Abby runs around the corner to me crying, and the most horrible thing you can imagine, blood on your own child, galvanizes this rush in me, this sort of half-sprint-jog. I pick her up and there’s blood everywhere, she goes limp in my arms and I have to gather every inert limb and lift that sweaty, bobbing head of tears, my god the tears. I think for a moment it might be her eyes that hurt. I yell for her mother and rush around the side of the house and there he is, that rat-bastard canine Charlie, the Blake’s Blue Heeler. He stares me with one eye while he twists something around in his jowls, chewing, his pink tongue awkwardly manipulating the object until it slips out and falls to the ground. Just as he snatches it up I recognize the mutilated digit. I look at Abby’s hand, clinched in a bloody fist, and right in the middle, a gap, a blank space in that little rock fist just spewing blood.
I set Abby down, and approach the dog, which is treating me with complete indifference, and as I’m only a step away Charlie panics and swallows the whole god damn finger, like it's some table scrap I've come to retrieve. I didn’t even consider it. Every string of rectitude and understanding frays in my body and I beat that dog with licentious intent. I kick Charlie so hard he forgets where he is. He quickly curls up against the chain-link fence, white vinyl runners woven vertically through the fence to keep out prying neighbors eyes. Those slats keep blind the beating I deliver that dog. After the second kick it looks like Charlie might defend himself, a quick snap at the air. But then I kick his neck, the third strike, and Charlie goes a bit soft, whimpers maybe. I kick and I kick, for some time, until his shoulders and ribs are just a grey pulpy mess, a mound of dough in my yard.
I look at Abby and she just looks right back at me, she’s whimpering a bit but not crying, just the track marks of old tears and those sad eyes. I walk to pick her up and she runs inside to my wife. Where is my wife? I take long deep breaths and look back at the broken mess in the corner of my lawn and think, this was a long time coming. That finger and that dog; I should have known better.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
An Open Letter to the Hyrum City Council
Dear Hyrum City Council,
I recently attended the 4th of July celebration. As I’m sure you’re aware, there was quite a stir about the happenings there. The evening of the fifth I watched many of my friends and neighbors talking to the local news channels, they were all clearly upset about the flag waving around up there that wasn’t an American flag and the prayer that was in Spanish. Now you should know that I love my country, maybe more than anyone in the whole world. You see, I have a son that enlisted with the Army and last fall he was shipped out to Afghanistan. My boy Gerald is out there risking his life for a country, which as far as I’m concerned, did him a great injustice this July. While he was keeping peace and fighting terrorism, here in his hometown there was a Mexican flag waiving on our nation’s birthday and a Mexican prayer being given.
I remember this celebration last year when you had all the vets that fought in World War II come onto the stage and perform the flag ceremony. One of the cadets from the local ROTC up on campus played the bugle and that was a beautiful celebration and gave homage to our fallen brothers and fathers who died for this great nation. I think of last year and it truly makes me sad to think of two weeks ago come Saturday. Where last year there were brave veterans of the greatest war that ever happened, this year there was a Mexican flag flying right there next to the stars and stripes. And instead of that handsome cadet there was a Mexican girl giving a prayer. Maybe the most embarrassing thing for me was the person next to the Mexican girl translating the prayer for all of us legal residents and common kin alike.
I hope you all remember some of the things that were said that day out of patriotism and a love of this great nation. If you even remember one thing said that day you should know in your hearts there needs to be repercussions. I heard one of the vets say all of you on the council need to be impeached and shipped off to Mexico. I think that may be a bit drastic. I don’t know if there are special laws concerning these types of things but I think sending you all to a third world full of drugs and gangs and killing all the time is a bit harsh. But I think all of you should stand in front of the whole city of Hyrum and defend yourselves. Since the incident there hasn’t been word one about how you all are going to fix this and make it right. Sure, I heard the apologies for the news cameras and I saw all the papers, you’re all real sorry. But does that calm the swelling anger of those Vets? Does that do my boy the proper justice he deserves over in Afghanistan, fighting those godless terrorists?
