Same Saturday routine, eh
Jake? Yeah, just the way you like it, keep yourself in this miserable little stupor as
long as you want.
"Hey slap nuts, you gonna come or not?" Steve asks, his voice scattering my
internal bitchings.
"Wha...come where?" My words manage their way out, along with a stream of
smoke. Steve won’t even dignify my question with an answer. He just sits there on the
balcony instead, taking a final drag from his cigarette before flicking the butt over the
railing and down into some poor grunt’s truck bed. I still think he looks too much
like Ponch from "Chips" to ever be taken seriously. It usually makes me laugh,
just looking at him, but this time I answer with a straight face.
"Oh, the Pi Omega Tao party. Yeah, yeah. I’ll hit it."
"Damn right you’ll hit it," Steve brushes his finger under his nose,
"You know Mel’s gonna be there."
"Don’t call her Mel anymore, man," I say in between chuckles.
"It’s Melodie. I don’t want people thinking I’m trying to scoop up a
longshoreman."
Steve lets out a little laugh before getting up from the white plastic lawn chair. He
slides open the glass door to our apartment’s living room and steps inside as I take
another drag. He walks over to that monster of a TV of his and turns it to some division
two football game before pulling his wifebeater off and plopping down on the tan leather
couch.
Damn, it’s just like living with Mougly the jungle boy. Ah well, at least he wears
a shirt on the balcony now. I take my final drag and toss my cig’s butt down off
the balcony. Damn, missed. I snort and spit down into the bed of the truck below,
making up for my terrible flicking aim. Someone’s gotta be the asshole.
It’s the same old shit every fall term Saturday at Butte State University. Eleven
a.m. and half of the student body is wondering exactly how a cat got into their bedroom
and took a dump in their mouth. I guess I can consider myself lucky that I don‘t
partake in the mass consumption of adult beverages anymore. After all, everybody hates
that damn cat and the morning breath it leaves. Our Fightin’ Buffalos are out in
Enema, Nebraska or some shithole Midwestern city, watching their NFL aspirations drop to a
point as bleak as their grades. And here I am, sitting on my balcony, obsessing over my
pitiful little life. I wonder if other resist change this much? Heh, I wonder if they
perform the "Men in Black" dance in front of the bathroom mirror for shits and
giggles. I wonder if we have any burritos left.
Five minutes and three nuked burritos later and I’m well satiated. I work up the
energy for a three step jog that turns into a back flop onto my worn out, but still candy
apple red beanbag chair. I sink in to a nice little stupor in front of the TV; the
beltline of my baggy Levi’s feeling just a bit tighter then they were before lunch. Burrito
good, Southern Arkansas vs. Tennessee Tech, bad. I wonder if WWF is on. Much to my
dismay, it’s not. I settle for a Michigan vs. Ohio State game that quickly puts me to
sleep.
I don’t really dream anymore. There was a time that I had dreams and nightmares
all the time, I think I was about 4. I remember that my parents still had me sleeping in a
crib for one reason or another, but I thought that was just fine. The bars saved me from
the alligator nightmares, separating me from the floor they prowled at night. The face
nightmares were the ones that really bothered me. I’d lie there on my back after my
dad would tuck me in, and sure enough, about two minutes after the lights went out, the
faces would come screaming in from the ceiling, shooting by my ears and out of sight.
I’d quickly escape them by quickly turning to lie on my stomach, pulling the covers
up, all the way over my Beatle’s style brown mop top. I think the faces are the
reason that I can’t fall asleep on my back anymore. But as with all things, the
nightmares eventually ended and took the dreams with them.
This room‘s so small, where the hell’s the door? Hmm, it’s stuffy in
here; feels like my lungs are imploding. I’m suffocat.... A dream that
materializes from some forbidden corner of my brain takes hold, leaving me gasping for air
as I wake up.
"Hey sleeping beauty, phone." Steve’s voice wakes me up, along with his
fingers pinching off my nostrils. I snort and swipe at his hand, breaking his hold.
"You cocksucker. What?"
