SHANE OBSCURE CHAPTER 23 & 24

 23.

   In my life I was bored and I wanted to do something, to make something, but I had no aspirations. My only real goal was having no goals, wasting time...  

  One weekday afternoon I stood outside my house near the lawn smoking a cigarette. I was alone and I felt alone and also I was very bored. I looked over into a neighbor’s garage across the street where a man was busy making or fixing something. Each time that afternoon I’d come back out to smoke he’d still be in his garage, doing his thing. I felt an extreme jealousy for that man. I went into my garage and searched around and found no tools. There were bags and boxes of old stuff my mom couldn’t throw away; that was it. I stood there, the garage door open, the sunlight another dimension outside, and I searched for a piece of wood. I couldn’t find one. So I walked back outside and smoked another pale cigarette beneath the wan suburban sun, realizing that if I did have a splendid box of tools, what would I build? Or fix? 

   I had had this similar envy when I was a teenager in high school. Once I saw a kid in one of my classes who wore all black clothes and sat contentedly reading a horror magazine. I had always liked horror movies so I went to a comic book store down the street and bought three horror magazines, went home and started to read them; but I got bored, and fast…

   Then I recalled a good friend from middle school who had a giant collection of comic books. In those days I think I had around five comics, but he had every one imaginable adding up to over two thousand…  

   The next day I went back to the comic book store, strapped with a ten-dollar bill, and bought a bunch of comics. From Captain Marvel (RIP) to Spiderman and whatever else I recalled my buddy having had in his collection.

   I went home and spread the comics on the bed, peacock plumaged and wonderful looking. The horror mags were now beneath my bed as I stared at the comics. I’d always liked the look of comic books. Then I opened one up and started to read it, but soon enough realized I did not like reading them – and, for that matter, never had before. I’d always liked the colors of them and as I stared at them on the bed, soon enough my eyes got bored with the colors as well. I picked them up and put them, with the magazines, underneath the bed… (The monster had something to read then…) 

 

• * * * 

   One weeknight when Sean was there it was just me and him outside; Marc wasn’t around. We stood, each with a beer in hand, smoking, and bullshitting… 

  “I don’t think I’m perfect, but I feel like it sometimes, in a strange sort of way,” he was saying. “Not perfect as in perfect looking, just… I don’t know really…”  

  “Everyone’s felt that way – it is hard to explain, but I know what you mean.” 

  “I just know what to say when I need to, about nothing in particular. When it comes down to it I’m a perfect liar but I usually tell the truth – even when I lie.” 

  “How about Marc. Does he know what to say?” 

  “He knows what to say, but only out loud. I just know how it’s supposed to sound out loud, but I don’t have a clue how to say it.” 

  “And David?” 

  “David doesn’t care.” 

  “Doesn’t care because he doesn’t know?” 

  “No, more like - doesn’t know because he doesn’t care.” 

  “And Ed” 

  “What?” 

  “Nothing. How about you, Sean - do you care?” 

  “I don’t really. But I guess sometimes I do.” 

  “Does Marc?” 

  “I don’t know. And I don’t care.” 

  Pause… 

  “What do you think about mostly,” I asked him. 

  “When?” 

  “I’m not sure.” 

  “Not sure, huh? Well,” he sighed. “I know everything about that.” 

  

  Sean would have a look whenever I saw him. I’d noticed he was putting weight on. He’d seem pretty down-and-out. He didn’t joke around too much like before. 

  But all this didn’t stop us from hanging out, and thus began our outdoor reckless phase.  

  We – that is, mostly Marc, David, myself, and sometimes Sammi… and Sean - became suburban road warriors: all of us inside Sean’s little car. That thing wasn’t a badass machine but a plus was it seemed to have nine lives in it.  

 

We’d go over and pick Marc and Sammi up at Marc’s pad. Then we’d go to the lodgy restaurant, do our obnoxious goofing around, pissing off the customers mostly, and soon enough we’d be on the road... 

