February 13th, 2005 Sunday night, about 6:50 PM Mountain Time Phoenix, AZ David and Cassandra's House
So, this trip, the UNIMOG, a disaster. Two and a half days of grinding, howling, engine noise. Freezing. Floods.
Wait. Too soon. I'll back up.
I arrive in Albequerque just fine. Like, the plane didn't explode. Which I appreciate. As a bonus to surviving my flight, a woman who I was admiring from afar in the Denver airport, who I was *admiring*, approches me at the baggage claim and calls me adorable. and tells me whenever I'm in LA to give her a call She then gives me her card. A great beginning of a trip, I think. A rather auspicious sign, I reckon.
About two minutes later, the fantasy begins to slip away, like my willpower in the cereal aisle at Safeway. With a handshake, I meet the German outside with the goatee and smart tan. he is a semi-car-salesman-type. We drive back to his building, exchanging the standard dialogue, and scripted pleasantries employed in this particular man-act of long distance vehicle trading.
Long story short, my UNIMOG is not exactly as described, but I'm a very good sport about it. Always with the cool head and reasonable beyond reproach. Plus, my plane ticket was one way only, and I'm now 1800 miles from home. The adventure was now officially underway.
If I have learned anything from my travels, one should never stifle or otherwise abbreviate an adventure, much like a sneeze or other automatic bodily function.
And so, with only a tiny bit of trepidation, I was off and heading west again. nearly immediately, (on the freeway, on level ground) I break down. At least I was only running out of gas (gauge non-functioning). I switch tanks and I'm rolling once again. Full throttle, at maximum speed... 49 miles an hour. I feel good, excited. Thinking again about the woman at the airport, I smile. I begin to feel confident. So confident, even, I turn off of the big freeway, and onto (on my map, at least) what appears to be an only slightly less significant freeway. A shortcut to my destination for the evening, Phoenix. No sooner do I negotiate the off ramp to the smaller road when I in my vehicle, encounter a slight uphill grade and am forced to shift into a lower gear. Yielding about 30 miles per hour wound out full throttle, pedal to the floor. the noise in the cab is deafening. The engine threatens to come apart, fastener by fastener. Despite my slow speed, the canvas top flaps violently, just inches behind my skull.
About four hours later, I have travelled a hundred and ten miles from my start point. Barely over 25 miles per hour. Ouch. Not as planned. My ears are ringing, and fingers beginning to get numb from the cold Rocky Mountain air that has been passing freely through the unsealed cab. But, I tell myself, I can get a fresh start in the morning and grind all day, (or maybe just a few hours? There should be a downhill soon) and make it into Phoenix.
So when I freeze my ass off in the back of the truck, and I could go into more detail about broken battery terminals, disconnected heaters, uncomfortable "beds", but suffice it to say, it was not an entirely enjoyable evening.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Sailboat Story Continued
May 18th, 2004
Day ---4?
Fayetteville, Arkansas
Almost Noontime, Central TZ
So here I am, on a front porch swing, just sitting, on my way to the boat.
Drove about 950 miles yesterday to arrive here around 12:30 AM or so, to be greeted to a little "party" type situation --
I like the uncomfortable awkward experiences. So here you go!
Within an hour I am doing lines of coke off Anna's bed with her brother, some other guy, and two semi-dimwitted coeds.
No one would be quiet or give a man his rest of course, but finally, 4 AM or such a pad was placed at the side of the bed, and after a small debate between Jone's siblings as to whether Xanax or some other drug I havent heard of may be more effective, and appropriate to my beginner status of medicance, tiny pills were supplied and a short time later I slept.
One visit to the restroom at night to drain (trying as hard as I could to be quiet, including bouncing my spray off the back of the bowl as to not splash(like at Willow's a few weeks before)), and up at an early 10 AM (well that's 8 AM Pacific!) Anna went out to look at a house or something so I sponged off, walked to find an espresso shed, bought my coffee, and returned.
Pacing a few moments later I began doing dishes, and unclogged the tub (producing with my thrusts, a plae, blue, nitrile glove, just one, that surfaced through a miasma of brown rusty water and tiny scraps of a plastic bag.) Cool. At least I fixed something today.
