SHANE OBSCURE CHAPTER 1

When Marc first came into the room and he saw me, I knew I had a friend. I felt safe when he spoke…
     “Hey man,” he said, “do I know you from someplace?”
     We were at Ed Marshall’s house. I had worked with Ed. He’s a pretty good guy, a bit quiet though, and hanging with him, well, I can’t explain it really – but when Marc came around it was like seeing an old friend.

     I was in my early twenties. I had very few friends. Marc didn’t know Ed too good. And Ed didn’t like Marc too good. I could sense that the way he barely glanced over the side of one eye when Marc came into the room. Ed and I were watching hockey. That’s all we’d ever do, quite frankly. Sit around, watch sports, and then I’d take off home.
     Cudd, Ed’s roommate (Ed had two roommates) was sitting behind the couches  after having followed Marc inside. Cudd had a barrel chest, was slightly overweight, and his hair color would change practically every week.
     As Marc stood there behind the couches, watching the hockey game, he’d make these sniffling noises. I could tell Ed was growing annoyed. Ed kept everything inside but I could read him. I didn’t know him too well but I could read him. He didn’t like Marc Sandoval right off the bat.

     (Most of the time I prefer being alone. But I like knowing that soon I’d be hanging out with someone, knowing that in a matter of hours I’d be alone again…)

     The Marc situation continued as it began. I’d be hanging with Ed, watching hockey. Marc and Cudd would come back from the gym, and Marc would come in and stand behind the couch while Cudd would go into his bedroom. And then Marc’s sniffling would begin.
     “There’s some Kleenex in the bathroom,” Ed said one night.
     I remember laughing inside. The poor guy couldn’t take it anymore.
     Marc just replied, “No, thanks. It wouldn’t help. I got allergies this time of year.”
     But you know what, strangely enough, for the rest of the game, on that particular night, Marc didn’t make another sound.

     Marc had a look, an expression, like he wasn’t so secure, safe, or comfortable. But he was quite confident. Ed and Cudd were secure, but not confident. 
     With Marc, even though he’s fat, was still a pretty muscular guy. And he’s got a real lean stare. He seems hungry, like a contender. And like a contender he seemed very discontent.

     On those first few nights that Marc stood behind us I felt uneasy, and yet, I wasn’t bored. One thing had replaced the other. I remember thinking if Marc were around on a weekend night maybe things wouldn’t be so dull. I really can’t think of a better word to sum up my life, or those last few years before I met Marc Sandoval, than dull.
     I think it was the fourth night (of Marc’s prolonged introduction) that I heard the sliding door, which was next to the couches, open up. Marc went outside and closed it. The sun had just set. It was a hot night. Back then it was always pretty hot. I remember that. Some particularities, I’m sorry to say, I don’t recall. And if this was a novel, and not just a sloppy journal, I guess I’d have to. But in a journal I can simply say - back then it was pretty hot. And quiet, too. Because when that door opened and closed it was awfully loud. It was as if there hadn’t been a sound inside that house till Marc went outside.
     Ed, every time we sat and watched a game, would drink a beer. ONE beer. So would I. But on this night, Marc, before he took his place behind us and then went outside, had something in a paper bag. He had put it in the freezer, let it stay there a little while, and then grabbed it out. This was right before the sound barrier had cracked with that sliding door opening. So Marc stood holding a large bottle of beer, a 40-ounce.
     I looked out into the backyard and saw Marc over by the slide, on the other side of the pool, smoking a cigarette, and felt a pang inside related to what felt like envy… 

READ CHAPTER TWO

SHANE OBSCURE CHAPTER 2

Soon enough as the endless television hockey game wore on I went outside, in the backyard, to join Marc. I wanted a cigarette badly. And also, I wanted company.
     For some reason I couldn’t make out Marc’s face at first. It was out of focus. I don’t know why, but in the beginning I remember not being able to see him too good up close.
     I bummed a smoke off him, and we both smoked, at first without speaking. Then:
     “I wonder what’s going on at the track tonight,” he said, referring to racetracks that lay somewhere beyond the tract.
     “I’m not sure,” I replied wanly.
     “Have you ever been there?”
     “No. Never been to any racetrack.”
     “You play poker at all?”
     “Not too much. Sometimes.”
     “We had a game here once. I cleaned Ed and the boys out pretty good.”
     I thought to myself, maybe that explains Ed’s abhor for him. But it had to be more than that…
     Marc kept taking these big drinks of the 40 oz. bottle. It looked cool the way he drank. I wanted to drink just like him. I wanted a buzz, or something…
     “How much did you win off those clowns?” I asked.
     “Forty bucks,” he smiled. Then, narrowing his eyes he said in a whisper: “Even though these guys think they’re good players, they’re not. But I let them believe they are.”
     “So you’re a hustler.”
     “No, not really,” he said without the whisper, “I’m no hustler, not around here. They knew” (pointing to the house) “I was good from the beginning, unfortunately... Cudd went on and on about it before we even played. Fuckin’ idiot. Actually, I butter them up just so I can toast them at the end. So they feel good about themselves.” He grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Whether you’re talking about a hot chick in a nightclub, or a guy at a card table – giving the victim a false sense of confidence is always the best move.”
     I nodded. Then, changing the subject:
     “Have you known Ed long?”
     “No. He’s Cudd’s roommate, that’s all. Where do you know him from?”
     “Cudd?”
     “No, Ed.”
     “Work. We used to work together.”
     Marc smiled.
     “I don’t think he’s got that many other friends besides his roommates. Ed seems like sort of a homebody.”
     The way he said this wasn’t mean-spirited, and yet it wasn’t sarcastic, either. It teetered on both. That was something else I noticed about Marc. He was blunt. Gutsy. To the point. Nothing like Ed. And he didn’t have a motive. An agenda. At least it didn’t seem that way at first.
     “I don’t really know how many friends he has,” I said. “I just know that I’m one of them.” 
     “Are you his friend really, or did you just work with him?”
     “A little of both, I guess. He’s pretty mellow, but he’s an all right guy.”
     “Yeah. I know. I like Ed.” I made him feel guilty I could tell.
     "I know of one other buddy of his,” he said. “A certain guy who dresses like a bum, who used to hang out and get loaded all the time around the neighborhood, and who used to walk instead of drive in high school, and who always puts people down, and who’s our age, and who could probably buy a Rolls Royce if he wanted to.”
     “He’s rich?”
     “His father’s rich. Which makes him rich. Sean’s his name. Sean Dusk.”
     A deep silence followed. By now his beer was finished. So was his second cigarette. My beer was gone, too; so was my first cigarette.
     “So what are you guys up to tonight?” Mark asked, referring to Ed and myself.
     “I’m not sure,” I said, and glanced over at the living room. Ed’s silhouette was gone, which did not necessarily mean Ed was gone. He was probably lying down on the couch. He does that after a while. He’ll lie down and watch the last of a game that way - his skinny legs stretched out comfortably over the end. His couch, the smaller of the two, horizontally faced the television.
     “Well,” Marc grinned. “You want to get more beer?”
     That thought hadn’t occurred to me.
     “I was actually thinking the exact same thing,” I lied. Then I told the absolute truth: “I could really use a head change…”