My husband thinks that all of you need to head out to his lot, take up a hand with some of the Mexicans he has working for him and, if you like having Mexicans giving our prayers so much, maybe you need a good dose of what being a Mexican is all about. You can work in those filthy clothes and drive those beat-up cars. Try and fit all six of you on the council into a little shack and throw one big blanket over the lot of you. Then maybe after all that you’d like to come into town and just waive that Mexican flag around next to our American Flag. I didn’t even know that was the Mexican flag until my husband told me, looks more like some war banner, all green and red. Maybe my husband’s right. Maybe you all just need a good reality check before you start disgracing our national ceremonies and robbing our vets of the justice they’re do.
You all need to understand, this isn’t just about the war we’re fighting, and the respect that’s due to our fallen soldiers, our veterans, and our boys out there now. This is also about a war that we’re fighting here at home, for our American way of life. Right now there are thousands of immigrants living in the country illegally. These people are already taking our jobs, not paying taxes and stealing all of our health benefits and unemployment. I cannot stand it any longer when I see them praying to our God in their language and then when we demand an apology she looks right into that news camera and says, “Sorry, it’s easier for me to pray in Spanish.” I do not know where this is going to stop.
Mr. Hollinshead, I voted for you in ’08 when we were sure Nancy Ridgewald was going to mop the place with you. And I have purchased my last two vehicles from Rassmussen Toyota. I never wanted a Japanese car but after spending that afternoon with you, Mr. Rassmussen, I was sure I was getting the best deal in the valley. After the warranty runs out in three years I think I’ll just up and sell that Camry. Stacy, your boy Jed played football with Gerald and the two of them went to the 3A state championship, we have history you and I.
My point is I have been in all of your houses, we are neighbors, we may not all be family but we all know each other, now how on earth is it possible that something like a Mexican prayer was given on the 4th of July in Hyrum, Utah USA? What is it that’s said on the Statue of Liberty? “Give us your tired, your hungry,” something to that affect. This is a country of charity and giving. Now how can we call ourselves that when we can’t even honor our fallen with the decency of a prayer in English and the American Flag waiving proud and alone? If these Mexican immigrants had it right in their minds, they wouldn’t be coming to America, not to this town, and not into our homes. We are Americans and we will always be the same proud people, Americans.
With much shame and regret,
Marisol Garsby
I recently attended the 4th of July celebration. As I’m sure you’re aware, there was quite a stir about the happenings there. The evening of the fifth I watched many of my friends and neighbors talking to the local news channels, they were all clearly upset about the flag waving around up there that wasn’t an American flag and the prayer that was in Spanish. Now you should know that I love my country, maybe more than anyone in the whole world. You see, I have a son that enlisted with the Army and last fall he was shipped out to Afghanistan. My boy Gerald is out there risking his life for a country, which as far as I’m concerned, did him a great injustice this July. While he was keeping peace and fighting terrorism, here in his hometown there was a Mexican flag waiving on our nation’s birthday and a Mexican prayer being given.
I remember this celebration last year when you had all the vets that fought in World War II come onto the stage and perform the flag ceremony. One of the cadets from the local ROTC up on campus played the bugle and that was a beautiful celebration and gave homage to our fallen brothers and fathers who died for this great nation. I think of last year and it truly makes me sad to think of two weeks ago come Saturday. Where last year there were brave veterans of the greatest war that ever happened, this year there was a Mexican flag flying right there next to the stars and stripes. And instead of that handsome cadet there was a Mexican girl giving a prayer. Maybe the most embarrassing thing for me was the person next to the Mexican girl translating the prayer for all of us legal residents and common kin alike.
I hope you all remember some of the things that were said that day out of patriotism and a love of this great nation. If you even remember one thing said that day you should know in your hearts there needs to be repercussions. I heard one of the vets say all of you on the council need to be impeached and shipped off to Mexico. I think that may be a bit drastic. I don’t know if there are special laws concerning these types of things but I think sending you all to a third world full of drugs and gangs and killing all the time is a bit harsh. But I think all of you should stand in front of the whole city of Hyrum and defend yourselves. Since the incident there hasn’t been word one about how you all are going to fix this and make it right. Sure, I heard the apologies for the news cameras and I saw all the papers, you’re all real sorry. But does that calm the swelling anger of those Vets? Does that do my boy the proper justice he deserves over in Afghanistan, fighting those godless terrorists?
