel yourself getting frustrated with the traffic.
Thursday morning. Someone has pulled the string in Thelmas back and she is recounting her latest court battle with her ex-husband. You know, I genuinely like her, but she tends to go on and on. Yes, your ex is an asshole, he deserves whatever shovel karma decides to hit him over the head with, but everyone has problems. Leigh has back problems. My love life is a joke. Mr. Ives has the burden of knowing everything.
Its hot in here, Thelma makes a face. Did I tell you about the message Jerry left for me? Last night
Insert five minute recount of phone message tied in with previous questionable things done by ex.
They need to turn the air conditioning on or something, she makes another face. Damn, Im hungry, Im always hungry. I wonder if I have any Lean Cuisine left? I think I left a Salisbury steak dinner in the freezer, or maybe it was the chicken parmesan. Hey, Dave--why dont you bring us food anymore? Youve left us hanging
Need a temp that will not stop talking? A temp that will chat about cobwebs, languish about lint, prattle about paperclips, and be garrulous about goulash? Indenture Temps can help, we want to be your temporary staffing solution.
Desperate for an escape, I slip behind the painting of Aaron Burr and down the hallway. I go past the Battle of Gettysburg, past the room with the girls working at the loom, make my way further down the hall than I have ever gone before. The air gets clammier, theres a strong musty smell, the sound of water dripping somewhere up ahead. I pass the shooting of Crispis Attacus that started the Revolutionary War in 1770, pass one of Benjamin Franklin at a desk writing something, keep going even past Leonardo Di Vinchi working on his famous ceiling. Shortly past that, the hallway opens into a chamber maybe twenty metres square with a ceiling of equal height. On the other side of the room is a stairway curving down. I have no idea where the stairs lead, but something is urging me to turn around, that I am not ready for whatever is down there.
The following is excerpted from Bierce, copyright Knopf 2058: Yes, I chose to write this bio in the style of the person I am writing about. I think Jody Bierce would appreciate that, he certainly had an appreciation of the perverse. I am writing this on the 52nd anniversary of his death. Knowing what I know about the lackadaisical publishing world, you will read this around the 53rd anniversary of his death. He was 37 when he died. I am 37 as I write this. Kind of perverse, isnt it? I think Bierce would appreciate it.
It is a common story, a clich really. Some talented unknown, works away to make a living at art but has no luck until he or she dies way before their time. Automatically, there is an interest, and they become many times more gifted than they actually were. Kurt Cobain. James Dean. Lord Byron. The list is very long and Jody Bierce is on it. It gets even better. Here he was, this lonely guy who was focused on finding someone to share his life with. He finds such a person, they seem meant for each other in fact, but something awful happens and he loses her, never recovering from her death and dying himself a few months later. His friends and family manage to get him published and this cult forms. Its a small group but their regard for him is intense buthes dead. He never lives to see it. Maybe he understood he was more valuable dead than alive. (end excerpt)
Trish is walking across the office. I overhear her talking to Leigh about how shes enduring the single life. She trying to make a joke of it, but clearly is wishing she had a boyfriendand I am not that person. I mean, each time Ive asked her out shes had a reason to decline. I cant just keeping asking her, thatd be creepy. I have to back off and hope theres some night a bunch of us go out to a bar or something and then I can talk to her. This is one way I have changed. I am not the wallflower you may assume I am. I will walk up to the most beautiful woman in the room and talk to her. I am quite fearless in that regard, maybe a bit too much so.
The following is excerpted from Bierce, copyright Knopf 2058: Jody is living proof guilt can kill you, his half brother Stone told me in an interview. Stone Bierce operates what could be called Bierce, Inc., overseeing publication of various manuscripts, that the website is current, making sure the money is divided among those who get a share. As youve probably figured out, my brother could be an asshole. It wasnt often, but when it happened it was pretty severe. He was in one of his moods, and his girlfriend had been getting more and more messy around their apartment. She had been feeling sick, but had been keeping it to herself. So, she gets home and hes all bitchy so they have a fight and she storms out, probably planning to drive to a friends house. A drunk runs a light and broadsides her, killing her instantly. Jody is the one who had to go down and identify the body, Stones voice becomes much softer, nearly breaking apart. The coroner said, in a very offhand manner, She was pregnant, you know. Jody never told us that, in fact, I dont think he spoke again, but he wrote about it, wrote about it a few times. (end excerpt).