  

   There was a well-to-do suburban tract fairly close (but not too close) to Marc’s pad. It’s a maze of avenues that branch into each other, each connected from the back by a large street that, if you saw it from a bird’s eye view, was a giant half arc that held the tract in place – as it were. There were plenty of houses in this neighborhood, and, on certain nights, plenty of trash cans too - all loaded for the next morning – trash day. This was our night. Here went the game, which was known as trash can bowling: 

   Marc (driving) would pull up to Sean’s (shotgun) choice of a fully loaded can (preferably the ones with tons of junk piling out of them or full of grass), and Sean, after reaching out and grabbing the can, would hold tight and Marc would take off. Now the action was that Marc would drive very fast, the trashcan scraping the cement - what a sound! And on the end of the street (outside of a house, already placed - we did not place these) were the bowling pins: a set of three or more loaded cans. Marc, at full speed, would turn the corner - and Sean would let go. A strike, of course, would be the can sliding into the others: an explosion of junk would blanket the street - it was beautiful! Sean made strikes mostly. This was true vandalism at its spoilt finest. We’d drive around (it was usually after midnight) for hours at a time, and nothing ever happened to us. Not a single thing. No law, and not even any neighbors would run outside. It was Marc, I knew, that was our protective light. We did this for half the chilly month of December.  

   But it wasn’t always trash night. For there wasn’t always cans out on the street. But there was always corner stores – and eggs for sale!!! 

   Thus we’d go egging. On egging nights Sean would drive, Marc gunner. We made eggy messes of probably over fifty cars, and fifty people (on bikes or walking), and even drive-thru fast food dives. Here’s how that went: 

   Marc would drive up to the speaker (he’d drive and egg during this), and ask the staticy voice: “Do you have egg sandwiches?” And the voice would - after some confusion – answer a plain, “No. We don’t have egg sandwiches”. Then Marc would drive up to the window, slow and prowling, and when we got up to the window, he’d toss about three eggs inside the place.  

  It was great, truly it was…  

  Those two weeks were fun…  

  And David, he was glad we weren’t out drinking, and so was Sammi. But it wasn’t, like everything else in life, without some consequence… 

  

   After a night of it, Dave, Sean and I’d drop Marc and Sammi off, and then drive to Sean’s. We’d sit in front of the TV, quiet as dusty mice… 

  One time Sean, out of the blue, said:  

  “What is that?” 

  David felt it too. 

  “I’m not sure,” he said. 

  “I felt it too,” I said. 

  Then we sat, silently, the rest of the night this way… 

 

   This one particular sad strange night hanging out at Marc’s with Marc, I felt like a fly on the wall…  

   It was right after the road warrior phase had died down. Marc was alone except for me, and I say that because he really seemed alone. Watching TV, he got up from the couch, walked into the kitchen, went over to the wall phone, picked it up and pressed a button. There was obviously no reply at the other end. Then he made himself a meal.  

   He grabbed three tortillas outta the fridge and some cheese, sliced the cheese up and put them on the tortillas, spread a plentiful amount of butter on the tortillas, then put the plateful in the microwave.  

   The fridge door open, he wrapped up the cheese, put it away, and grabbed out a beer. When the microwave sounded he grabbed out a carton of sour cream with the other hand and kicked the fridge door shut. Then he grabbed a tray (above the fridge) and put the quesidea plate on the tray, the beer and the sour cream next to it.  

   He sat back on the couch, dipping the quesideas into the sour cream container, every other bite or so washing it down with a swig of brew. The butter and some of the cheese, when he was finished, remained inside the sour cream container, so he put the tray on the couch and went into the kitchen. He opened a drawer and grabbed a fork and returned to the couch. He put the tray back on his lap and ate the particles of cheese and butter out of the sour cream like it was soup.  

   Then he sat, empty-eyed, took in a deep breath and drank his beer, watching TV. But only for about ten minutes. He went back into the kitchen and opened a cabinet near the phone and grabbed out his horse pills and placed it in his mouth and then, holding the pill between his front teeth he opened the fridge and grabbed out a beer, opened the it up and washed the pill down. Then he searched around in the fridge a bit and eventually found something, closed the fridge door and after preparing in the kitchen for a few minutes he came back out with a bowl of ravioli on a tray, a jar of mayonnaise next to the bowl, the half finished beer next to the jar.  

   He sat down and began to eat the ravioli. Then he put his spoon in the jar of mayo, got outta big chunk of it, flicked into into the bowl of ravioli, and stirred it around.  

   He took a big drink of the beer and then ate some of the ravioli. Then he sat and belched, took in a deep breath - the deepest yet - and watched TV. But only for a minute.     

   Then he got up and walked into the kitchen, picked up the phone, pressed the button and waited, again, to no avail. He hung up.  

