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…
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