My husband thinks that all of you need to head out to his lot, take up a hand with some of the Mexicans he has working for him and, if you like having Mexicans giving our prayers so much, maybe you need a good dose of what being a Mexican is all about. You can work in those filthy clothes and drive those beat-up cars. Try and fit all six of you on the council into a little shack and throw one big blanket over the lot of you. Then maybe after all that you’d like to come into town and just waive that Mexican flag around next to our American Flag. I didn’t even know that was the Mexican flag until my husband told me, looks more like some war banner, all green and red. Maybe my husband’s right. Maybe you all just need a good reality check before you start disgracing our national ceremonies and robbing our vets of the justice they’re do.
You all need to understand, this isn’t just about the war we’re fighting, and the respect that’s due to our fallen soldiers, our veterans, and our boys out there now. This is also about a war that we’re fighting here at home, for our American way of life. Right now there are thousands of immigrants living in the country illegally. These people are already taking our jobs, not paying taxes and stealing all of our health benefits and unemployment. I cannot stand it any longer when I see them praying to our God in their language and then when we demand an apology she looks right into that news camera and says, “Sorry, it’s easier for me to pray in Spanish.” I do not know where this is going to stop.
Mr. Hollinshead, I voted for you in ’08 when we were sure Nancy Ridgewald was going to mop the place with you. And I have purchased my last two vehicles from Rassmussen Toyota. I never wanted a Japanese car but after spending that afternoon with you, Mr. Rassmussen, I was sure I was getting the best deal in the valley. After the warranty runs out in three years I think I’ll just up and sell that Camry. Stacy, your boy Jed played football with Gerald and the two of them went to the 3A state championship, we have history you and I.
My point is I have been in all of your houses, we are neighbors, we may not all be family but we all know each other, now how on earth is it possible that something like a Mexican prayer was given on the 4th of July in Hyrum, Utah USA? What is it that’s said on the Statue of Liberty? “Give us your tired, your hungry,” something to that affect. This is a country of charity and giving. Now how can we call ourselves that when we can’t even honor our fallen with the decency of a prayer in English and the American Flag waiving proud and alone? If these Mexican immigrants had it right in their minds, they wouldn’t be coming to America, not to this town, and not into our homes. We are Americans and we will always be the same proud people, Americans.
With much shame and regret,
Marisol Garsby
Sunday, July 18, 2010
This is Your Whole Life
I had my first audition when I was 17. I was right off the bus. I mean, not a bus but a cab. But that’s what people say when you’re new to Los Angeles. I took a cab from LAX to my audition and within an hour of getting to LA I had a gig, It wasn’t really anything big, just an extra in a commercial for a bathroom cleaner. All these troops of bubbles and foam scrubbers were going to be marching by in formation and me and a woman supposed to be my mom had to gawk and awe at how quick the bubbles and foam scrubbers could clean the bathroom. They weren’t like, real bubbles and such, they were animated, which makes the acting all that more difficult. Tanya and I had to coordinate what face we were going to be making at what time so when the director yelled, “Now, and next, and next, and next, and last, cut,” we would know what faces each other were making.
Tanya was real sweet. She said her real name was Emily but she was trying to be a country music singer, and if that wasn’t going to work she was going to really work the down-home-Mom thing for a while and if that didn’t work out then she was going right back to “Slutsville,” as she put it, and dye her hair blond with platinum streaks and hopefully pull a gig as a jealous fling being used by a cheating husband who eventually kills the wife in order to assure their love will live on forever; the love between Tanya and the husband of course, that kind of role, you know. She said she knew one of the producers that does a lot of the Lifetime original movies and that he really likes her, says she has a face that sticks and that he can at least get her on set for something.
I told her I was real happy just to be watching the blue screen and making my expressions at the pretend bubbles and that I knew it would just work out for us both. She told me I can’t kid myself and that I need to get some kind of image going. I didn’t know what she meant and she stood me straight up and said. ‘Okay, look at me. How old would you say I am?’ I gave her a good long look but before I said anything she told me she was 28.
‘No way,’ I said.
‘Oh yeah.’
‘I was going to say 36 but maybe that’s because the make-up for the shoot since your like, my mom and stuff and since I’m 17 there’s no way you could have me at like, eleven I guess that would make you. But I am young looking too.’
‘No no no, listen for a second. I’m actually 32. I just tell everyone I’m that age because everyone has it broken down here. Everything from the height of your heels to the shade of your lipstick.’
‘I don’t where those things.’