SHANE OBSCURE CHAPTER 3

I didn't see Marc too much that week. A few times I did and we didn't talk much and get this, Ed was being real talkative. He sat up and even drank two beers watching the game. Marc stood behind us, but not for too long, and then Cudd came out from his room. Then both him and Marc went back into the room and listened to music. It was turned up real loud and the door was open. Cudd apparently had quite a sound system. It seemed he had a lot of “toys”. Ed made some wry comment to me about the music. It wasn't anything I'd ever listened to. There was a whole lot of shit back then I didn't care for. Cudd’s music, in the category of all bad music, was par for the course…
     For that week and most of the next I only caught glimpses of Marc around Ed's house. But I'd heard that Ed's friend, whom Marc had mentioned two nights before, had been around. I’d forgotten his name. It was one of those names that wasn’t easily remembered…       
     One time when I went to the house, Ed’s mysterious friend had just left. There were three empty beer cans on the table. I asked Ed if Marc had been over. He said that his friend Sean had been hanging out that day. I slightly recalled this being the same guy Marc had brought up. Still I wasn’t too sure.
     Marc came over that same night and instead of standing behind the couch this time he actually sat down with us. Ed didn't mind. Even Cudd came out for a little while. Things felt pretty relaxed and contented that night; I wasn’t bored. And another thing, Marc had brought over two 40-ounce beers.

     Later on Sean was discussed. Marc asked Ed whose beer cans those had belonged to. The empties still sat on the table. Ed answered Marc and then Cudd asked Ed, "So how is Dusk?" I learned then that Sean's full name was Sean Dusk. Ed said he was doing okay and Marc didn't say a thing – in fact, he kept quiet while they discussed him. Then he began clearing his throat; he was breaking out of something; in no time he was bagging on Cudd. Cudd went back to his room, with kind of an embarrassed, miffed grin, and turned his music on.
     It was really fun that night. Thing's were pretty easygoing and loose for that little while right before Ed had mentioned Sean Dusk.
     I was feeling pretty good at that time because I finally had someplace to go – someplace interesting, that is – and spontaneous. Before I’d call Ed first. Now it was getting easier and I could come over whenever I pleased. That was because Marc would usually be there. I'd see his old (actually his Uncle's) shitty white car parked out front; that was the only invitation I needed. He had formed the trail already, and all I needed to do was follow…