Friday morning. The landlord sends round a young woman with a basket full of cookies. Each of us is given a packet with two cookies inside. The outside of the bag says Otis Spunkmeyer. Whos brilliant idea was that? I dont know about you, but Id dont want anyone named spunk anywhere near my baked goods. They are good cookies, though. I get a peanut butter one and a chocolate one with chocolate chips. A couple of hours later, my bosss boss brings in a cardboard box with homemade tamales in it. Mr. Ives turns to me with an evil smile, nodding in my direction as he speaks down his walkie talkie in Hebrew. Were all getting fatter and fatter and there are more and more boxes in the hallway, making escape very difficult. Soon we will be lead down the hall and onto the killing floor. If I close my eyes, I can nearly hear the bolt gun.
The following was submitted to the Sacramento Bee by Bonnie Brown is 2058 Sacramento Bee: This submission is for your remarkable teachers contest. Most of my favorite teachers were at Stanford, but the one that stands out is from when I was in 11th grade. I am a proud graduate of Sacramento High, class of 12. The year before I got my cap and gown and was allowed to move out to the real world, I was taught history by Jody Bierce. I had heard about him as he stood out among the teachers; he was either seen as really weird, a totally hard teacher or amazing, the most fun teacher, no one seemed to take the middle ground. He encouraged us to think for ourselves and would not accept papers or essay questions where we seemed to be on auto pilot. As my aunt was the vice-principal, I actually got to meet Jody--(he never used his last name and never explained why he didnt use it)--and was part of a dinner party he was at where he explained to us how he proposed to his wife. It seems she was having morning sickness and couldnt manage to clean house. Jody got angry at her and they had a fight. She went out to her car and, after a moment, he ran after her. She just blurted out that she was pregnant and aside from being sick, she was confused about how to tell him if even she should tell him and he proposed to her right there, right on the street next to her car. I never told any of my fellow students this story, I felt privileged to know something about Jody they didnt, made me feel a bit closer to him. I saw him working in his garden a few times, considered going up to him, seeing if hed like to go out for coffee or something, but never got up my nerve. His wife was always around anyway. She never seemed good enough for him. The few times we spoke, I felt the two of us had more in common. He mentioned one time he liked short girls with dark hair, just as I like guys with beautiful brown eyesI got to see them when he told that story about his wife. He had his glasses off and when he turned to me and smiled, his eyes caught the light like precious stones. I gave him a hug goodbye that night and he hugged me back, I could smell his cologne. His wife gave me a lookno, I dont think she was good enough for him. But I went off to Stanford, didnt I? Met the man I would marry. One night I called out Jodys name when we were making love. Mistakes happen. Sometimes I try to engage my husband in conversation, just like Jody used to do with us in class, looking over at me and smiling, but its not the same. We never had children, its probably for the best. My niece went to Sacramento High and had Jody as a teacher. I tried to ask about my favorite teacher, but she grew less and less receptive to my inquiries. Teenagers. I was still able to follow Jodys life. He still lived in the same housewith his wife. They seemed happy together, certainly spent a great dealing of time laughing together in their living room. Isnt love grand? He retired in 35 and died of a heart attack last year. I checked into the County Records and the coroner had attributed the coronary to using Viagra. Isnt love grand? He was just trying to keep his wife happy and it killed him. I always knew she wasnt good enough for him. Mistakes happen. (end excerpt).
Friday afternoon. Leigh, Trish, and Beth go to Trishs apartment to watch Dr. Phil who I am convinced has a lover named Pepe. Its the mustache. With few exceptions, if you have a mustache these days youre either a cop, have a male lover, or are from another country.
James car is in the shop getting the brakes fixed so I leant him my Corolla. After work, he was sitting in the passengers seat reading my bio on the Clash.
Joe Strummer was kind of a dick, dont you think?
I didnt know him. The book makes him out that way, makes Mick Jones out to be a dick as well, but I choose not to judge people unless I actually know them.
Fair enough, James laughs. So, whats turned you into a fair minded person?
Its Friday, younger brother. It is Friday. I can sleep in two mornings in a row.
As he cannot relate, James just nods.
Ive been thinking about the aliens again, older brother, he rolls down the window and lights a cigaret.
Ah, the aliens
My brother tends to go on and on about he feels some people on this planet were deposited here by aliens, our family among them. Hes been talking about this since we were kids so I know he is deadly serious. I dont think James is crazy, I just think hes always had the luxury of being detached from the so-called real world; hes never had a real job, never went to college.
Dont act so aloof, older brother. I know you feel the same, feel deeply different from most the people around you, feel a deep, inexplicable loneliness
Yeah, but that doesnt make us aliens, younger brother.
He sits forward to gaze up at the sky through the windshield.
God, the sky is beautiful tonight, he says softly. I wish theyd comeI wish theyd come, younger brother. Carry us off through that lovely, purple sky, take us home.
He sits back in his seat and looks sad.
I would like to go home, Im just not exactly sure where that is