‘You know what I mean. When I go into an audition, I do my voice exercises, study the lines, get the inflexions and tone down right where I want ‘em, but that’s only part of it. I also think, Okay, what are these guys going to think when they first see me?’
‘What kind of voice warm-ups do you do?’
‘Nothing fancy, just the usual. But if they see me and they’re like, What’s with the grown out roots, the droopy tits, and cheekbones that blush from a whore couldn’t accentuate? I’ma goner, not even going to let me read a line. I’m getting the girls done this fall, and maybe some work on the cheeks, I got a good nose though, and that’s what’s important.’
She started pointing at spots on her face and pulling the rubbery skin with her fingers. I told her she shouldn’t do that since the director said he still wanted to shoot a few more takes and she didn’t listen, just asked me if I thought she should get her ears pinned back and I told her no. Then she had me hold he left breast, then her right breast and asked me if I thought one was sinking quicker than the other. I felt real uncomfortable but said they were like, probably the best boobs I’d ever touched. Which isn’t saying too much cause back home I only touched two boobs, well two girls’ boobs, so really like four if that’s how you count them.
One pair was my girlfriend for a long time Michelle who was real sweet and even after everything she didn’t want me to move to LA. We dated for like, two years starting sophomore year of high school when I was running track and she was doing high jump. Neither one of us was varsity yet so we kinda got looked over during practice and could have lots of time to chat. One day we went on a run together about dusk and as we were passing this construction site for an Episcopal church she wanted to go look inside. Everyone in town knew the church had gone vacant after the minister all-of-the-sudden left town. My dad said he swindled a bunch of the old folks in town, saying he was going to take them on some pilgrimage or something.
Michelle took my hand and led me through the stinging nettle and bull thorns, which we get a lot of when it gets dry and hot, to the back door of the church where plywood was nailed up in place of the back door. A bunch of kids used to go down to the church and smoke cigarettes and light fires and drink beer or whatever. It was pretty much a mess and there were lots of weeds and it smelled a little like urine.
Michelle walked right to the plywood, propped a leg against the wall and pulled the plywood open and signaled for me to go under her leg and in. When I ducked down I saw her white panties with soft, pink polka dots all over them but I tried not to look at them but kinda tripped and had to grab her thigh so I didn’t fall. After I leaned against the plywood to let her in I told her I was real sorry and she said it’s totally okay.
We sat on the cleanest bench, there were only three since the others were taken out back and either burned or used to sit around the fire by the kids smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. It was just getting dark and she told me to scratch her back a bit as she leaned over on my lap. I did but I tried not to think about her laying on me and I tried not to look at the dimples on her lower back where her shirt crept up. They were real nice to look at but I was in my running shorts which are not only real short but made of a real thin material and I didn’t want her to see my thingy getting all excited.
I kept scratching her back and she started rubbing my thigh and it became pretty obvious I was getting excited because she sat up and looked down at my thingy and smiled and I smiled back cause I didn’t know what to do. She lifted up my shirt a bit and worked her hand in my short shorts and started giving my thingy a hand-job. That’s what everyone at school was calling what we did but some of the older seniors were calling them handies. One of the sprinters came into the locker room one time complaining that he didn’t get blown or even get a handy. He was pretty upset and I felt kinda bad for him but I didn’t know then that a handy was a hand-job which is when a girl grabs your thingy and really starts working it which is what Michelle was doing.
After a minute I was getting pretty excited and kinda relaxed all at the same time then Michelle stopped and pulled her shirt over her shoulders and then the sports bra the same way and there were the first pair of boobs I ever saw and touched. I did see my aunt’s right boob one time when we were swimming at the Municipool and just like that the right one popped out when she was stretching. I don’t really count that though since she’s my aunt.
Michelle put her hand back down my pants and told me I could touch them and kiss them, her boobs, if I wanted to. And since I’d never really done that before I was pretty excited and something strange happened and it felt like I peed my pants but felt really really good too. I got real embarrassed and Michelle just kissed me on the cheek and put her bra and shirt back on and said we should go finish our run.