     It went this way about a month. One of the nights, when I arrived Marc was yelling at his girlfriend on Ed’s phone in the living room… but first…
     I don't think I've explained the layout of the house. I think I should go into that before I continue…
     The house was gray. After a while we named the place the “Gray Cavern”. It was gray all over, the walls, the furniture – everything. When you first walk in there's this real small living room. It had a fireplace, a table, and a love seat. I don't recall anybody ever really being in this room too much – it led to the family room, where the couches and the TV hid on the other side of a large kitchen counter/bar area, where the kitchen was a sliver space against a sidewall. Back to that living room: When you first walk in, if you turn left instead of right, you're heading down a hallway, where on the first left is a rest room, then further down (on the same side) is Sissy's bedroom, and across, on the right side, is Cudd's. Cudd had the smallest room in the house. The funny thing is that he was in his room the most out of all of them. And Ed's room, which I mentioned earlier, which used to be a study, was next to Cudd's right in the center of the house, and when the doors were opened, you could see the television inside the family room, where everyone gathered. 
     Ed Marshall, by the way, was immaculate, his bedroom spotless. And now that I think about it, his room had color. It wasn't gray like everything else. A lonely, contented king sized bed, with a royal blue bedspread, the bed which took an abundance of the space, lay in the pivot of his room. There were pillows with bright red cases, framed posters on the wall (one of Clint Eastwood, one of the Space Shuttle, one of Jimmy Page, one of Michael Jordan), a standard desk, and some other things I'll get to later. But boy, was he meticulous. Outside his bedroom in the family room was a sliding door, which I think might've been an add-on by Sissy's father – this room harbored a dusty old Ping-Pong table…
     So anyhow, while Marc was having it out with his girlfriend, Ed was sitting on the couch watching TV. The hockey season was over; he was watching News I think, wearing shorts and no shirt (it was always too damn humid in that place), and he didn't seem distracted from Marc’s racket. I walked in and sat on the opposing couch.
     "Hey Ed, what's going on?" I said, keeping my voice down.
     So did Ed. "Not much," he practically whispered.
     Marc went on this way on the phone, for about five minutes longer. During the call Cudd had walked in, his hair mussed up – he looked like he'd been napping. He came into the kitchen, fixed himself a glass of milk, and as quietly as he appeared returned to his bedroom.
     When Marc hung up the phone it was obviously after he'd been listening to his girlfriend “side” of things, for he hadn't said anything for about a minute beforehand. He glanced at me and said:
     "Bitches. Stay away from all bitches. They exist only to make our lives pure hell."
     “But since most guys are demons,” I said, “I guess that’s why they make us feel right at home.”
     Marc nodded blandly, pursed his lips. Then he said: "Hey. There's a present for you in the fridge… Rhymes with ‘fear’… and hurray up, I’m pretty far ahead already…"

      On another night Marc had been watching TV, drinking another 40, when I came over. Ed wasn't around. Cudd was napping in his bedroom. Outside the sun was aging. The night drew close, the day its curtain. Marc had yet another predictable gift for me in the fridge. And an idea…
     We sat up on the roof, the only level area up there, on two patio chairs, smoking, drinking our beers. We got up fairly easy. It was kind of funny because we had to climb up near Cudd's bedroom window and keep real quiet doing it. He was probably asleep. That guy could sleep all day. Marc had balanced himself where the roof slanted up; I handed up the chairs. My turn climbing up I nearly fell back. Marc's a fat guy but he's pretty agile. I’d always been clumsy as hell.
     We were all set up on the roof, sitting on the chairs and facing the opposite direction of the racetrack which, because of the myriad of tall suburban trees, even from the roof, looking behind us, we could only make out the glow from the track lights. Rows upon rows of houses spread before us. It was really nice up there, yet…
     "We're missing something," Marc said in a slightly whiny tone.
     "Yeah,” I replied, somewhat broken from the spell. “What're we missing?"
     "A cigarette."
     He was right. “You’re right,” I said.
     We sat quiet again. But this time we were quiet because we weren't speaking.
     "We need a cigarette," Marc said, putting emphasis on NEED.
     "They're all the way down in the house,” I sighed. “What can we do about it now?”
     Marc sighed, somewhat impatiently.
     "Shane. C'mon. We NEED a cigarette with our beers. It’s how things are. How about going down for the pack. I left them next to the telephone…”
     "Aw… Fuck!"
     So I climbed back down. Again, nearly killing myself. It was slippery along the arc. You could tell the roof hadn't been worked on for a while.
     I went into the family room, and the phone rang. And rang and rang. After four rings the answering machine turned on. I was looking around for the smokes that weren’t were he said and, for some reason, I was curious to see who was on the calling. I don't know why, I just was. The machine went through Ed's voice, and then the beep sounded. Then the CLICK; no message was left. 
    I found the cigarettes on the Ed-couch. There were two left. I made sure to find a lighter. I wasn't gonna have to climb back down again. It was getting dark outside quick. I wanted a smoke during sunset. I knew Marc would too.
     I found some matches in a kitchen drawer and I put them inside the cellophane of the cigarette pack. I put the pack in a front pocket and went back outside.
     When I got back up Marc had a bored expression. It was like he'd been waiting for a long commercial break to end, and now the show meant nothing. 
     We both had a smoke to the pale noise of the suburb below us, with all the houses, like sad little shoeboxes, and enjoyed the ribbon clouds that stroked softly, in one lazy corner, the dusty, burnt-red horizon.
     It took a seven-minute cigarette till the horizon began to fade. We dropped the butts into our empty bottles. Right then the garage door began to open. Ed drove up in his slick black Trans Am. It was a nice car – it didn't fit Ed but he had it. I barely caught a glimpse of his expression as he drove up from the driveway into the garage. He sort of smiled but it was a smile put-on. Marc caustically waved at him.
     Ed, by the look on his face, and despite that forced grin, didn't seem all that happy to see us…
     Pretty soon, as the drinking became mainstay, Marc discovered a new hobby.