Did some curls, now catching up with some "writing" I like to. I would like to write more often. I always feel so pressed for time. No time. Will this all change soon??
So today my head is still cloudy, or foggy, or whatever. Well hang out here today, and push off for New Orleans tomorrow morning. I should be off my boat by Saturday or Sunday at the latest.
GOOD NEWS!
I've gone almost four days with nothing to eat but beef jerky and Altoid sours. Can this be the new diet craze? I don't even feel hungry, and the pounds seem to just be melting away. Also, other than a beer last night, no drinking either. I hope the whites of my eyes become white again soon. See we shall. Ok, off to go look at Pinzgauers and shoot turtles.
May 21? 04 Saturday afternoon, 5:20 PM Eastern
I'm on my boat. This is probably the biggest vehicle I will ever own. 55 feet. I hear the sloshing whisper of the water against "her" sides.
Oh, the boat -
So, after the dude I bought the boat from didn' show or call me back for about an hour this morning, I was convinced I was an Ebay victim to the tune of $7900 (plus expenses so far) but he called, and I unloaded my gun. Not long after, I boarded the boat.
I got depressed.
This is probably too much work for me. Rotton these. Seized those. Fucking church boat. Dingy looks like shit too. $1100 for THAT? Fuck YOU! But. No matter what, I bought a sail boat sight unseen, and drove cross country 4200 miles to board the fucker. Yep. So I was very upset and depressed for about 5 hours, now I am beginning to like it.
Fuck these people, I like the boat, though. Too bad it can't move. I've bonked my head several times already, pumped a monster shit out of the "head". Where does it go? Will stroke, next on the list, - and will try to stay here all day tomorrow. I'm having my first drink in several days and will follow that up with some "nighty-nights".
Next day, on the boat. Almost 5 PM EST
Suffice it to say, I hate boats. At least I found out I had a total complete meltdown today. I would have left if my money and computer and other shit weren't on my boat.
I had to row the dingy to shore. (The guy I bought it from kept the engine as a result of one of my most near-sighted bargaining episodes (the boat was only a mile from shore and I felt I could use the exercise of rowing)).
Then drove my crippled Range Rover around looking for the internet cafe. I finally found one. The sign said "Open At Noon". I waited until 1 PM. Not open. During this monstrous display of submission, I also finally decided to eat. I went to three restaurants, and was not served in as prompt or timely a manner as I feel entitled to (No, really). So I showed them, and just up and left, Zak-style.
Shitty service down here, remember to tell everyone. Entirely annoyed, finally, I just wanted to row back (Oh, I lost an ore somehow in the dingy earlier, so I bought two more and oar locks)to the big boat, get drunk, and eat some stuff (Just discovered Cuban sandwiches, and had wine, cheese, turkey, and apples. The flood gates had opened.) I put the new oars in, (I also had two bags of rapidly melting ice). Started trying to row, and the oar locks kept popping out of their holes. Not my fault (really). Boat is fucked.) Managed to row about 60 feet from dock, lost an oar lock, and had to paddle back in with only one oar like some raging, off-kilter, Jewish, Pocahantas. By the time I returned to the dock, my Cuban sandwich was drifting sadly about in the bottom of my boat, bumping against apples, bottles of liquor, the final remnants of ice, before sinking, defeated, to the bottom of the boat.
Then, I, determinely ram my dingy into the dock and begin to tie up I have yet, another, old lady, walk up and remind me to come to the hot dog feed at 2:00. I now realize, I can't row out to my boat, I'm stuck. Range Rover is broken, its HOT, I want to drive home, but all my money and stuff is on the big boat, (which at that very moment, decided to resell on Ebay). It is at this time I recieved a call from Kalee. She called me from Eugene. 4,000 miles away, to let me know she has a flat tire and ask me what she should do.
FUCK.
I lost it. I'm screaming how I hate it here, I hate boats, Fuck all these people. Fuck a hot dog. All this in the parking lot with the locals about. I start punching my car, I throw what's left of my bags of ice across the parking lot, screaming, a single word over and over again. Fuck. I am not a boat person. At least I found out, right? Let's say you;re on your boat and you want some batteries, or an apple, or a plastic bag? A huge ordeal to get to shore. And hopefully, when you return to shore, your car works, and has a suspension, and stuff, an, fuck. I still have a 4,002 mile drive home. I'll take my time on the way back though, see some shit, go to a swamp?