Tanya was still telling me about some of the surgeries she wanted to do to herself but had to wait until she could either pay off some of her credit cards or get a gig making some better money. She said she was bartending at a Chili’s out in the Valley and I told her I loved that place and she said it’s a good place to do research for roles, even if you don’t have anything in the books or lined up. She told me you have to stay sharp all the time. This acting stuff isn’t just what’s done on set, it’s a lifestyle and if you wanna be one of the greats you have to make it your whole life. I was taking mental notes at everything Tanya said while we were on our break and the director was looking at some of the cuts. Tanya went back to makeup and had them touch up the spots where she was touching when she was telling me about the places she wanted to have pulled and lifted. I stayed near the soda fountain and drank as much Diet Dr. Pepper as I could get because it’s the best out of the fountain and there weren’t many places back home where you can get it on the fountain.
The DP, that’s the director of photography, told us, ‘Places,’ and everyone rushed like we were in a real hurry and Tanya took a while to get there and the director told her to hurry and he didn’t look very happy. We did three more shots and they said we had to be out by 1:00 pm which meant we were already running late and the director said the studio hours were bullshit and that that was that.
Tanya gave me her number and I called her couple times, I even went out to the Chili’s where she bartends. I saw her but her nametag said Stace so I wasn’t sure it was her. I asked the hostess if Tanya was bartending. She looked at me kinda funny, ‘Oh, you mean Stace, she’s right there.’ I had a seat at the bar and Tanya recognized me right away and she gave me a blue drink and called it a strong one and winked at me. Then she asked me how the image was coming and I told her I was working on something real special that I didn’t want to tell anyone about.
‘Sounds like the strong, silent type. It’s been done and you gotta have serious cojones for it, but I think you got a little mystery going for you. Did I tell you that country singer stuff went tits up? Speaking of which, how do the girls look?’
She gestured at her boobs and I said they look top notch and she winked at me again. She told me she would get me another drink and someone dropped off a basket of French fries, which I ate with lots of ketchup and mayonnaise mixed together. Back home that’s fry sauce and they didn’t have any there but it’s pretty easy to make your own.
Tanya was pretty busy all night long but every now and then she would stop by real quick and say something like, ‘These cocksuckers don’t tip for shit in the Valley,’ and she would look at me like she was real upset but then ask me how I was doing. I was feeling real good and I had three of the blue strong ones and started to hiccup which made me laugh a bit which almost made my up-chuck a couple times so I stopped laughing.
When I left the Chili’s I was full of fries and a little dizzy and I had three busses to get home but it was okay because I had a lot to think about my image and what having “serious cojones” acted like. I walked to the bus stop which was about four blocks away and as I stood there in the hot night with all the cars driving past me I just kept saying to myself, this is your whole life, this is your whole life. And it is.
Tanya was real sweet. She said her real name was Emily but she was trying to be a country music singer, and if that wasn’t going to work she was going to really work the down-home-Mom thing for a while and if that didn’t work out then she was going right back to “Slutsville,” as she put it, and dye her hair blond with platinum streaks and hopefully pull a gig as a jealous fling being used by a cheating husband who eventually kills the wife in order to assure their love will live on forever; the love between Tanya and the husband of course, that kind of role, you know. She said she knew one of the producers that does a lot of the Lifetime original movies and that he really likes her, says she has a face that sticks and that he can at least get her on set for something.
I told her I was real happy just to be watching the blue screen and making my expressions at the pretend bubbles and that I knew it would just work out for us both. She told me I can’t kid myself and that I need to get some kind of image going. I didn’t know what she meant and she stood me straight up and said. ‘Okay, look at me. How old would you say I am?’ I gave her a good long look but before I said anything she told me she was 28.
‘No way,’ I said.
‘Oh yeah.’
‘I was going to say 36 but maybe that’s because the make-up for the shoot since your like, my mom and stuff and since I’m 17 there’s no way you could have me at like, eleven I guess that would make you. But I am young looking too.’
‘No no no, listen for a second. I’m actually 32. I just tell everyone I’m that age because everyone has it broken down here. Everything from the height of your heels to the shade of your lipstick.’
‘I don’t where those things.’
‘You know what I mean. When I go into an audition, I do my voice exercises, study the lines, get the inflexions and tone down right where I want ‘em, but that’s only part of it. I also think, Okay, what are these guys going to think when they first see me?’
‘What kind of voice warm-ups do you do?’
‘Nothing fancy, just the usual. But if they see me and they’re like, What’s with the grown out roots, the droopy tits, and cheekbones that blush from a whore couldn’t accentuate? I’ma goner, not even going to let me read a line. I’m getting the girls done this fall, and maybe some work on the cheeks, I got a good nose though, and that’s what’s important.’