     Ed had a few guitars. He didn't play them much, and if he did, when he did, it was never too loudly. This one night Ed was in his room when Marc and I were watching TV. Marc got up and walked back and stood at the border of the bedroom. Ed had one of his guitars on a stand and I guess he'd just polished it because Marc said something about how nice it looked polished. Ed said he played it less than the other guitar, which was in a case beneath the bed. Marc asked if he could look at that one, the one beneath the bed. Ed said “Sure."
     I watched from the couch. Ed bent down and reached under and pulled out the case from beneath the bed like a slab in a morgue. He opened it up. Marc was down on his knees and Ed grabbed the guitar out and handed it to him. Marc held the guitar, rested on his leg, and strummed it with a finger, sort of feathering it. Then he nodded and handed the guitar to Ed. Ed put it back in the case and Marc said something I couldn’t hear. Ed slid the guitar back beneath the bed. Then Ed said something and both Ed and Marc sat staring at the polished guitar on the stand.
     Marc returned to the family room; Ed closed his bedroom door. He had rude hours at work, and he'd usually hit the sack pretty early. I always made sure Marc and I kept the TV down after he'd turn in.
     I think it was that night, about an hour later, when Sissy came home. I had never met him. And I didn't meet him that night in actuality, I just heard the front door open and close, someone walk down the hall, and then another door, further off, open and close. I knew that it wasn't Cudd, so I figured it must've been Sissy.
     "He keeps vampire hours, that guy," I said to Marc.
     Marc was half awake on the Ed-couch.
     "He's kind of a dick," he said.
     "I've never met him before.”
     "Neither have I.”
     On the TV was an aloof detective having dinner with a beautiful blind lady in a seaside restaurant – a rerun of a 70's detective show called Mannix.
     "Ed's guitars are nice," I replied. Marc propped his head up on a couch pillow and said:
     "I want a guitar of my own someday.”
     And In another minute Marc was asleep. I left him that way. Yet another night had ended.

SHANE OBSCURE FILES: CHAPTER 4

This is the around the time when David Jameson came around. I remember because it was when Marc had already gotten his itch for guitars…

   David Jameson was a friend of Cudd’s from church. Somehow he knew Marc already. I guess Marc had been to their church a few times or something.
   David Jameson always had a smile. He was my age, a year older than Marc (but he looked younger than all of us), and he was in great shape. You could tell by looking at him that David liked to keep fit and healthy. He was going through college and pretty soon visiting the Cavern quite often. Mostly he and Cudd would listen to music in Cudd’s room. David, in the beginning, was Cudd’s sidekick. But he wasn’t really. In a few days he began watching TV with us.
   Marc and I were up to two 40s each. David sat around listening to our babble. I had been Marc’s listener and now David was ours. After one 40 we’d go on and on, about nothing too important, mostly just bullshit. And even Ed liked when David came over. He felt that with David around he wasn't merely “housing bums”. David was pretty well liked. He was like having a puppet show in prison. He was cleaner and healthier than us but he fit in pretty good. And like I said, he was a great listener. Marc and I had nothing to say and David would always listen…

   One night Marc was going in circles with his girlfriend on the phone. He sounded like he was trying to talk sense into her but he wasn't really, from what I could hear, making any sense. But I could only hear one side of the conversation.
   After the call he wasn't angry or perturbed. He’d get that way any other time. For about ten minutes he’d brood after talking to her. It seemed to me, what I could make out of those conversations was that she wanted him around more. Her name’s Samantha Henderson – Sammi for short – she went by Sammi, not Samantha. Marc had, more than ever at that time, especially since David had come around, spent a lot of time at the cavern. 
   “Girlfriends are hell,” Marc said.
   David laughed.
   “Oh yeah?”
   Marc nodded.
   “They’re nightmares.”
   David laughed.
   “Sounds like it.”
   Marc drank and said:
   “You should hear her. You should hear what I hear on that phone” (points to the phone). “She makes no fucking sense.”
   And David laughed.
   “Sounds like she’s driving you nuts.”
   Marc nodded, then drank, and said:
   “She is nuts. You have no idea what I have to put up with.”
   David had this tic. He’d rub his face with the collar of his shirt. I noticed it right off.
   “Why do you always do that?” I asked him.
   “Do what?” he replied dazedly.
   Marc was looking at me.
   “You rub your face with your shirt all the time.”
   Marc and David looked at the TV. There was a line of babes in bikinis, running on a beach.
   “Oh fuck me,” Marc said to the TV.
   “It keeps grease off my face,” David said.
   “Oh,” I said.
   “Fuck me…!”

   The more David came over, and it was quite often, the more Marc would practice guitar. He’d sit in Ed’s room, on the edge of his bed, strumming the guitar dry (not plugged in), facing the TV. It’d be Ed, David and I in the family room. Things were pretty relaxed. We all got along very well. David legitimized the pack…

   In the first few years of college you really don’t do too much. That is, when you’re not in school or working. Either you’re studying (and most students know how to study light and still pass – unlike myself), at work or you’re hanging out, waiting for sleep - which leads you to yet another dreary day.        
   So the Cavern was the perfect place to hang. It had become a sublime haven to waste nights. I went to college like David. But he was past all the General Education shit. I really wasn’t a student like him, I’ll admit. I worked some, took a class here and there (Gen Ed.); but mostly I just wasted time, at school or otherwise…

     Ed was Marc's guitar mentor, but only for a short time. Marc got the itch and only needed Ed to point out the itch; Marc scratched it himself. Ed had showed him some power chords - the foundation of any rock tune. Marc took these and began to practice. I got to say Marc is somewhat of a natural. He told me he had sang in choir in high school, performed in a nationwide group called Youth In America Sings (with Sammi) the year after high school, and that basically he had “music built in him.” A popular guy, a jock king and a lady-killer, and a singer, too. It sounded to me like Marc once had everything.
   Marc’d say, “Ed, how does that one song go?”
   Ed would rub his small round brown eyes. “Which song is that?”
   How can I describe his tone? It was somewhat like a father, when a child has just begun to ask too many questions.
   “That one you taught me earlier.” 
   Sports weren't on too often. Ed’d catch about ten minutes or so, mostly wrap-up on the news; we’d watch other stuff, pointless cable purgatory. Mostly the shows were stupid as hell but we’d watch it anyway.
   “I don’t remember what song you’re talking about,” said Ed. 
   Marc said nothing back. He began strumming the guitar and we could hear it now, loud and distorted…