Steve just hands me the phone and drops back down on the couch. I presume he
hasn’t moved from that spot other than to smoke today. Raising my right hand to flip
Steve off, I put the receiver up to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey Jake, it’s Melodie."
Hot damn! She’s calling me now.
"Hey, what’s up?"
"Nothing much," Melodie’s voice is enough to make me melt in my seat.
"I’m just sitting here, doing some psych."
"Bullshit. You do know it’s Saturday, right?" I just have to tease her
about her study habits. She’s still under the impression that you actually have to
read the material to pass your classes.
"Yeah, I’m fully aware of that. You gonna be at the frat tonight?"
"Yes. Why’s everybody always asking me that?" Everybody should know
that of course, I’m gonna be there. Have I missed a party yet?
I can hear Melodie pause for a second before choosing her words. "It’s just
that you’ve been so...and don’t take this the wrong way, normal lately."
"What the hell do you mean, too normal?" I feel a slight tension in my
shoulders start to build.
"It’s just that...you’re usually such a joker, you know? You’ve
been so bor...moody these days." Melodie tries valiantly to hide what she really
wanted to say, but she’s not that quick.
"Oh, so I take a break from being your personal entertainment, and all of a
sudden, I’m boring? All of a sudden, I can’t have any other feelings, eh?"
A drip of frustrated sweat slides down my side.
"No, it’s....oh just forget it, I don’t want to talk about it
anymore." Melodie tries to find the words, but fails again.
You brought it up, babe.
"Jake, I just wanted to know if you were coming to the frat tonight. I didn’t
call you to get you mad at me. You know that."
"I’m not mad," You Abercrombie-wearing hose-hound. "It’s
just something that you don’t exactly expect to hear. ‘Too normal,’
it’s just weird."
"I’m sorry. You’ll still hang with me tonight, right?" Melodie asks
like she doesn’t already know I will. Somehow though, her little attempt at humility
cheers me up again.
"Yeah, yeah. You know that you’re the main reason I go to those things.
You’re just my little kegger whore."
I hear Melodie let out a little laugh. "Don’t call me that, you jerk."
"Hey, until you prove else wise..." I’m cut off.
"Jake, I think you better quit while you’re ahead. I’m gonna go get some
lunch, you wanna come with me?" Melodie’s always looking to extend the olive
branch.
"No, I already ate. I’ll catch you later."
"Bye."
I set the phone on the ground and put my hands behind my head. My hair is still a
matted down mess, held together by yesterday’s gel. Damn, still haven’t
showered today. My old state championship shirt isn’t as fresh as I’d like
either. I struggle my way out of the beanbag chair and up to a vertical base, noticing
Steve’s interested glance at me.
"When you gonna bone her, man? You know she wants it." Steve always has a
romantic way of talking about relationships.
"Man, shut up, she’s not a slut."
"You do know how stab-worthy she is, don’t you? I mean, I’d stoop
her," Steve’s joking grin just aggravates me.
"I’m sure you would," I say, crossing between Steve and his TV.
"Two years man and all you’ve done is hug her, I mean, c’mon."
I raise my right hand and more importantly my right middle finger as I turn the hallway
corner to the bathroom. "Fuck off, Steve."
It’s seven-thirty as the sun finally slips down over the horizon, casting a
bruised-pumpkin orange over the entire city of Butte. Not even the shadows seem to be
exempt from the sun’s influence, they just seem to be doused in varying degrees of
orange food coloring. Back up on the balcony, sweat from my daily run drips from my matted
blonde hair as I light up another cigarette. Well Jake, ya did pretty good with those
two miles, might as well go negate them with a cowboy killer, dumbass. When I was in
high school, I used to jerk off to relieve the tension of everyday life, but now it seems
like making repeated attempts at inducing lung cancer is a much more effective method of
stress management. It’s times like this that a cigarette just seems to perfect the
situation. Saturday night is just a few inches of horizon away, and the world around me
seems to reverberate with an excited energy. As I blow out a steady stream of smoke, I
come to the strange realization that I’m feeling a little squirrelly. Man,
it’s just another party. You know it’s the same old story every weekend.
