JUST LIKE DAYDREAMNG7
Its 8:15 and the Bird Lady is wearing a sofa cover. Its a medium blue color and vaguely floral. Im slumped at the folding table in the grips of my usual brand of existential angst. Unable to deal with all the people, all the phones, all the files, I wander down the hall. Making sure no one is looking, I slip behind the imposing oil of Aaron Burr.
For no reason, I remove my shoes and set them aside. The chill of the bricks beneath my feet feels good, feels real in a way I cant explain. I walk for a couple of minutes, past Madam Curies lab, past that damn battle at Gettysburg until I get to another window I havent really looked through before. A dim room that looks like the inside of a warehouse. There a bunch of girls in there, anywhere between 11 and 16, and theyre working at these huge looms. The girls look dead, very gray, devoid of expression, and it just reaches something inside me and wont let go: Theyre too fucking young to look that washed up, too young to look that old.
I always see these here windows as if theyre like dreams, a soft, Southern voice behind me. Everyone inside each one of these windows is really you, I figure. Thats just my guess.
Cigaret smoke. I turn and see a thin man in a Western suit.
I feel compelled to call you Mr. Williams but youre younger than me--
Yep. And Ill always be. Hank is fine by me, Jody.
He comes and stands beside me, taking a long drag off his cigaret as he watches the girls.
Younger than us but older than well ever be, he says softly before turning to me. You look about as blue as Ive ever seen, kid.
I dont know if Im blue, I just feel kind of lost right now. Whenever I meet someone worthwhile, it falls to shit. Most times, it feels good, like we could be cool, you know, then she just vanishes. It makes me scared, scared to ever open up to anyone, to believe this will ever change, and it hurts.
Youre too damn sensitive, Jody. I say that as a fella who can be kind of sensitive himself--
Yeah, but youre amazing; youre the Buddy Holley or Robert Johnson of Country music.
Shit, he chuckles. We aint talkin bout that, son. Were talking about whats goin on with you. You shouldnt be so damn hard on yourself, I mean, you aint perfect, but you have a lot to offer.
Thats part of the reason this bewilders the shit out of me. I mean, I have my flaws, I have a number of them, but I always have a job, I try to be thoughtful, I can be interesting to be with, but I am alone. I havent had a girlfriend for a year and a half. Its not like Im just out to fuck someone a couple of times and not call them againbut maybe thats the problem, maybe I should pretend Im just out to get laid.
Aw, you could, but women see things so much clearer than us. Theyd see that wasnt the way you are.
I know, Im just at a loss. I just wish I had someone to sleep with--not necessarily in a sexual sensegetting laid is all well and good, but I really miss just being close to someone, I pause, am I saying too much?
Shit, I know what you mean, Jody. Its a fine thing just to hold someone, to not feel so alone, to have someone kind of break through what you put up to keep everyone else out.
Exactly. I never have anyone, so I have to just deal with everything on my own. The ironic thing is, when you are denied the means to be vulnerable, it makes you more vulnerable. On the surface you may seem all standoffish and abrasive, but inside youre just all mushy and scared. Its fucked up. I never meant to be this bitter and angry, but its just years and years of my having to be alone.
Itll change. Youre a good guy, Jody. Eventually some gal will see that and you wont be able to beat her off with a stick.
At that moment, light blue and pink blossoms began falling in the wherehouse. The girls didnt seem them at first, but slowly looked up. At first their faces were the same, flat and cool as slate, but slowly their expressions changed to that of a joyful surprise. They backed away from their looms and reached out to catch the falling petals, laughing and running around heedless of their surroundings. We just watched them turning back into angels, in delicate slow motion.
I walk back past the reception area and Julie looks up.
You want me to clean your glasses?
Uh, sure.
She takes me glasses and goes to the break room with them. A couple of minutes later she hands them back. They are clean. Perhaps this is a sign from whomever I should take the trouble to extract my head from ass every once in awhile. Perhaps, but
But I have learned thatmost times people will hurt you. Not out of malice, but they will hurt you none the less. It is better to keep yourself closed off and feel for no one but a very very very select few. Feeling for people is unwise. Most likely, it will only lead to disappointment and pain.
Are you making coffee?
The Bird Lady. Okay, just because I am putting coffee grinds in the filter and moving the filter towards the coffee maker, I *could* be doing something else. A fusion experiment, perhaps? Acting as a midwife to a dolphin? Building a soap box racer? How am I suppose to respond to that? How am I suppose to respond to such fucking obvious questions? I am sorry, I am really really sorry for being an asshole, but my patience is *gone.* It is fucking eradicated. I am just too confused right now to be nicenot that being nice has ever gotten me anywhere but throwing expired condoms out. Yes, I did that last night. Threw my last one out. It says discard by Feb 03 so thats what I did.