   Then he opened the fridge and grabbed out this-and-that and soon enough returned into the living room with a plateful of cold pizza slices in one hand, the beer in the other, and tucked under his armpit was a new can of nacho cheese dip. He sat, using the tray and plate, eating the pizza with nacho cheese poured on top of it. Soon he finished the pizza, drank his beer, and set the plate on the tray on top of the first plate (two in all), the bowl on the plate, the sour cream, mayo, nacho cheese, and the two empty cans of beer mingling on the tray - and took in another heavy breath. And then a deep, baleful sigh…  

  He sat there and watched TV the rest of the night; from time to time he glanced over at the mute phone in the kitchen… 

 

   The next day (a Sunday) I went over to the Cavern. It was mid December and you could feel it. Not only from the cold nights but that hollow anticipation of Christmas to come… 

  Sean, David and Ed were there. So was Sissy and Crumb, but they were both in their bedrooms.  

  Sean, David and Ed were watching TV. Sean was telling Ed about the night before… 

  “Man, it was fun. We went to this theater they opened up near the beach. David and Sammi and I.  

  “We had to practically sneak her out her house, I swear. The whole time it felt as if Marc were someplace watching us. 

  “But you know, I’ll take a risk for someone’s freedom. Sammi deserved a night without him. 

  “In fact we all did. 

  “We didn’t end up seeing a movie; there wasn’t anything worth paying money for. So we drove all the way to Hollywood.  

  “Fuck, it was great! 

  “We checked out the street trash and freaks. Man, it’s desperate there. I can’t imagine having to live in that bucket of shit. 

  “But it was fun. We had a great time. 

  “Sammi’s funny as hell, man. She was really letting loose with the jokes. Bagging on everything. 

  “And she looked good, too. She looked… unsufficated. 

  “But when we drove back, we got this feeling. All of us at the same time. Remember that David? 

  “It was like in STAR WARS - when the Death Star tractor beam pulled in the Millennium Falcon. 

  “I felt like that driving back home. 

  “And when we dropped Sammi off, we really felt eyes on us then. 

  “But I doubt he was around. 

  “But you know what, we drove off anyway, fast as hell. And then just drove around aimlessly. We didn’t get back to my place till around four in the morning. 

  “It kind of sucked at the end, in a way, but man was it fun in Hollywood. 

  “Especially the drive up. 

  “It felt real good. Fuckin’ A it did! It felt real good to feel free again…  

   “Without Marc Sandoval…!” 

 

   A few days later Sissy had brought home a Christmas tree. It was a skinny job with mangy branches, and he set it up behind the couches, in the back corner of the family room. Since they were bachelors and the entire tree was never decorated much, except a ragged looking North Star stuck on the top. The tree stand was real shitty, third generation, most likely. One night, when everybody was asleep (not a creature stirring), the stand gave way and the tree fell over. So Sissy, when he found it that way the next morning, leaned it against the wall; he procrastinated buying a new tree stand. In a few days, before Christmas time, the tree died. Sissy carried it out to the street.    

   And he put the old North Star, made of cardboard, paper, and tin foil, back inside the cupboard that he’d taken it out of. 

 

 24. 

  I don’t like crowds too much. All I see is faces in crowds and too many faces scare me. If I get up close to hear the things they say, I get to quickly feeling much worse than I usually do. But I think Marc liked crowds. I think he enjoyed crowds and people more than being alone. He loved holidays, too. He didn’t feel alone on holidays. But I sure did…

  I remember those faces at the mall when we walked around, shopping with Marc and Sammi. I remember the way Dusk looked (seemed) with us - a true outsider. I could tell he didn’t want to be there. But he made, like he always does, the very best of it. And, Marc entertained him. He would do a lot of hi-jinx, going quite a long way for a laugh sometimes. In one department store he knocked down everything in his path (it was mostly clothes, so it made no noise) and made quite an awful mess in his wake. Sean, during these moments, was all smiles. And Sammi would shoot Marc a look, like saying, “You know better!” Which, in fact, he did… that what made it so superb for Sean, whose silent philosophy was: fucking around isn’t fucking around unless you know better. Knowing better makes everything better if you try your better even worse. That’s when Marc would walk with Sammi, and David, Sean and David would scuttle behind them. Marc had promised it’d be such a great time shopping. He’d promised Sean a fun time heckling people, which, in fact, did happen, but not nearly enough for Dusk. Those were the worst damn crowds those two days. For myself it was terrible seeing all those nightmare faces.  

  “We have to get my brother something good!!!” Marc said to Sammi at one point. 

