SHANE OBSCURE CHAPTER 29

 29. 

   Mason Gregory Den Sidehill the 3rd, who went by either Mason Sidehill or Gregory Den, was a friend of Sissy’s, originally - or was it Crumb? It could’ve even been Ed. It’s hard to tell with Den. He pretty much came in right out of the blue. He was a fairly attractive guy, with wide, tan cheeks, a petite nose, light green eyes and a smug, royal disposition. His mother was at one time a soap actress in the 70’s, but only a few episodes and she added nothing really to the story-line or the memories of whoever watched it, while his father, also an actor in the 70’s, appeared in even more sparse and forgettable cameo roles in crime shows like THE ROCKFORD FILES, BANYAN, VEGAS, SWAT and some commercials.  

   Gregory’s folks split when he was five, leaving him an only child raised by his mother and a strict stepfather, whom the mother had married quickly to have a father figure around for her son. Thus Gregory Den, although on the surface was very proper and intelligent, had a sneaky, rebellious, and sorrowful side to him. And there was quite a bard in him – every word he spoke was chewed gum of verbal perfection: though he spoke, at first, to us, and everyone, what seemed as “rubbish”. But it took a very small time to get used to him, and for him to get used to us. He had a way of talking that no one could understand. When we first met Gregory, Dusk, David and I came over and we noticed this new “character” watching a hockey game with Ed, Crumb and Sissy. We all sat around in back of the couch, and noticed something peculiar in the speech of this newcomer - during a commercial Gregory Den started talking - we couldn’t tell to whom he was speaking to but he spoke in a loud, dramatic voice: 

   “Thou dost Goethe, iron barred yonder. Ye oh spendthrifts of wandering knaves catering to the nickel-plated glow of the sun as it rises against the dull moon shattered twice as sorrows maul meek sparrow songs rearing grace and folly to dwell with the nine jack of spies – this while puppets shatter an arcane silver babbling moon, seeking lost gods of sidewalk sweat together reeking from the pallid rent of autumn dice.  

   “This,” he finished with a finger pointed in the air, “is the hour of the awakening!” 

   We sat in silence. Dusk shook his head, and was smiling wryly. David had a confused, and bored, expression. Ed, Sissy and Crumb stared blankly at the TV. 

  “While the summer flowers,” continued Mason Gregory Den Sidehill, “harboring riots of hungered bees, thus jars are stirred attic-wise as moonlit candles need not devices nor doth valor change with any such tangible Godspeed as that of formidably gaunt haste. As a lost child’s tender years of crimson splendor yield up to join what heaven describes as clouds weeping pale crocodile tears of rain before the dawn. 

   “OH SWEET BLESSED,” he finished again, “ARE THE HUMBLE KINGS OF PYRE!” 

   Then the game came on again, and Den joined Crumb, Ed and Sissy in silence, watching the action. Every once or twice Sissy would cheer at a play. Sissy, Ed and Crumb seemed not at all perplexed at Gregory Den’s inanely confusing “commentaries”. Sometimes Gregory would sneak a look back at us with narrowed eyes. Then another commercial came and, turned again and facing us, he said in his Shakesperean tone: 

   “Tell me who, pale strangers of the lost kingdom yonder, brings the necktie to the moon’s festival of yawning to this tattered kingdom?” 

   David rolled his eyes, loudly with a sigh. Ed, Crumb and Sissy were still glued onto the television. I was staring at the dirty popcorn ceiling. And Sean Dusk, stretching where he sat, sighed mildly, and said to Gregory Den: 

   “Just because you don’t make sense, doesn’t make you deep. Be yourself – or at least, try to be.”   

   Thus, a shadow of deep silence fell upon the room. Sissy coughed into his hand. Even the television seemed mute. Ed yawned. Crumb replied with another. David rubbed his eyes with balled fists. And, Gregory Den looked at Sean and smiling lightly, reached out his hand. 

   “Name is Mason Sidehill,” he said, “but I go by Gregory Den.” 

   “Which is it?” Dusk said plainly. 

   “Gregory,” said Gregory. “Gregory Den.”  

   Dusk nodded, stood up, and shook his hand. 

   “My name’s Sean,” he said – then introduced David and myself. 

   The next twenty minutes we all watched the game in silence, save for Sissy’s comments about the plays, or his cheering. Then, during yet another commercial, Sean Dusk got up and went out to the backyard. 