You’re gonna sit around with Melodie and make sure that the guys from the frat are
engaging in enough semi-homoerotic activity that none of them try anything with her. When
you’re done doing that, you’ll walk her home, give her a hug, and bitch yourself
out all the way home about how great it would’ve been if you’d have just leaned
your head over three inches and gave her a kiss. Nothing’s gonna ever change, you can
stay comfortable. Somehow though, as much as I try to convince myself that tonight was
the same as any other, I can’t fully manage to find that peace. Standing up, I flick
my cigarette off the balcony, a smile spreading across my face as it lands in the
truck’s bed, right next to Steve’s morning butt. Ta-dow!
I finally had the apartment to myself for once. Steve took Nina, his little hoochie of
a girlfriend out to dinner for a change. Probably took her to Burger King, the cheap
bastard. Ah well, at least they’re not having one of their early evening fuck-fests. One
Friday night during my freshman year after a three keg at a Pi Omega Tau live-out party, a
huge thump on the wall had awoken me from a gin and Sprite induced sleep. I had to pry for
about seven hours, but I finally got Steve to come clean about Nina hitting her head on
the headboard so hard that she saw stars. I swear, one of these nights I’m gonna
have to drive one of ‘em to the ER. Ever since Steve came clean about the
incident, he‘s made it a point to make sure I know just how much trim he‘s
getting. I guess he’s just trying to light a fire under my ass, but the whole
boyfriend/girlfriend thing just reeks of effort.
Glancing at the heinous driftwood clock that Steve had adorned our kitchen wall with, I
come to the grim realization that I’m supposed to pick up Melodie in 35 minutes. Shit,
better hop in the shower and clean up the three P’s. Pits, penis, and posterior,
my three-step method for an effective quick shower. Getting ready is always a near vomit
inducing rush for me. I’m in and out of the shower by the time Art Alexakis is
finished singing "Overwhelming," and I hurriedly fumble my way through my
closet, settling on a semi-urban look with a pair of navy blue khakis, an olive green
shirt over a wifebeater, and my Doc’s. Now that’s style. Fashion sense
has always been one of my weak points. Ah well, a little gel and fu-fu water and
I’ll be pimpin’. A quick check in the bathroom mirror insures me that my
dirty blonde goatee is symmetrical and my eyes are still blue, except for the little hazel
spot on the right one. Oh what the hell. I raise my arms high above my head and
silently jaw at the mirror, my middle fingers held high in my best Stone Cold Steve Austin
impression. OK, I can go now.
Melodie cracks a smile as she opens the door to her apartment.
"Hey Jake!"
"Hey babe..." I’m cut off as Melodie leans in close and gives me a light
kiss under the right corner of my mouth.
"What was that for?"
Melodie just grins and turns toward the living room. "Just a bit of an apology for
earlier. It’s been bugging me all day."
"Well...maybe we should apologize a little more," I say with a smile, my face
feeling a little warm. Where’d that come from?
Without a word, Melodie spins around on the heel of one of her fourteen different pairs
of black casual shoes, her shoulder length brunette hair flipping behind her. As she takes
a step toward me, I can hear the voice of my musical icon Art Alexakis sing out. She’s
perfect in a fucked up way that all the magazines seem to wanna glorify these days. Melodie
wraps her arms around my neck and pulls herself up a bit, planting a kiss on my lips that
sends a shiver to the cockles of my...heart. Boing! As I shakily place my hands
around her waist, thoughts fly through my head fast enough to leave vapor trails. What?
She can’t...have I been moving slow? Oh man. Melodie lets go and slides down my
chest, landing on her heels. Wow. Jeez man, say something.
"More," I say, cracking a smile.
Melodie just breaks into laughter, offering me a hug that I gladly accept. I’ve
always been good at making her laugh, and thinking about that fact causes a small grin to
spread across my face that messes up Melodie’s hair. Can this be right? After
a still moment, she takes a step back.