Yeah, I am making coffee.
This seems to satisfy the Bird Lady and she rummages in her bag for another Cup of Soup. I cant look at her, I cant look at anyone, I am concerned it is obvious how messed up I am today. Am I going back to school because of some grandiose, altruistic impulseor because Ive given up on being an artist? This scares the shit out of me. I cant give up being an artist--(Yes, I *am* gagging as I refer to myself as an artist, in fact I am about to vomit in my beret)--that is the core of me. But if Im going back to school, that must be what I am giving in to. Right?
Back from lunch, I sit at the folding table and force myself to concentrate on the files. Thelma is telling Leigh about yesterdays staff meeting.
There was this tortellini with shrimp and some saucesome sort of white sauce, maybe a basic white sauce. Then there these sandwiches: Turkey, ham, roast beef. I guess the vegetarians could leave the meat off. The sandwiches werent made up. They were on a platter with lettuce, tomato, cheddar cheese, Monterey Jack cheese, and pickles
Last night I watched a documentary on Emmett Till. He was a 14 year old black 8th grader who lived in Chicago. In August of 55, he went down to Mississippi to visit his uncle
they had all kinds of drinks at the meeting, too. Coffee, tea, all kinds of soft drinks
Emmett went into a store to buy some gum. Maybe he whistled at the white woman behind the counter, or maybe it was his stutter. Two days later, two armed white men dragged him from his Uncles house
they even had dessert. It was a cheesecake, a plain cheese cake, not that pumpkin cheesecake I like
a few days later, his body was found in a nearby river. He had been beaten and shot. They showed the picture of him in his casket. He looked like the fucking Elephant Man
damn, now Im hungry. I think Ill call up and see what soup they have today
all because he may or may not have whistled at a white woman. And this is why I have utterly no patience today. It wasnt enough that two men would brutally kill a black boy because he whistled at a white woman, white people closed ranks and protected the killers. They knew what had happened, this was not uncommon in the Old South, and they ensured the murderers would go free.
I hope its not broccoli with cheese again. I dont like broccoli with cheese.
Its 8:15 and the Bird Lady is wearing a sofa cover. Its a medium blue color and vaguely floral. Im slumped at the folding table in the grips of my usual brand of existential angst. Unable to deal with all the people, all the phones, all the files, I wander down the hall. Making sure no one is looking, I slip behind the imposing oil of Aaron Burr.
For no reason, I remove my shoes and set them aside. The chill of the bricks beneath my feet feels good, feels real in a way I cant explain. I walk for a couple of minutes, past Madam Curies lab, past that damn battle at Gettysburg until I get to another window I havent really looked through before. A dim room that looks like the inside of a warehouse. There a bunch of girls in there, anywhere between 11 and 16, and theyre working at these huge looms. The girls look dead, very gray, devoid of expression, and it just reaches something inside me and wont let go: Theyre too fucking young to look that washed up, too young to look that old.
I always see these here windows as if theyre like dreams, a soft, Southern voice behind me. Everyone inside each one of these windows is really you, I figure. Thats just my guess.
Cigaret smoke. I turn and see a thin man in a Western suit.
I feel compelled to call you Mr. Williams but youre younger than me--
Yep. And Ill always be. Hank is fine by me, Jody.
He comes and stands beside me, taking a long drag off his cigaret as he watches the girls.
Younger than us but older than well ever be, he says softly before turning to me. You look about as blue as Ive ever seen, kid.
I dont know if Im blue, I just feel kind of lost right now. Whenever I meet someone worthwhile, it falls to shit. Most times, it feels good, like we could be cool, you know, then she just vanishes. It makes me scared, scared to ever open up to anyone, to believe this will ever change, and it hurts.
Youre too damn sensitive, Jody. I say that as a fella who can be kind of sensitive himself--
Yeah, but youre amazing; youre the Buddy Holley or Robert Johnson of Country music.
Shit, he chuckles. We aint talkin bout that, son. Were talking about whats goin on with you. You shouldnt be so damn hard on yourself, I mean, you aint perfect, but you have a lot to offer.
Thats part of the reason this bewilders the shit out of me. I mean, I have my flaws, I have a number of them, but I always have a job, I try to be thoughtful, I can be interesting to be with, but I am alone. I havent had a girlfriend for a year and a half. Its not like Im just out to fuck someone a couple of times and not call them againbut maybe thats the problem, maybe I should pretend Im just out to get laid.