   Sissy came around later that night. I remember it was the same night because that was when Marc left Ed’s guitar on the bed.
   Ed had gone to the store for something, and the minute he was out the front door, Marc came into the living room and stood behind the couch. He was back to doing that. I was drinking a 40. I had brought it over myself. There was a reason for that.
   Lately there’d been no more ‘gifts’ in the fridge. For some reason Marc hadn't been drinking ever since David became a regular. 
   Marc had, at one time, been in perfect shape. He was talking to David about working-out, because David worked-out. David wasn’t popular in high school. In fact he loathed high school. College was more his bag. He could go on his own time; he could even sleep in. But either way, he looked good after and I think because of him Marc desired to look good again, like in his heyday.
   So Marc and David planning out a jogging schedule. Marc brought it up, he asked if he’d run with him, and David said sure. David’s a sure-guy. There’s no-guys (Cudd), maybe-guys (Myself), yes-guys (Marc), and people who can give a shit less, yet still get by (Ed).
   Marc not drinking sort of perturbed me. It was fun before, catching a buzz. And he’d gotten me started with the whole drinking routine. We really didn't get too messed up but the buzz was nice. I missed it because I preferred not drinking alone. 
   By the time Ed got home Marc was on the floor. Ed put whatever he had purchased at the store inside the fridge, and then walked into his bedroom.
   After a few minutes he called out: “Marc?”
   His voice wasn't harsh or strict, but he definitely meant business.
   “Yeah?” Marc spoke tiredly. “What’s up?”
   “Next time you play my guitar, put it back in the case.”
   Marc had preferred the guitar that went inside the case that was kept beneath the bed. The other one, I figured, was too new and intimidating.
   “Sure,” Marc said. Then he glanced up at David and grinned. David looked over at me. His expression said: “Ed’s pissed, ain’t he?”
   I nodded in silent agreement. He was pissed, I could tell.

   Soon enough Ed was in bed, his door closed, the cozy liar in darkness. Marc fell asleep, once again right there on the couch. David and I watched an old Twilight Zone. It was one I’d seen many times and never enjoyed. “The Praise of Pip” starring Jack Klugman.
   That’s when the front door opened. It was Sissy. He didn't go down the hall this time, he came into the kitchen. He kept clearing his throat, similar to Marc but with an edge of femininely. At first I caught just a glimpse of him. Then he walked out and stood near the TV. He looked at the set, at what was on, and said very quietly (as if to himself): “Outer Limits.”
   Sissy resembled a handsome marionette. He had polished skin, a budgie board nose and combed wavy hair. He was thin as a rail. Even thinner than Ed. Ed was thin, Sissy was plain skinny.
   After a few minutes, shuffling around in the kitchen, I saw him in there, leaned against the sink, licking ice cream off a spoon.  
   After the spoon was washed and the ice cream put away, he yawned. That yawn said a lot - for him and for us.
   He left the kitchen and went out into the living room, and in a moment’s time came the sound of his bedroom door, opening and then, closing. 
   David and I both left. And we kept quiet leaving. We didn't want to wake up Marc…

SHANE OBSCURE CHAPTER 5

I remember one Saturday afternoon things were pretty active. A lot of people were around. Cudd and David played Ping-Pong, Marc sat in Ed’s room with the guitar, Sissy had his girlfriend over – and a few other people – swimming. Ed was at work. 
     Either I’d hang with Marc, hearing him play the guitar along with a CD. It was a whole orchestration that day: the splashing wet laughter from the swimming pool, Marc’s music, and the constant beat of the Ping-Pong match. Everybody was loud and content. Even the dog barked jovially.
     That day Sissy’s girlfriend had brought over her dog – an awful looking purple haired poodle, which would be, thereafter, under the care of Sissy. She had no room for it at her apartment. It was quite ugly, and went by the name Grape…

