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…!
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