   In another minute, as the commercial ended and the game sustained, Gregory stood up and went out the same way Sean had. And he met him by the familiar spot by the slide, where Sean had gone out what seemed like a thousand years before with Marc Sandoval. 

   Sean and Gregory smoked, I noticed, not one but a couple cigarettes. I sat with the others watching the game. Sissy kept yelling at the television. At one point he was so mad at one of the plays, yelling he threw out his back. As Sean and Gregory returned from their smoking (and reeking thus) Sissy was on his way to his room, one hand clutching around at the small of his back. 

 

   Dusk, David and I were at Sean Dusk’s house, watching TV. The phone rang. Dusk got up and answered it, and said: “Sure, okay.” Then he went and sat back down, and mentioned to us that Gregory Den was on his way over. 

   “I don’t think I like that guy,” David said, scratching his nose. 

   “He’s okay,” said Sean. “Sort of pretentious but an all right guy it seems.”  

   “I don’t know,” replied David evenly. “I didn’t understand a word he said at first. Then, when I did understand him, I didn’t care.” 

 

   After twenty minutes the doorbell rang and after twenty-one minutes Gregory was in the family room with us watching vapid television and had a good time making fun of them, and all of us understood everything Gregory Den said for he was as shrewd and wisecracking as we were… 

   

   But where was Marc in all this strange change? That, I think, Sean had wondered too… 

  

  He hadn’t come around for nearly two weeks. Sean hadn’t seen him since the rain ended. I missed the poor guy, but I don’t think Sean did much. He liked this “break”… 

 

  One time we heard from David, whom Marc had called the day before, that he, Marc, had been jogging. And lifting weights and, supposedly, dieting, and that he even cut his hair…  

 

   One night it was the “new crew”: Gregory Den, David Jameson, Sean Dusk and myself, at Sean’s, when, to our surprise, Marc came over one night with his new short haircut. The last we’d seen it his hair reached past his shoulders. Now it was buzzed, and all greasy, and there were two rows of short spikes around the rim of his head, forming a sort of crown. He said his hellos to all of us. Then he turned to Gregory Den. Marc smiled strangely, and seemed nervous. 

   “How are you doing?” he said. “My name’s Marc. Marc Sandoval. I’m Sean’s friend.” 

   Gregory Den nodded, and reached out his hand. 

   “Hey there, Marc Sandoval.” They shook. “Name’s Gregory Den. Nice to meet you, buddy.” 

   Gregory, who seemed unexplainably different right then, went back to watching television. Marc stood there, at the end of the couch, with is arms folded atop the upper part of where his belly protruded out from his chest.  

   “Sit down, Marc,” Sean offered. “Watch TV with us.” 

   “Nah,” Marc said. His tone was shaky, timid yet also, even. “I won’t be here long.” He’d been looking at the television – then he looked at Sean. “Hey man,” he said in the same tone, only with a front of sudden confidence. “I set up a weight bench in my exercise room. I was thinking maybe me and you could work out together or something.” 

   “Yeah,” Sean said lazily. “Maybe but, I don’t know.” 

   Marc nodded, cleared his throat. “You should come over sometime. My door’s always open and, I’m usually home.” 

    “That’d be cool,” Sean said nodding, looking up. “Sure man, sometime I will, definitely.” 

  There was a space of thick silence as we watched the TV and then Marc nodded and said: “Will do then.” And to Gregory Den he said: “It was nice to meet you, Mason.” He shook Den’s hand again. Then he left. 

    “Marc’s been acting really strange,” Dusk said to David after a strange silent minute. 

    “He’s been nervous or something,” said David. 

    “Or something more than that. He’s got this itch to him – I don’t like being around him anymore,” Dusk replied. “The guy is like a child. I’m sick to death of him.” 

    The next couple of weeks, surprisingly, Gregory Den didn’t show up at all. He’d been coming around consistently on weekends, and really enjoying himself. But he was nowhere to be found. Dusk had his phone number, but could never reach him.  

  

    One night we were at the Cavern. We’d just showed up, after having wasting time at Sean’s: as usual, it was Dusk, David and myself. Ed was there, and Crumb too. 

    “That – Gregory guy was just here,” Ed said to Dusk. 

   “Oh yeah?” 

   “Yeah. Does he know Marc?”  