"I’ve gotta get changed, you caught me getting ready." She turns away
and makes shuffled footprint marks across the living room carpet to the bathroom. Sinking
into the rose patterned loveseat, I can’t stop my thoughts from ruining the
simplicity of the moment. C’mon man, you cornered her into it. You know she’s
just messing with you, she’s always been a bit of a tease. Just don’t get your
hopes up too high.
The Pi Omega Tau frat house is a lot like a stereotypical supermodel. Easy to look at
from the outside, but inwardly uglier than the crack of an elephant’s ass. As Melodie
and I walk up the front steps, the sheer grandeur of the pillars that make up the entrance
goes unnoticed. I can’t help but think about how uneventful the walk was, how Melodie
just went on about her roommate and her pothead brother Trent in Helena like nothing was
different. A distinct smell of carpet freshener flows out of the front door as I open it
for Melodie.
"How nice, the guys cleaned for tonight," Melodie steps through the door,
looking back at me.
"If you call cleaning throwing the beer cans out the window and sprinkling carpet
deodorant everywhere, yeah, I guess they did," I chuckle as I close the door behind
me. Now for the obligatory high fives and "wazzups." Assaulted at every
turn by another nicknamed frat boy, Melodie and I slowly make our way up to my older
brother Mike’s room, the only single occupancy one in the house.
"I guess being the frat president does have it’s advantages, eh, Money?"
Mike turns to the door to find Melodie and I standing together.
"Hey J, wazzup?" Mike rushes over to wrap a spleen rupturing bear hug on me.
"Man, I don’t know about these frat brothers of yours," I chuckle.
"I mean, Dolby, Triple T, Footlong, don’t any of these guys have real
names?"
"Shit Jake, we’ve got like 13 Mike’s here, I gotta set myself apart
somehow. Hey Mel."
Man, I wish people would stop calling her that, she’s prettier than a Mel,
she’s a Melodie. Placing my hand on the small of her back, I lead Melodie over to
the beer stained couch, where we sit and BS with Mike while he finishes getting dressed.
Frat parties are always good places to show off just how clever I am. Ever since my
freshman year and the four gin and Sprites and a flight of stairs incident, I don’t
drink anymore. It makes me feel just that much sharper than everyone else, and that’s
when I can get vocal.
"Hey Jake, tell these chumps the story about our mailman," Mike ushers in
three of his frat brothers, cornering me into telling my old standby anecdote.
"Oh, not this one, it’s so sick," Melodie tugs at my arm, imploring me
to stop.
"Too late babe, I think these boys need to know how to take a dump on the hood of
a delivery truck without getting caught," I wrap my arm around Melodie. For an uneasy
moment, I think about what happened earlier tonight and have to keep myself from shrinking
back.
Two hours after I finished my little story, Melodie places her chin on my shoulder.
"You’ve been kinda quiet Jake, everything all right?"
"I guess. Think I’m just a little tired," My left knee bounces
uncontrollably, defying my words.
"You sure that’s it? You wanna go somewhere and talk?" The concern in
Melodie’s voice is all too aggravating.
As my watch beeps for midnight, I come to the grim realization that I haven’t
smoked in four hours. Man, you’re slacking off. What would Joe Camel think?
"Think I just need a smoke break," grabbing a cig and sliding it above my
right ear, I head out to the smoking porch.
"Hold on, just let me get my jacket," Melodie says, rummaging through the
pile of jackets next to the couch. I know Melodie doesn’t like the fact that I smoke,
but she still always comes with me up to the smoking porch during these parties. As I
light up, the crisp nip in the air bites at my hands.
"Wow, it’s a lot colder than I thought it’d be," Melodie manages to
hurriedly blurt out through her shivering, as if all her body heat is gonna escape with
her words. Do something, man. I reach my arm out and wrap it around her collarbone,
holding her back close to my body. All right, that’s a start. I can’t
help but think about how perfect she is until she takes the cigarette out of my hand and
takes a short puff. I wish you weren’t so submissive. It’s not gonna make me
happy to see you smoke. My thoughts reach the tip of my tongue and bash into the inner
walls of my lips. No, just let it go.