She started pointing at spots on her face and pulling the rubbery skin with her fingers. I told her she shouldn’t do that since the director said he still wanted to shoot a few more takes and she didn’t listen, just asked me if I thought she should get her ears pinned back and I told her no. Then she had me hold he left breast, then her right breast and asked me if I thought one was sinking quicker than the other. I felt real uncomfortable but said they were like, probably the best boobs I’d ever touched. Which isn’t saying too much cause back home I only touched two boobs, well two girls’ boobs, so really like four if that’s how you count them.
One pair was my girlfriend for a long time Michelle who was real sweet and even after everything she didn’t want me to move to LA. We dated for like, two years starting sophomore year of high school when I was running track and she was doing high jump. Neither one of us was varsity yet so we kinda got looked over during practice and could have lots of time to chat. One day we went on a run together about dusk and as we were passing this construction site for an Episcopal church she wanted to go look inside. Everyone in town knew the church had gone vacant after the minister all-of-the-sudden left town. My dad said he swindled a bunch of the old folks in town, saying he was going to take them on some pilgrimage or something.
Michelle took my hand and led me through the stinging nettle and bull thorns, which we get a lot of when it gets dry and hot, to the back door of the church where plywood was nailed up in place of the back door. A bunch of kids used to go down to the church and smoke cigarettes and light fires and drink beer or whatever. It was pretty much a mess and there were lots of weeds and it smelled a little like urine.
Michelle walked right to the plywood, propped a leg against the wall and pulled the plywood open and signaled for me to go under her leg and in. When I ducked down I saw her white panties with soft, pink polka dots all over them but I tried not to look at them but kinda tripped and had to grab her thigh so I didn’t fall. After I leaned against the plywood to let her in I told her I was real sorry and she said it’s totally okay.
We sat on the cleanest bench, there were only three since the others were taken out back and either burned or used to sit around the fire by the kids smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. It was just getting dark and she told me to scratch her back a bit as she leaned over on my lap. I did but I tried not to think about her laying on me and I tried not to look at the dimples on her lower back where her shirt crept up. They were real nice to look at but I was in my running shorts which are not only real short but made of a real thin material and I didn’t want her to see my thingy getting all excited.
I kept scratching her back and she started rubbing my thigh and it became pretty obvious I was getting excited because she sat up and looked down at my thingy and smiled and I smiled back cause I didn’t know what to do. She lifted up my shirt a bit and worked her hand in my short shorts and started giving my thingy a hand-job. That’s what everyone at school was calling what we did but some of the older seniors were calling them handies. One of the sprinters came into the locker room one time complaining that he didn’t get blown or even get a handy. He was pretty upset and I felt kinda bad for him but I didn’t know then that a handy was a hand-job which is when a girl grabs your thingy and really starts working it which is what Michelle was doing.
After a minute I was getting pretty excited and kinda relaxed all at the same time then Michelle stopped and pulled her shirt over her shoulders and then the sports bra the same way and there were the first pair of boobs I ever saw and touched. I did see my aunt’s right boob one time when we were swimming at the Municipool and just like that the right one popped out when she was stretching. I don’t really count that though since she’s my aunt.
Michelle put her hand back down my pants and told me I could touch them and kiss them, her boobs, if I wanted to. And since I’d never really done that before I was pretty excited and something strange happened and it felt like I peed my pants but felt really really good too. I got real embarrassed and Michelle just kissed me on the cheek and put her bra and shirt back on and said we should go finish our run.
Tanya was still telling me about some of the surgeries she wanted to do to herself but had to wait until she could either pay off some of her credit cards or get a gig making some better money. She said she was bartending at a Chili’s out in the Valley and I told her I loved that place and she said it’s a good place to do research for roles, even if you don’t have anything in the books or lined up. She told me you have to stay sharp all the time. This acting stuff isn’t just what’s done on set, it’s a lifestyle and if you wanna be one of the greats you have to make it your whole life. I was taking mental notes at everything Tanya said while we were on our break and the director was looking at some of the cuts. Tanya went back to makeup and had them touch up the spots where she was touching when she was telling me about the places she wanted to have pulled and lifted. I stayed near the soda fountain and drank as much Diet Dr. Pepper as I could get because it’s the best out of the fountain and there weren’t many places back home where you can get it on the fountain.