Avoid Arkansas.
Final thought. Next stop, sell boat, buy 911 or?? Go to Mexico for a while. Live in LA. Ride my bike 1000 miles somewhere, or walk it? Thanks.
Day ---4?
Fayetteville, Arkansas
Almost Noontime, Central TZ
So here I am, on a front porch swing, just sitting, on my way to the boat.
Drove about 950 miles yesterday to arrive here around 12:30 AM or so, to be greeted to a little "party" type situation --
I like the uncomfortable awkward experiences. So here you go!
Within an hour I am doing lines of coke off Anna's bed with her brother, some other guy, and two semi-dimwitted coeds.
No one would be quiet or give a man his rest of course, but finally, 4 AM or such a pad was placed at the side of the bed, and after a small debate between Jone's siblings as to whether Xanax or some other drug I havent heard of may be more effective, and appropriate to my beginner status of medicance, tiny pills were supplied and a short time later I slept.
One visit to the restroom at night to drain (trying as hard as I could to be quiet, including bouncing my spray off the back of the bowl as to not splash(like at Willow's a few weeks before)), and up at an early 10 AM (well that's 8 AM Pacific!) Anna went out to look at a house or something so I sponged off, walked to find an espresso shed, bought my coffee, and returned.
Pacing a few moments later I began doing dishes, and unclogged the tub (producing with my thrusts, a plae, blue, nitrile glove, just one, that surfaced through a miasma of brown rusty water and tiny scraps of a plastic bag.) Cool. At least I fixed something today.
Did some curls, now catching up with some "writing" I like to. I would like to write more often. I always feel so pressed for time. No time. Will this all change soon??
So today my head is still cloudy, or foggy, or whatever. Well hang out here today, and push off for New Orleans tomorrow morning. I should be off my boat by Saturday or Sunday at the latest.
GOOD NEWS!
I've gone almost four days with nothing to eat but beef jerky and Altoid sours. Can this be the new diet craze? I don't even feel hungry, and the pounds seem to just be melting away. Also, other than a beer last night, no drinking either. I hope the whites of my eyes become white again soon. See we shall. Ok, off to go look at Pinzgauers and shoot turtles.
May 21? 04 Saturday afternoon, 5:20 PM Eastern
I'm on my boat. This is probably the biggest vehicle I will ever own. 55 feet. I hear the sloshing whisper of the water against "her" sides.
Oh, the boat -
So, after the dude I bought the boat from didn' show or call me back for about an hour this morning, I was convinced I was an Ebay victim to the tune of $7900 (plus expenses so far) but he called, and I unloaded my gun. Not long after, I boarded the boat.
I got depressed.
This is probably too much work for me. Rotton these. Seized those. Fucking church boat. Dingy looks like shit too. $1100 for THAT? Fuck YOU! But. No matter what, I bought a sail boat sight unseen, and drove cross country 4200 miles to board the fucker. Yep. So I was very upset and depressed for about 5 hours, now I am beginning to like it.
Fuck these people, I like the boat, though. Too bad it can't move. I've bonked my head several times already, pumped a monster shit out of the "head". Where does it go? Will stroke, next on the list, - and will try to stay here all day tomorrow. I'm having my first drink in several days and will follow that up with some "nighty-nights".
Next day, on the boat. Almost 5 PM EST
Suffice it to say, I hate boats. At least I found out I had a total complete meltdown today. I would have left if my money and computer and other shit weren't on my boat.
I had to row the dingy to shore. (The guy I bought it from kept the engine as a result of one of my most near-sighted bargaining episodes (the boat was only a mile from shore and I felt I could use the exercise of rowing)).
Then drove my crippled Range Rover around looking for the internet cafe. I finally found one. The sign said "Open At Noon". I waited until 1 PM. Not open. During this monstrous display of submission, I also finally decided to eat. I went to three restaurants, and was not served in as prompt or timely a manner as I feel entitled to (No, really). So I showed them, and just up and left, Zak-style.