    Dusk nodded. “Yeah. He met him at my house a few weeks ago.” 

   “Marc was with him,” said Ed plainly. Then he and Crumb were eye-glued back to the TV, hockey.  

    Sean gave me sort of a miffed, yet terrified, and very confused, gaze, one I’d never seen on him. Then David, who, since he never drank, always had a clear memory, said to Sean: 

   “You know what? I was thinking the other day about when you introduced Marc to Gregory. Remember?” 

   Sean had to think about it, and said: “Yeah. I think so.” 

   “Actually,” David said. “And here’s what I’m saying. It was Den who introduced himself to Marc – as ‘Gregory Den’. I remember it because it was funny how he said his full name, like as if it were important or, regal or something… 

   “But the strange part happened when Marc left. He said to Den: ‘It was nice to meet you, Mason’… 

   “How did he know his real name was Mason?” 

   Dusk sulked this through in silence, thinking. Then he said, in a faraway voice: “Yeah. That is strange and, I don’t know but…  

   “It sure is strange… 

   “Strange, indeed.” 

   

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

     

     

 

 

     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   One night, the boys not around, Mason, Sean and I hung around out by the swimming pool. We couldn’t get inside the house so we broke in. It wasn’t too difficult since the side door, which led to the ping-pong room, was unlocked - so really, we didn’t break it, and we let ourselves in. But Sean was a master at rationalization. His mission became our mission: to drink free beer.  

  When he first got in there we felt pretty unwelcome by the silence of the place, so we quickly headed out to the nearby liquor store and bought a case of beer. Sean had never drank with his new partner in crime, Mason Sidehill Gregory Den III - this was to be a christening. Mason seemed pretty up to the task, but not really. He had sort of a mute expression when Sean had brought it up.  

  (I think Sean missed drinking with Marc. They hadn’t done much lately and I think Marc missed catching a buzz with him at the cavern with the smoking by the pool and the bullshitting.)  

  When we all got back to the house we drank watching TV and after a few we felt (to ourselves) as welcomed as related thieves at the place. Sean got to that chatty point of the buzz pretty fast and he went outside to smoke. Mason had a few beers in him, around four or five (to Sean’s already six), and he, after seeing Sean light up out there, ambled out to join him. I don’t think Den had ever smoked a cigarette in his life. He coughed and then laughed that he’d coughed, and flicked his butt into the pool. Sean sat with his drink and smoke on a tile step near the Jacuzzi and pretty soon Mason, buzzed like a kid who’d raided his father’s liquor cabinet, sat up on the slide, wild-eyed and grinning, and started drumming loudly with both hands.  

  “Come down here and kick back,” Sean said, somewhat annoyed. “Let’s just bullshit or something.” 

  Mason smiled brightly at Sean, like a child who wouldn’t obey. Who couldn’t obey. He ceased the drumming, for a moment, and then continued. 

  Sean sighed. He had lost. 

  Soon enough Mason was passed out on Ed’s bed of perfection. Sean, who had aborted his buzz after the slide session, realized he fucked up by even breaking in the first place. So he, to out sprint his guilt, quickly closed up all the doors, straightened up around the family room, turned the lights off, and left Mason sound asleep on Ed’s bed.  

   

The next day Ed was a pissed off Goldilocks.   

  He had found, upon returning home from a night’s work, the chubby newcomer not only passed out on his bed, but also bathed in his own vomit. 

  Ed blamed Sean for the entire situation. 

 

As Mason and Sean sat in the backyard, during another twilight weekday, Mason glanced over at the side of the house, and noticed something. Grape was asleep, curled in a purple ball, back touching the stucco wall, but it was not the dog he noticed. It was the power box. 

  “Look at that over there,” said Mason, pointing over. 

  “What Sean asked?” 

  “Above the dog.” 

  Sean did. “Is that what I think it is?” 

  Mason nodded. 

  “That there’s gold,” he said. A wicked smile poked from his wide cheeks.  

  Mason and Sean were like a couple of dirty guardian angels. Ed and Crumb both sat in the house, watching a game on the TV. Neither of them aware of the duo. Mason had used to watch sports with them, but only for a short time.  

  “What I like about electricity,” said Mason, “is that it can go on and off, whenever it wants to. Like say, maybe when there’s five minutes left of that game. That big game they’re watching in there.” 

