Marc had been dating her for well over two years. He was just out of high school and she was a junior when they met.
Plain but pretty, Sammi was the quintessential girl next door. Long brown hair, bright eyes, an upturned nose and the dignified aura of a shy girl who had learned confidence through circumstance. And Mark made it sound like he was pretty sick of her, like she really drove him up a wall. But I think Marc might have done some of the driving himself…
Sean Dusk had taken off mid-morning. It was around 1pm and Ed sat out by the pool, drying his showered, wet hair in the sunlight. His hair in the back had been growing out and it was a peaceful meditation, sitting on the diving board, a stick-god beneath the suburban sun, letting nature do the work. Marc and I were lying around the TV when I went to take a piss. From out of the thin bathroom window I saw Sammi’s car drive up.
She honked the horn, staring at her face in the rear view mirror while she waited. From what I could see, out of the window that had that sandblasted bathroom window look, she was cute – and by the time I finished Sammi’s car was gone… and so was Marc.
I think I went to a bookstore that day or something. I didn’t see anyone again till Monday. I was really tired that weekend. I slept in all Sunday morning. Friday night had really worn me out.
It seemed like Marc was changing slightly. I think he began to envy Sean Dusk…
It’s funny because I envied Marc. He’d always be able to get away with things. He’d land on his feet but wear himself out in the process. It was like he was always chasing his own tail, and it seemed that Sean and I, while Ed, David, Cudd and Sissy didn’t even have tails to chase. Jealously is a two way street; one side makes the ruckus, that’s all. Gives itself away.
I felt I existed with Marc around – and the others, too – but especially with Marc. I felt part of something for the first time in a long time, but only when I wasn’t by myself.
Sean Dusk had shaggy, uncut hair. He’d have to lift his head to see out from his bangs. But after that night at Cues, the next Monday, he’d gotten a haircut. It was strange. He was now clean-cut but still had a scruffy look – like a groomed dog. The short hair didn’t fit his long face the way it did slightly grown out. Also he was usually not clean-shaven and that day he was. And Marc, during the time since Sean had been hanging around, was letting his hair grow out. Being half Mexican he had a thick mane quickly growing black hair.
When Sean entered into the living room, we tripped on his hair. Especially Marc, who laughed aloud: not really to mock Sean... the laugh was more for Sean’s attempt to clean himself up. Some people don’t really fit in too well with changes; Sean was one of those people: you didn’t expect anything about him to change – the way he’d carry himself he didn’t seem to want change, even if he may have needed it. And also Sean had this particular talent of shrugging attention off himself. When he entered with his new haircut everyone was around except Sissy. There was a commotion from us, and, as I mentioned, Marc laughed - but Sean just sat down, mentioned something about something, I don’t remember what exactly, and in no time all attention was off him. He had this tone to his voice sometimes. It would shun any kind of spotlight. His voice was quick, curt, and somewhat bossy - like he knew the guy who ran the spotlight facing the stage or something. It was as if you shouldn’t mess with him, but not as if he were an intimidating presence like Marc was, because he wasn’t. He had a cat jab in his tone: “Don’t touch – stay back”, it said. If he drew any undesired attention to himself, that attention would, very quickly, go onto someone or something else. Sean Dusk was real hard to figure. He had a sort of hypnotic way of distracting the attention away from himself, but, at the same time, he’d be the core most every situation…
About a week later, Cudd had gone for a week to his parent’s house in Nevada – Gale tagged along.
We’d hang around the Cavern and drink, then more than ever…
One night Marc brought over a bottle of BUSHMILL’S Irish whiskey, and he would “announce” when we were to take a shot. He kept the bottle in a cabinet right above the TV. He’d stand his large body up front, blocking the screen entirely, then reach up, grab the bottle and the three shot glasses beside it.
I noticed Sean could hold his booze pretty good because he never got too talky when drunk, like Marc did. That was something about Marc I had noticed happening. He got talkative and corny the more he drank, dreaming out loud. Sean called this Marc’s “Is the sky, blue daddy?” talk. But Marc didn’t let that bulwark (roadblock insult) slow him down.
Drinking: I’d lose some perception, and yet I’d always hang in there. Sean, I noticed, no matter how much he drank, could always just hang out and not seem drunk, acting somewhat normally. He did get louder, though, but in that sense he’d also get clearer. His voice would lose the dull low-evenness, that tinge of deep nasal no-surprise he’d have when sober. He would talk more about movie stuff, books, music, anything of an entertainment origin, basically the things he knew; and Marc would get restless, go outside and smoke or, when Ed wasn’t around, he’d go into the adjoining bedroom (opening the unlocked sliding doors) and strum a guitar.
Sean, even though he’d been drinking, would keep on an even-keel with David, who never drank and was therefore, always sober. Sean and David knew and could read each other pretty well. Their conversations weren’t really conversations. They spoke in fragments, in a language pillared by inside jokes, each column a sentence to fill in what was invisibly apparent in their own structure of speech.