"Is Mike making grades this term?" Melodie’s shivering transfers to my
body.
"Yeah." Stop searching, I’m not gonna let you find it. Why the
hell can’t she see that she doesn’t need to care, I’ve gone this far with
my own concern, I don’t need hers complicating anything. Hey, music will kill this
off. Melodie’s fingers brush against my hand as she takes my cigarette again, causing
me to miss the first note of a whistled tune.
"What’s that?" Melodie’s words follow a small stream of smoke.
"Just some Everclear." She broke my rhythm, better start over.
"Will you sing it for me?"
Taking off from the last line, my words come out quietly. "I wanna get lost in my
life sometimes, sit on the side and watch the world go by. I wanna get lost in the dark
and dream for awhile." My voice is sweet as salt. Oh, way to go music, you’re
gonna betray me now?
"That true?" Melodie turns around, her body suddenly becoming an invasion of
my space.
"I guess." My hand shakes a bit as I take the cigarette back from her. My
eyes finally meet hers and what looks like tears beginning to pool. The miniscule drop of
saline solution sends some type of chemical signal shooting through my skull, causing me
to take Melodie back in my arms. Something changed, but now I can’t even find it.
"Jake, you wanna come home?"
"Sure, I guess this place has died down a lot," I flick the butt off the
porch, watching it descend and land on a cars windshield wiper. Score one more for the
great Mr. Jake Callahan. "Just let me tell Mike bye and I’ll take you on
home."
As Melodie and I reach her door, the familiarity of the situation comforts me. See
man, just like you told yourself. You’re gonna give her a hug and say goodbye just
like all the rest of the times. Nothing’s gonna change, and you can keep going on in
your easy little excuse for a life. No complications.
"Jake, you wanna come inside for a while?" Melodie asks while unlocking the
door.
"Uh...yeah, sure," this time I’m the one who’s shivering. Melodie
gently takes my arm and leads me into the living room. OK man, you’ve been here a
million times before, it’s no big deal, she probably just wants to watch a movie with
you or something. My thoughts even lie to me now. I know better, and layers of
different thought undercut each other until the simple idea of thought seems to be an
impossibility.
"Jake?" Melodie’s eyes are suddenly as frightened looking as mine.
"Yeah."
"I really want you to stay. Maybe you‘d let me help you get lost?"
Melodie’s voice seems to trail off at the end, almost as if she’s still about to
cry.
My left eye burns a bit as I shakily remove my coat. Can you do this? Of course you
could Jake, but is it worth it? You’re pretty happy now, right? You know it’s
all gonna be fine if you just keep things the way they are. I reach out my arms to
Melodie, just like I have a thousand times before and give her a hug. Jake, just let it
go.
"Yeah, I think so." My head turns those three inches and I finally give
Melodie that kiss.
A quiet moment passes with Melodie in my arms before my wallet adjusts itself in my
pants. I think the Trojan’s trying to jump out. Man, just let it be.
"So what do you wanna do?" Melodie’s voice is still shaky.
Go with it man.
"Screw like jackrabbits." My joking comment races out before anything
profound can be said. Melodie just laughs, giving me a little jab to my stomach.
"Let’s just get some sleep, Jake."
Lying in bed with Melodie’s head on my shoulder, I can’t help but think about
how much I dislike flannel sheets. Quit your bitching man, just get used to it.
There’s a strange peace that seems to have crept its way in through Melodie’s
arms. You know this changes everything, right. Ah well, just deal. My smile widens
as I reach my hand up and hit the headboard, sending a wooden rattle screaming through the
room. Melodie’s head adjusts on my shoulder, skewing her hair a bit.
"What was that?"
"Thought I’d give Steve and Nina a tribute," I look up at the ceiling.
Melodie’s little laugh reverberates through my chest as I close my eyes.
There’s certain warmth about the moment as her forehead touches my chin that causes
me to drift off to sleep. And for a change, I simply dream. |