  Sean smiled. “That’s an important game?” 

  Mason nodded. “It’s a very important game.” 

  I remember thinking right then, this isn’t a good idea. I remember thinking that Ed wouldn’t take it too well. I remember thinking that even though Crumb would act like he didn’t mind, as usual, he really would.  

  I remember basically having negative thoughts about the whole idea, and I glanced at Sean and kind of looked how I felt. But not Mason. He was set.  

  Then we heard, from out of nowhere, Sissy’s high-pitched laugh in the house, and his gaunt form walking from the kitchen into the family room. 

  “And Greg’s home,” said Mason. 

  I saw that doubt in Sean’s expression wash away completely. 

  “This’ll be perfect,” he said. 

  “OK,” said Mason. “Let’s take off now for a little bit; come back when it’s dark.” 

  Sean agreed. They left. Evening approached quickly. 

 

I had the idea to go inside the cavern, to watch the game with our victims: a spy. It was funny witnessing Sissy up close, ranting and raving about the game. He’d scream out loud at the players if they made mistakes. He’d scream at that TV like he was some virtual coach or something. I never minded sport I just never got into watching them. I don’t mind dudes like Ed and Crumb watching sports because it’s all Romans at the coliseum, only today. It’s human nature dating way back for guys like them. They love the unpredictability of an always-new game. But guys like Sissy always got my goat. They’d yell after every play, pointing out from the lazy comfort of sofa hood what should’ve happened out on that field. I never got into sports or played them but I imagine out there on the field, with millions of screaming fans and an opposing team with clenched teeth, that it ain’t so easy for them to judge what is exactly the perfect choice. They just do what they have to do, while little boobs scream and curse, from the rafters or from the sofas. What a goof. I never did trust a sport’s fan. There’s something strange, to me, about one man worshiping another man’s performance. 

  I sat there watching Sissy screaming, and Ed and Crumb with forward eyes on the set, when all of the sudden darkness grasped the entire cavern. The sound of electricity outside hummed itself to a complete silence. 

  “What happened?” said Crumb. 

  And this was followed by a flash of light outside, and then came a loud splash. There, what looked to be, a fire burning in the pool, and more sounds of splashing in the water. 

  Oh God, I thought. What the hell did they do? 

  Sissy rose to his feet, in latent mercenary intrepidness, and opened the sliding door. Crumb opened the drapes all the way; Ed just sat there, staring at the blank box. Soon Crumb and Sissy were outside. 

  Grape had been thrown into the pool, and was on his way to the shallow end, dogpaddling wildly. A boogie board, doused with what had to have been lighter fluid, bobbed in the undulation of waves; a clown doll was in flames on the crest of the board.  

  It was truly amazing. 

  A triple whammy!!! 

  We all just stood and watched and Ed, who’d just come out, actually laughed. Crumb was smiling, but not Sissy. He watched as the dog climbed up from the steps and quick as anything ran soaking wet into the house. Ed turned to frowns as he ran in after the dog.  

  The burning clown was put to rest as Sissy splashed it down with a bucketful of pool water. Crumb, I don’t think, even minded about the flaming bozo, or the wet dog in the house, only the poker boys. 

  “Let’s turn the power back on,” he said. 

  Sissy and him walked over to the side of the house to the power box. Because of the moonlight and the backyard lights of the neighbor we could see clearly the final jab of the prank that kept on giving.  

  The power box was locked shut. 

  It wasn’t a combo lock it was a key lock. Both Sissy and Crumb stood in silent repressed aggravation. Sissy shook his head, sighed through his nose, and faced me. 

  But he didn’t say a word; he just faced me with a look, almost as if I wasn’t even there, but that I represented a ghost form of Mason and Dusk somehow. 

  His attention returned to the box. “Fuck,” he muttered. 

  I’d never heard him cuss before. 

  “The games probably over,” Crumb said woefully. 

  Ed came out. He didn’t look too happy. 

  “The fuckin’ dogs in your room, under the bed. I can’t get him.”  

  He’d said this to Sissy, Sissy who swore again. “Fuck!” 

  Ed didn’t notice the power box. “He had something tied down to his collar,” he told Sissy. 

  Sissy pricked his ears. 

  “What?” 

  “I’m not sure,” said Ed, as he turned back toward the house. “I think it was a key or something.”