     Two girls came over on Monday night: they were Sissy’s girlfriend’s friends. Sighting girls around the Cavern was like seeing a bird flying upside down underwater. One of them had left her watch out by the Jacuzzi. She’d been over Saturday. She wasn’t too pretty – in fact she was pretty overweight. But her friend, who wasn't there Saturday, was a complete knockout.
     Marc and I, from inside, stared outside.
     The unattractive girl did most of the talking; the knockout looked great listening. Sissy stood listening too, for a little bit, then he’d talk his share. He would stand with one hand on his left hip, the other doing several different things - either stroking back his hair or adjusting his Ray Bans.
     Marc and I stood there, not speaking, just watching. Then Marc said: “The skinny girl’s fucking hot.”
     I nodded, agreed.
     We stood there a while. Marc’s silence was deep. He was thinking, I could hear him thinking.  
     “Dare me to go out there and talk to her?” he replied.
     “You’d never do that,” I told him. But I knew he would. I wanted him to. I wanted to see him fail. I wanted to see him panic, and get shot down. I wanted to see him get a loss for words. I wanted to see the difference between these high class/low rents and Marc Sandoval, king of the low rents. I was bored, I wanted to see something. 
   “How much would you give me if I went out there?” he said.
   “Here we go,” I said. “You’re backing out already.”
   He shook his head. “I was just kidding,” he said. Then without hesitation he walked over to the sliding door, opened it, went outside, glanced back at me, grinned wryly, and slid the door shut.
     Now I wouldn't be able to hear anything, and I couldn't do anything about it. He got me on that one. But it didn't matter, I thought. It wouldn't last long, I thought.
     I thought wrong…      
     Marc strutted over toward them – I could see the former popularity in his gait. He crept down by the pool, near them, dipping his hand in, pretending to check the water. Sissy faced the backyard wall. The girls faced the house; they both noticed Marc. I hoped he’d fall into the pool or something…
     But he didn’t…
     He said something as he stood up. Then moved over a few feet, right next to Sissy. Sissy looked over at him and smiled. It was, from what I could see, a somewhat nervous grin. Sissy awkwardly adjusted his Ray Bans. The fat girl smiled at Marc. The knockout had kind of a sterile, aloof expression. I couldn't wait to see her face tighten up. I couldn't wait to see her look annoyed.
     Then Marc did something tricky. He began talking to the fat girl. He patted Sissy on the back, as if to say, “Go on and talk to her” (the knockout) – “I want to talk with this girl.” And that he did. Marc said something to make her laugh, and I mean laugh. I could hear it clearly from inside. I hadn't been able to hear anything else except for that laughter.
     Then Sissy looked over at Marc and said something to him. Marc shook his head, face down, and shrugged his shoulders – as if Sissy had burned him – or rather, burned him back. I figured Marc had made that fat girl laugh because he’d bagged on Sissy, and Sissy had just gotten him back – but this is how the trick paid off.
     The knockout smiled. She smiled and, at first, looked at Sissy, then at her friend. Then she sort of glanced over at Marc – Marc who was back conversing with the fat girl.
     So now, I noticed, Sissy was somewhat thrown – distracted. The knockout paid only slight attention to him. Then she looked – not glanced – over at Marc.
     Whatever Marc had been talking to the fat girl about, he now shared this conversation with the two of them. His head would turn, giving them each equal time – but not for long. Soon enough he’d keep his head turned a little bit longer toward the knockout. And then, at last, she spoke to Marc. 
     Soon enough Marc and the knockout were in conversation.
     I could tell Sissy was growing impatient (so was I) but he concealed it well. The funny thing is, the fat girl didn't seem at all jealous – in fact she held the same smile she had when Marc spoke only to her.
     Marc had already won the spokesman. He‘d bribed the jailer for the keys. 
     Marc and the knockout kept talking. Soon Sissy moved back, staring into the pool, scratching his head. It was getting dark out. Sissy was stuck now... Marc had won... yet there really wasn’t even a race.
     And I – who instigated the whole thing in the first place – didn't get to hear a single word.

     Later that night Marc got a phone call. Sammi would often call the house. He had given her, weeks earlier, permission to do so.
     By the way, nothing happened with the knockout, but most likely both girls left thinking the world of Marc. That’s important for a guy like Marc, who thinks the world had pretty much forgotten him.   
     He didn’t say anything about it, though, to rub it in. And that made it even worse. I even congratulated him on getting the hot girl to pay attention, and he just looked at me, like he had no idea what I was talking about. But he did tell Sammi. He told his own girlfriend about it. He told her he’d won over a beautiful chick. And he told her that even though he’d gained weight since high school, he still “had it." And thus began the argument, which went on for about five minutes. Marc had a victorious smile the entire time. He was in bliss.
     Towards the end of the call, once again, he just listened; then he laughed. He laughed real loud at her and hung up the phone. He always seemed to hang up after listening to her for a while.
     And right after the call he smiled at me, and then proceeded to tell me, in complete detail, how he charmed to death that beautiful chick out by the swimming pool.

     Later that week: David, Marc, and I…
     “You been working out,” said Marc.
     “Every day,” David replied smiling.
     “Looks like it.”
     “Thanks.”
     “Do you concentrate on your arms more than your legs?”
     “I don’t think so.”
     “It kind of looks like it.”
     “It does?”
     “Sort of. Your arms are getting pretty big, though.”
     “Oh yeah? Thanks.”
     “Did Shane tell you about the other night?”
     “No. I don’t think so.”
     “It was funny, huh Shane?” 
     “Funny?”
     “I got those chick’s attention pretty quick.”
     “Yeah. I guess it was pretty funny.”
     “I had girls like that in high school. Even hotter than the cute one.”
     “A cute girl was here? Who?” David asked gleaming.
     “Karen.”
     “That was her name?” I asked.
     “Yeah. What an ass on her.”
     “Did you ask her out?”
     “No.”
     “He should've,” I said. “He might as well have.”
     “Why didn’t you?”
     “I’ve had girls like that in high school, plenty of times.”