The DP, that’s the director of photography, told us, ‘Places,’ and everyone rushed like we were in a real hurry and Tanya took a while to get there and the director told her to hurry and he didn’t look very happy. We did three more shots and they said we had to be out by 1:00 pm which meant we were already running late and the director said the studio hours were bullshit and that that was that.
Tanya gave me her number and I called her couple times, I even went out to the Chili’s where she bartends. I saw her but her nametag said Stace so I wasn’t sure it was her. I asked the hostess if Tanya was bartending. She looked at me kinda funny, ‘Oh, you mean Stace, she’s right there.’ I had a seat at the bar and Tanya recognized me right away and she gave me a blue drink and called it a strong one and winked at me. Then she asked me how the image was coming and I told her I was working on something real special that I didn’t want to tell anyone about.
‘Sounds like the strong, silent type. It’s been done and you gotta have serious cojones for it, but I think you got a little mystery going for you. Did I tell you that country singer stuff went tits up? Speaking of which, how do the girls look?’
She gestured at her boobs and I said they look top notch and she winked at me again. She told me she would get me another drink and someone dropped off a basket of French fries, which I ate with lots of ketchup and mayonnaise mixed together. Back home that’s fry sauce and they didn’t have any there but it’s pretty easy to make your own.
Tanya was pretty busy all night long but every now and then she would stop by real quick and say something like, ‘These cocksuckers don’t tip for shit in the Valley,’ and she would look at me like she was real upset but then ask me how I was doing. I was feeling real good and I had three of the blue strong ones and started to hiccup which made me laugh a bit which almost made my up-chuck a couple times so I stopped laughing.
When I left the Chili’s I was full of fries and a little dizzy and I had three busses to get home but it was okay because I had a lot to think about my image and what having “serious cojones” acted like. I walked to the bus stop which was about four blocks away and as I stood there in the hot night with all the cars driving past me I just kept saying to myself, this is your whole life, this is your whole life. And it is.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
fiction or hurt feelings
he isn't over it yet. he can't let it go. the thoughts don't cease... when he sees her, sometimes. it hurts him; those times when he thinks he's strong. he realizes he's not... and that he needs her. fuck, sometimes that even pisses him off... but every night he comes home to her... and every morning he kisses her forehead & tells her he loves her. he walks out the door. its there but sometimes he cannot see it.
he tries.
those mornings when the dew is settling... he feels it but no longer sees it... it only passes him by. silently, it follows its instictual route, to earth or sky, as he peddles by, hypnotized.
he prefers the window seat to study the clouds. he still imagines their soft comfort as he lays his mind to rest upon them... and he forgets for a time. he imagines the tiny people of the cities. he sees their tiny cars drive upon their worm-hole highways. he wishes it were him with the one he loves... traveling toward the unknown... complete... content in the heat and the soft light as it fades.
but now.
at home, he feels resentment when she looks away. she feels neglected; so he thinks. she does not say. he can see it... simple & pure... if they could just stop caring. stop trying.
often, they sit on the beat-up leather couch & watch old movies, always his pick, late at night before bed. she never stays awake to see an ending. he is unable to doze... and long after a film ends, he sits in the silence. he looks around his home in the low light. his dog lay at his feet... cat, asleep in his lap... its comfortable...
he longs for the synesthetic reality... for the color to return to her words.
he tries.
those mornings when the dew is settling... he feels it but no longer sees it... it only passes him by. silently, it follows its instictual route, to earth or sky, as he peddles by, hypnotized.
he prefers the window seat to study the clouds. he still imagines their soft comfort as he lays his mind to rest upon them... and he forgets for a time. he imagines the tiny people of the cities. he sees their tiny cars drive upon their worm-hole highways. he wishes it were him with the one he loves... traveling toward the unknown... complete... content in the heat and the soft light as it fades.
but now.
at home, he feels resentment when she looks away. she feels neglected; so he thinks. she does not say. he can see it... simple & pure... if they could just stop caring. stop trying.
often, they sit on the beat-up leather couch & watch old movies, always his pick, late at night before bed. she never stays awake to see an ending. he is unable to doze... and long after a film ends, he sits in the silence. he looks around his home in the low light. his dog lay at his feet... cat, asleep in his lap... its comfortable...
he longs for the synesthetic reality... for the color to return to her words.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)