  “I don’t know if we can afford anything too big, hon.” 

  “That’s bullshit, Sammi… we got your bitch mom a hundred dollar purse and now you’re saying we can’t afford anything for my brother.” 

  “Don’t call my mom a bitch!” 

  “Fuck her! And fuck you!! We have to get Robert the tool set he wanted. The one I showed you.” 

  “That costs two hundred dollars, Marc. We don’t have that much for one gift.” 

  “Then we’re gonna return the purse and get her something cheaper so then we CAN afford it.” 

  “We can’t return that purse.” 

  “Yes, we can!” 

  “She wanted that purse. She’s been telling me about it all year.” 

  “Robert wants those tools.” 

  “He doesn’t even know about the tools.” 

  “My God,” Sean groaned from behind. “What’re you two married or something?” 

  We were all outside the mall on that last day they shopped. These were usually the times Marc would start a big fight with Sammi. Right at the end of something, just when she thought it was all over, he’d pull something out of his hat. 

  “I’m returning the purse right now. My brother needs those tools!” 

  He grabbed her bag, the one with the purse, making her drop another bag she was holding, and then he stormed alone back into the mall. Sean lit a smoke and leaned against a pole. Sammi picked up the fallen bag and walked over to a bench, near Sean, and sat down. Her eyes were welling up. 

  “You okay?” he asked her. 

  “Yeah. I guess,” she sniffled. 

  “I want to leave,” he said bluntly. “I’m tired of all this… this…” 

  “He’s such a pain in the ass,” she cut in. “I’m so sick of him. I hate him. I swear to God, Sean, I hate him!” 

  “Aw c’mon,” Sean said. “You don’t hate him.” 

  The way he said that was funny. 

  “I’m sick of him. I’m sick to death of his bullshit.”  

  Now her tears had dried. 

  “Well if it makes you feel any better,” Sean sighed, speaking in a tone as if to himself, “I’m sick of him too.”  

   

   Christmas morning I spent some time with my family, but that ended soon. I had nothing to do and I felt a pale, deep sorrow inside, being at home, and then I remembered Thanksgiving and soon enough I was in my car, headed for the Cavern… 

 

   There were no cars outside when I got there, at least not in the driveway, but there were two parked out along the street… 

 

   Sean Dusk and Gale Trask lazed out in the backyard near the Jacuzzi. There were in conversation when I walked back there. They didn’t pay much attention to my arrival. It was as if I’d been already expected to come. Sean sat against the sidewall facing the bench swing where Gale sat. 

  “I don’t think I ever really fit in anywhere,” Sean was saying.  

  “I have the same problem,” Gale said. “And I prefer it that way.” 

  “For me, I don’t know whether not fitting in is a problem or a curse.” 

  “It’s neither. Not fitting in is a good thing. You don’t want to be like everyone else.” 

  “I’ve never been like everyone else, but I do enjoy their company. At least sometimes I do.” 

  “I don’t like to be around people too much. Not for too long. I kind of tend to go my own way most of the time. My dad’s a dockworker; he wants me to work there too. But I’ve got it better selling shirts out of my van, traveling, enjoying life on my own terms. I’ve got a great wholesale operation in two foreign countries. One in Guatemala, another in a small island off Costa Rica.” 

  “So you make a trade outta being a loner. Not bad.” 

  “It’s not bad at all. In fact it’s real nice.” 

  “I think I’d miss people,” Sean said, lighting a cigarette. Gale was doing the same. “I’d miss my friends too much. I’d miss the predictability of everything. I mean it’s a strange duality. I can’t stand all the same things I really need.” 

  “No brother, you might just think you do. Believe me, there’s nothing quite like being on your own, completely independent of the rat race.” 

  “I don’t know. I’ve taken trips, away from what they call a race. And it’s all the same to me. It’s like, right when I think I’m outta the rat race, I look around and realize that everybody’s eating cheese.” 

  “But leaving the hassles of the city life, there’s nothing like it. See I’m part Indian, from my mom’s side. If I had nothing but a horse and a blanket, I’d be set.” 

  “But you’d probably need a Volkswagen Micro horse.” 

  “No, I don’t need stuff like that, I swear. I don’t need all this…” (motioning to the house) “…stuff we think is necessary.” 

  “Do you think the Indians didn’t build cities because they didn’t want to, or because they didn’t know how to?” 

  “I think they didn’t want to,” Gale said, already nodding at his own response. “The Aztec Indians built pyramids. If they could build those, they could build anything.” 