     The next day was a boring afternoon when I came over; Ed was mowing the lawn without a shirt on. Ed was a real thin guy with clothes but he looked pretty toned without a shirt. I was surprised.
     I had hung around earlier at home, doing nothing all morning. When afternoon dazed in I began to feel pretty shitty. When I came over to Ed’s, I don’t think he wanted to be observed working (if Ed were an animal in a zoo he’d make himself somehow evolve into back-office management), so he turned off the mower and stood in the heat, wiping sweat from his forehead. I walked up, shook his hand, and saw that up close he didn't look too good. His face was pale.
     “What’s this,” I said, “they make you do all the chores around here?”
     “If I don’t, nobody will,” he said. “Lazy bums.”
     Funny, he was talking about Cudd and Sissy, yet describing Marc and I. I don’t think this was intentional. (It was pretty subconscious, though.) We’d been over lately more than his roommates.
     “I can grab you a drink inside,” I said. (It was funny – I was offering him one of his own drinks.)
     “That’d be good,” he replied. “Anything but beer.”
     When he said that he smiled. That was all we drank, we meaning Marc and I.
     I walked up to the house and then the mower came on again. I went in the house and grabbed two sodas out of the fridge. It was strange being in there because the place was empty during the afternoon, which was quite rare. It was like being in a schoolyard on a weekend.                           
     Things were awfully tidy. Obviously Ed had cleaned up inside before he began out on the lawn. There was that particular clean/dusty scent in the house, of a carpet that had just been vacuumed, which mingled with the ammonia stench of Pine Sol that had left a glossy, bored shine across the tile floor and kitchen counter. Right outside the back sliding door the dog was rolled up on a mat, sound asleep. It was much too quiet for the cavern. I went back outside.
     The mower sat idle on the grass.
     The entire neighborhood was somewhat of a dismal tract with similar looking one-story houses. Oak trees lined in front of each house. Out on Ed’s front lawn was a tall, strange looking tree, which stood out considerably from the others on the street. Nighttime it looked pretty ominous. I had never really pay attention to it in the daytime. It had gnarled branches that spread out into different angles, as if many arms had reached forward and formed the branches in a twisted/tangle maze – sort of like a spider web of branches. It was a very strange tree that no one could explain.
     Ed stood out on the curb.
     There was a guy on a ten-speed, who looked as if he’d just ridden up, standing with both legs around the middle of the bike, his hands holding the ram-horn handlebars. I couldn't see him too clearly. Even as I walked up I couldn't make him out. Lately, the last couple weeks, the image of Marc had been clearing up. I knew his face pretty good. But this guy was a blur, even more than Marc had been before.
     Ed was talking with him and as I walked up the guy said, “I better get going. I don’t want to ruin my stride, since I’m considerably new to this exercising thing.” And then he rose up, strong legging the arced peddle downward, and rode off coolly down the avenue.
     “Here,” I said, handing Ed the soda.
     “Thanks.”
     We drank.
     I noticed Ed's eyes were red, partially swollen, probably from the grass. He seemed sickly and pretty out of it. I could relate.
     The last couple days I’d felt in a serious rut. I know it when I feel this way because the sun is always too bright and my head feels like a camera that won’t shoot a decent picture. I have no inspiration and even great music sounds dull. I get sad, too, about really stupid old stuff that I don’t even bother thinking about normally. For instance, I’ll think of something shitty somebody had said about me and I’ll dwell on that for a while, along with other mundane things that’d once seemed (and were) meaningless, and I’d get both lonely and nostalgic.  
     (That morning, before I went to Ed’s, I didn't want to feel or to say much at all.)
     It’s strange, every time I can’t feel I think in circles. Sometimes I’d prefer a prison to an open field – a bedroom ceiling to the sun. Freedom rings false bells; captivity breeds a shining star outside the cell. On and on. Blah Blah Blah.    
     Things had been getting dull around the cavern, settling back into a rut... silent contentment rearing once again.
     Before Ed dragged the mower into the garage, he rubbed his swollen eyes, making them redder.
     “Who was that dude on the ten speed?” I asked him.
     “An old friend of mine,” he said. “The guy’s like a brother to me, in a way. I haven't seen him around in a little while. His name’s Sean Dusk.”

     That night something started that it ends up wouldn't last too long, but for its run it drove me pretty nuts.
     Cudd brought home a new toy.
     Cudd had grown up in a crazy household. His parents were a true slice of fast living. They would party quite often. Parties for them weren’t a take it or leave it term, but a way of life. They’d continuously smoke cigarettes, drink beer and play cards and there would always be a whole lot of characters over. Cudd grew up to be nothing like his parents. Cudd was nice enough but on the surface he was a dull, mellow and simple guy. In a reverse sort of way, Cudd was a rebel.
     Ed was too – not a rebel, but mellow. But he could make you laugh without even trying. Ed’s special brand of humor was drier than anything else. Cudd was just Cudd, I guess, take it or leave it.
     I preferred to leave it mostly, especially when he brought over this new toy. It was a home video game system. I don’t remember exactly which one it was but it was top of the line for that kind of stuff. And the boys went ape for it.
     I remember Marc, when Cudd had it all set up, jolting out from Ed’s room and skidding across the carpet in front of the TV as if sliding into home base... Safe! Meanwhile, David waited patiently on the couch. He had a maverick sort of expression. I figured he was probably pretty good at that stuff. Marc couldn't wait to play, David couldn't wait to win, and Cudd just couldn't wait, period.
     In no time the games were under way. I sat back, behind the couch, on an uncomfortable wooden chair. The phone rang. I walked over and picked it up.
     “Ed’s Youth Shelter,” I said.
     Ed wasn't even home; Marc and David laughed.
     “Is he around?” came this low voice on the other end.
     “No. He’s working I think.”
     “Who is it?” asked Cudd, eyes glued on the TV.
     “It’s for Ed,” I told him. “Who’s this?” I asked the caller.
     “I’ll call him later,” he said. Then click. I hung up and sat back on my lousy chair.
     “Who was it?” Cudd asked.
     “I’m not sure,” I said. “I didn’t ask – he didn’t say.”
     But Cudd didn't care too much. He was busy concentrating in his new game world.