Dusk had a way of cutting through any kind of bullshit. But sometimes the “bullshit” in his mind wasn’t really bullshit at all. It was surface, sure, but very often it was reality taking a surface route to get somewhere genuine. The surface highway would make Dusk quite uncomfortable – for there might have been irritating questions asked on the way, or roadblocks and such he didn’t, in his own perception, have any time nor desire to face…
And something else I noticed began to happen:
One of those drinking nights Sean glanced back at Ed’s room. Marc had been strumming the acoustic guitar loudly.
“Why can’t he just give that fuckin’ thing a rest,” Sean hissed quietly. “Listen to him. He does that all the time lately instead of just hangin’ with us. He’ll play loud enough so we can hear him. He’s a fucking showboat sometime, and really, the way he plays, there’s not much to show…”
DAVID: Yeah, I know. He plays that thing like he talks when he’s drunk – too much, too loud.
SEAN: The guy gets on my nerves sometimes.
DAVID: We’re in full agreement there…
And in Ed’s bedroom, for some reason, the acoustic guitar began to play even louder…
After a few beers Marc would usually let it all fly – he had nothing to lose, and nothing to hide. That’s where the “corniness” came from, him simply not caring what he said, which I, deep down, admired greatly.
But he’d been doing vague subtleties that had been getting on my nerves too. He would be the life of the party, the catalyst, and then, if all our attention weren’t on him he’d clam up and not say a word, sulking like a left out kid.
With most people that wouldn’t mean a thing but with Marc it did, because he meant a lot to the party before the switch. He’d kind of dig his own grave by being himself, in a way. And when he talked it was usually about himself: how HE felt, what HE felt like doing… HE, HE, HE… “I, I, I…”
We were there, it seemed after a while, merely to witness Marc Sandoval. That’s why - I think - Sean found some solace in David’s laidback personality. Even though we really couldn’t do without Marc Sandoval, he would simply drive us up a wall sometimes. And the view up there got annoying, dizzying, and cumbersome…
One night Sean had suggested we all go back to Cues, but Marc went outside and had a stubborn cigarette alone by the slide. When he came back in he headed straight for Ed’s room. Guitar time again. Ed had been working nights, consistently...
Later on that night we did go to Cues, and of course Marc knew his share of people as always. I noticed he’d act much differently around his brother’s friends (and the other barflies) than with us: he’d be on his best behavior around those people, keeping his corny “dreams” to himself… remaining spontaneous and cool…
David drove that night to the bar; upon arriving he went straight for the pinball machine….
I sat and watched Marc and Sean play two guys a double match of pool. Sean played decently, but Marc made all the fancy, important shots. We stayed there a while till David got fed up and insisted we go back to the Cavern. He’d had it. He’d already “turned over” the pinball game…
But no matter, through the subtle backstabbing from Sean and the stubbornness from Marc, they were pretty close friends. And truly enjoyed each other’s company.
When Marc would go off to smoke or play guitar, and Sean hung with David, it was all part of the kinship. They were two chiefs. Yet, deep down, neither of them yearned for complete leadership. Sean was a reluctant leader at best. He didn’t want it, it just happened naturally. Marc was a born leader, but was clumsy in his approach.
Usually, Sean would suggest what to do, and where to go – and we’d follow Marc from there…
Sean, I could tell, usually liked having Marc around, pretty much for the same reason I did: he’d make things interesting. Just having him there was interesting.
“I know what we are!” Marc said one night at the bar.
He had a way of cornering Sean when he had a point to make drinking. It was as if Sean was his cerebral girlfriend, Marc about to club him with a verbal smooch. We were at our regular back stools. Marc and Sean had just won yet another pool match - thanks to Marc. The guys they had beaten were now up at the bar, casually forlorn yet sustaining their own drunken night. Marc spoke loudly because the juke was close and noisy.
“Yeah?” Sean said, half annoyed. “What are we, Marc?”
When Marc would have one of his points, when he’d corner Sean, Sean would get this look, an expression saying: “Oh shit - not this again!”
“We’re two military captains,” he slurred.
“Of two opposing armies, or what?” Sean said wryly.
“No,” said Marc. “That’s not it.”
SEAN: Okay, so then, explain…
MARC: We’re two captains from two different branches of militaries. You’re from the Army; I’m from the Marines. We’re the same rank but an entirely different branch of militaryism. (I swear, he said Militaryism.)
SEAN (laughing): My God. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.
MARC: No it’s not, it’s true.
SEAN: Then can I go AWOL now… please!!!
Marc laughed; but this was merely an obstacle.
He had his theory and he believed it. And even I knew he was on to something.
They were definitely the two leading roles on the stage: different parts, different lines – the same play.
And no matter how much Marc annoyed him, or how much Sean acted elevated above Marc, they both really enjoyed hanging out and getting drunk together…
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