  “Those weren’t Native American Indians, though. Those were Aztecs. And they were slaves and HAD to build all that shit. I don’t think they really wanted to. They’d probably sit around smoking grass if they were free.” 

  I noticed Gale smoked funny. He didn’t inhale too much off the cigarette. Instead he’d let it cloud up around his face, and he’d watched it as if it were some fancy ghost or something. 

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I just don’t care too much about being normal. As long as I can be different, I’m happy.” 

  “But you can be just as different in a crowd as you can outside of one. When you’re alone, like you said you preferred to be, you’re not different than anybody. You’re just alone.” 

  “But when you’re inside a crowd you’re just like everyone else.” 

  “Not necessarily.” 

  “I think so. I think if you stick with the pack, you’re pretty much a pack-wolf.” 

  “Well some of us are pack rats.” 

  Gale smiled. “True at that.” 

  “I don’t know,” Sean said balefully. “I think being different has little to do with geography, and everything to do with table of contents.” 

  “What do you mean?” 

  “I think there’s only two kinds of people in the world, and they’re each missing a chapter. Half of them are missing the first chapter. Their “books” are already under way, and there’s an ending in sight, or rather, a conclusion. And if you want to, you can skip right to it.  

  “The other people have no final chapter. You know all there is to know about them, everything’s laid out - like an open book, excuse the cliché - but there isn’t a conclusion...  

  “And that’s all there is in this world. Who knows, maybe I’m full of shit – but my philosophy is, if you’re not like one type of person, you’re like the other.” 

  “Which one are you then?” Gale asked. 

  Sean thought a second. 

  “I don’t know yet. And when I learn - like everybody does - it’ll be too late by then.” 

  “What does all that chapter stuff have to do with not being normal, though?” Gale asked Sean. 

  “Nothing, nothing at all, because I don’t think anybody’s normal. I don’t think that the apparent outsiders are the brave ones. I think they might even be the scared ones. The insecure masking as being… genuinely lonely.” 

  “What do you think they’re afraid of?” 

  “That somebody might know something they don’t.” 

  “What do you mean?” 

  Sean took in a deep drag, stared into the jucuzzi water, blew the smoke out, and sighed.  

  “Well,” he said, “let’s see. When I was a kid, I wasn’t in a baseball league. I stayed back in the younger division because I didn’t want to face the older wild pitchers. The guys my age all played in the Pony league. Remember Pony leagues? There were they youngest of the ponies. But I decided to stick back in the slow pitch. And I was the oldest kid on my team. I was a god. I’d hit homer practically every time at bat, if not that a double or a triple. One game, there was two of my guys on: one at first, one at second - and I came up. I mean - I swaggered up, you know how it is? Kingpin shit! Anyhow, I’m standing at the plate, and everyone knows I’m going to get a hit. And I did. I knocked the sucker out! Way the hell over center field. There were no fences so I ran. I ran those bases fast as I’ve ever run, and back then I was pretty fast.  

   “But then I realized, running in between third and home, that I had passed up both my players. I had my head so high up in the clouds, I’d passed them right by without even knowing it. And that was three outs - 1,2,3. The next inning, back out on the field, I looked over, and saw some older kid, some spectator, imitating how I had run. He stuck his chest out, put his nose up - and his buddies were all laughing. And that was it. See, for that minute, as I passed my players, I had no idea - but everyone else did - including that dick that’d imitate me later. And that was the last time I ever did anything without being completely aware of myself. And I don’t know… I don’t think it makes me an outsider, not being part of the game and all that. But it makes me wonder sometimes. If I’d have stuck out all season in the pony league, and maybe got tagged by the wild pitch or two, if I’d been a different person today. 

  “And the funny thing is, every day I run those bases. We all have to, you know? But I never seem to get a hit anymore. I’m running just for the sake of… not wanting to stand still.” 

  Gale Trask was watching another one of his fancy exhaled ghosts sway in the air. He nodded his head at Sean’s woeful soliloquy.  

   Sean glanced over at the house. 

  “Where the hell does Grape go when we’re back here?” 

  Gale pointed. “Right in that doggy door over there.” It was built into the outside door of the ping-pong room. 

  “I see,” Sean nodded. “I wish I could squeeze through that door. I could use a beer right about now.” 

  We all sat around for about ten minutes longer, smoked a few more cigs, talked a bit - nothing too deep - and then took off, going our own separate ways.