     It was strange. After a while I longed to hang with just Ed again.
     With the video games things were pretty crowded around the house; the family room especially. If the television had eyes it’d have an eyeful of Cudd, Marc and David. 
     And more people would come over as well:
     Gale Trask, a friend of Cudd and Sissy, who slightly knew David – a real talker. Gale was a decent enough guy but I heard he was, at times, quite a braggart. Marc didn't like him too much, I could tell. Gale preferred to steal the show. Jac Duggle was another guy, a nearly invisible egghead, a sleepy eyed computer geek, and a friend of Cudd’s – Jac had brought over most of the games.
     The boys were simply in heaven.
     Marc would always play. I noticed that. In the shift he’d never lose his spot. Jac, ironically, played the least. He sat around next to Cudd. I noticed Marc didn't talk much during a game. He could be very concentrative. When he’d put his mind to something, like that guitar, nothing else existed for him. David had been an arcade junkie half his life though, since the early days of Space Invaders, Star Castle, Joust, Pac Man, etc. And he’d rarely loose. Marc got good though, soon enough.

     One night Ed and even Sissy were around. The family room was full of characters when the doorbell rang. Ed got up and walked out of sight into the living room. I heard the door open. When he came back in he quickly returned to his couch. I smelt cigarettes. There’s the scent of a cigarette burning and a cigarette just smoked, stuck on clothes. It was the latter scent that entered, walking slowly, carefully, precisely – in the package of Sean Dusk.
     He wore faded blue jeans and a generic black T-shirt. I would learn that that’s all he’d ever wear. It fit him though. He was pretty thin but not exactly in-shape – he had a slight beer belly. I couldn’t, like with Marc at first, and still from when I’d first seen him on the bike, make out his face too clearly. 
     A turn of heads reeled from the video game boys, and a few greetings from those who’d obviously met him before: Cudd, Gale and Sissy. Marc turned his head. He said “Hey dude” to Sean and Sean nodded back. Marc cleared his throat, facing forward again.
     “What’re you up to tonight?” asked Sissy, making small talk. He was a fine small talker.
     “Not much,” Sean replied. “Just thought I’d visit this carnival, see what’s going on.”
     Sean had this voice that’s hard to imitate, and if you did you’d do an imitation of an extra low voice, but in doing that you’d miss a subtle nasal quality that made it unique – his voice was a crazy stew of innocence, melancholy, rebellion and a surreptitiously uptight coolness – a particular brand of drowsy sarcasm.    
     “I got a new game,” Cudd told him.
     “I didn’t know you had an old one,” Sean replied.
     I liked that one. I laughed inside.
     Cudd smiled, working his joystick. ”I got a whole lot of games.”
     “You can play if you want. Take my turn,” Sissy offered Sean.
     “No thanks,” Sean said dryly to Sissy. “I’m trying to cut down on video games.”
     “You could afford an arcade.”
     No voices, just the noise of that ludicrous game music, which always sounds to me like a hyper cartoon porno. The players kept playing. I felt it, a few uncomfortable moments there.
     Marc had said that.
     “You got anything to drink?” Sean asked Ed.
     “Yeah. Grab anything you want from the fridge.”
   Sean walked over there. The hum of voices sustained, only slightly. Mostly anything said were comments on who had made a good move, or something of that nature. Sean grabbed out one of Ed’s omnipresent cans of beer and walked back to where he had stood behind the couches. Then he shot me over this look. Quickly. Call it a glance. I can’t explain it. But it was somewhat important. Not important to the story, I don't mean that – I mean right then it was important. It’s like, with that glance he said, “What’s with these clowns?” or even “Why am I here?”   
     My lousy chair was in the back corner of the family room, the opposite side of the sliding glass door. Beside me was a shitty fold out poker table. There was another chair, just like mine, sitting near the table. Sean Dusk came over and grabbed it, pulled it out to the center of the family room and sat down. He sighed, sipped his beer coolly, leaned back in the chair in a professionally lazy sort of way, and then glanced over at me.
     “I fucking detest video games – I always have, even when they were cool,” he said in a library tone, just loud enough for me to hear.
     I nodded. He was looking back the direction of the TV. I had his ear.
     “Same here,” I agreed. 
     Sean Dusk nodded knowingly and smiled.

     That night was a Friday. Something about Sean being there was quite familiar. After a quick jolt of déjà vu, after he’d said what he said about hating the games, I sat there, thinking, trying to recall…
     Sean had left before anybody. He drank two more of Ed’s beers and said his goodbyes, and even Marc called out a rather polite, “Later Dusk”.
     And I sat there and thought to myself, “It was actually fun tonight.”
     For it’d been a while since…
     And then it came to me!
     I’d felt this same exact way when Marc stood behind that very couch that he now indolently leaned his back on. And at that time, during the hockey season, just the knowing of him being there had delivered me from the rut of hanging with Ed.
     And as I rethought Dusk’s comment and the certain look he gave me, I began to feel better than I had that entire week.
     I detested contentment and was quite relieved.
     Ed had had it before with the hockey, and now Marc (and the rest of them) with the video games. They caught it like you’d catch a cold.
     And I’ll tell you, and forgive me for preaching, but contentment has one true enemy. And that enemy is my friend. That enemy is my savior. And I’d felt it with Marc standing behind the couch – and Dusk sitting on that chair, bored as hell – contentment’s sole, formidable foe: progression.
     Long-live progression…!    

SHANE OBSCURE CHAPTER 1