Aw, you could, but women see things so much clearer than us. Theyd see that wasnt the way you are.
I know, Im just at a loss. I just wish I had someone to sleep with--not necessarily in a sexual sensegetting laid is all well and good, but I really miss just being close to someone, I pause, am I saying too much?
Shit, I know what you mean, Jody. Its a fine thing just to hold someone, to not feel so alone, to have someone kind of break through what you put up to keep everyone else out.
Exactly. I never have anyone, so I have to just deal with everything on my own. The ironic thing is, when you are denied the means to be vulnerable, it makes you more vulnerable. On the surface you may seem all standoffish and abrasive, but inside youre just all mushy and scared. Its fucked up. I never meant to be this bitter and angry, but its just years and years of my having to be alone.
Itll change. Youre a good guy, Jody. Eventually some gal will see that and you wont be able to beat her off with a stick.
At that moment, light blue and pink blossoms began falling in the wherehouse. The girls didnt seem them at first, but slowly looked up. At first their faces were the same, flat and cool as slate, but slowly their expressions changed to that of a joyful surprise. They backed away from their looms and reached out to catch the falling petals, laughing and running around heedless of their surroundings. We just watched them turning back into angels, in delicate slow motion.
I walk back past the reception area and Julie looks up.
You want me to clean your glasses?
Uh, sure.
She takes me glasses and goes to the break room with them. A couple of minutes later she hands them back. They are clean. Perhaps this is a sign from whomever I should take the trouble to extract my head from ass every once in awhile. Perhaps, but
But I have learned thatmost times people will hurt you. Not out of malice, but they will hurt you none the less. It is better to keep yourself closed off and feel for no one but a very very very select few. Feeling for people is unwise. Most likely, it will only lead to disappointment and pain.
Are you making coffee?
The Bird Lady. Okay, just because I am putting coffee grinds in the filter and moving the filter towards the coffee maker, I *could* be doing something else. A fusion experiment, perhaps? Acting as a midwife to a dolphin? Building a soap box racer? How am I suppose to respond to that? How am I suppose to respond to such fucking obvious questions? I am sorry, I am really really sorry for being an asshole, but my patience is *gone.* It is fucking eradicated. I am just too confused right now to be nicenot that being nice has ever gotten me anywhere but throwing expired condoms out. Yes, I did that last night. Threw my last one out. It says discard by Feb 03 so thats what I did.
Yeah, I am making coffee.
This seems to satisfy the Bird Lady and she rummages in her bag for another Cup of Soup. I cant look at her, I cant look at anyone, I am concerned it is obvious how messed up I am today. Am I going back to school because of some grandiose, altruistic impulseor because Ive given up on being an artist? This scares the shit out of me. I cant give up being an artist--(Yes, I *am* gagging as I refer to myself as an artist, in fact I am about to vomit in my beret)--that is the core of me. But if Im going back to school, that must be what I am giving in to. Right?
Back from lunch, I sit at the folding table and force myself to concentrate on the files. Thelma is telling Leigh about yesterdays staff meeting.
There was this tortellini with shrimp and some saucesome sort of white sauce, maybe a basic white sauce. Then there these sandwiches: Turkey, ham, roast beef. I guess the vegetarians could leave the meat off. The sandwiches werent made up. They were on a platter with lettuce, tomato, cheddar cheese, Monterey Jack cheese, and pickles
Last night I watched a documentary on Emmett Till. He was a 14 year old black 8th grader who lived in Chicago. In August of 55, he went down to Mississippi to visit his uncle
they had all kinds of drinks at the meeting, too. Coffee, tea, all kinds of soft drinks
Emmett went into a store to buy some gum. Maybe he whistled at the white woman behind the counter, or maybe it was his stutter. Two days later, two armed white men dragged him from his Uncles house
they even had dessert. It was a cheesecake, a plain cheese cake, not that pumpkin cheesecake I like
a few days later, his body was found in a nearby river. He had been beaten and shot. They showed the picture of him in his casket. He looked like the fucking Elephant Man
damn, now Im hungry. I think Ill call up and see what soup they have today
all because he may or may not have whistled at a white woman. And this is why I have utterly no patience today. It wasnt enough that two men would brutally kill a black boy because he whistled at a white woman, white people closed ranks and protected the killers. They knew what had happened, this was not uncommon in the Old South, and they ensured the murderers would go free.
I hope its not broccoli with cheese again. I dont like broccoli with cheese.