Shitty service down here, remember to tell everyone. Entirely annoyed, finally, I just wanted to row back (Oh, I lost an ore somehow in the dingy earlier, so I bought two more and oar locks)to the big boat, get drunk, and eat some stuff (Just discovered Cuban sandwiches, and had wine, cheese, turkey, and apples. The flood gates had opened.) I put the new oars in, (I also had two bags of rapidly melting ice). Started trying to row, and the oar locks kept popping out of their holes. Not my fault (really). Boat is fucked.) Managed to row about 60 feet from dock, lost an oar lock, and had to paddle back in with only one oar like some raging, off-kilter, Jewish, Pocahantas. By the time I returned to the dock, my Cuban sandwich was drifting sadly about in the bottom of my boat, bumping against apples, bottles of liquor, the final remnants of ice, before sinking, defeated, to the bottom of the boat.
Then, I, determinely ram my dingy into the dock and begin to tie up I have yet, another, old lady, walk up and remind me to come to the hot dog feed at 2:00. I now realize, I can't row out to my boat, I'm stuck. Range Rover is broken, its HOT, I want to drive home, but all my money and stuff is on the big boat, (which at that very moment, decided to resell on Ebay). It is at this time I recieved a call from Kalee. She called me from Eugene. 4,000 miles away, to let me know she has a flat tire and ask me what she should do.
FUCK.
I lost it. I'm screaming how I hate it here, I hate boats, Fuck all these people. Fuck a hot dog. All this in the parking lot with the locals about. I start punching my car, I throw what's left of my bags of ice across the parking lot, screaming, a single word over and over again. Fuck. I am not a boat person. At least I found out, right? Let's say you;re on your boat and you want some batteries, or an apple, or a plastic bag? A huge ordeal to get to shore. And hopefully, when you return to shore, your car works, and has a suspension, and stuff, an, fuck. I still have a 4,002 mile drive home. I'll take my time on the way back though, see some shit, go to a swamp?
Avoid Arkansas.
Final thought. Next stop, sell boat, buy 911 or?? Go to Mexico for a while. Live in LA. Ride my bike 1000 miles somewhere, or walk it? Thanks.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Mexicans Hate Fords (A Dream)
I just woke up, laughing really hard AT MY DREAM. You may not think it was funny, but then you weren't there, were you?
The beginning, I woke up, my throat full of snot, I cleared my throat and spat a huge ball of phlegm out, which audibly 'splat', loudly on a floor nearby I was surprised to find was made out of marble.
It was at this moment I realized I was not alone. In another bed, nearby, behind me? Maybe in a connected room? There were several girls sleeping. Or, I hoped they were sleeping and did not hear the noise I just produced. One of them was Talia. I do not know how or why. Fear crept up my spine as I realized she was in fact awake and heard me hack up a huge loogie and spit it out on the floor.
With shame and fear I ran to the bathroom to find something to wipe up my mess with. More shame as I understand I was only in my underwear and I was in this huge hotel suite was filled with people already awake. FANCY PEOPLE.
I closed the door to the bathroom to look for kleenex, or a towel or something, and was arrested at the sight of my face in the mirror. It was horribly, impossibly swollen, with blood leaking from nostrils, Chinese eyes almost entirely puffed shut.
I tried to clean the blood off (why?) with a towel when someone began to knock on the bathroom door and ask what was wrong. I then remembered the snot/spit ball on the floor outside. I wadded up a huge ball of toilet paper and hoped I could sneak out there and wipe it up before anyone noticed.
I opened the door to find several people already working frantically, one on the floor, two on the bed which (at first I thought was only a 'little' bloody, BUT) was drenched in blood, and saliva, and to my horror, VOMIT which confirmed ME as being the type of person to eat a quart or two of strawberry or raspberry yogurt in bed before he goes to sleep.
Someone now looks up and sees me and shrieks "ARE YOU OKAY??!"
I now find I am actually NAKED, but draped in a robe that is shamelessly flapping open. I pull the robe around myself, can not find the draw-tie and answer "Yes, I'm fine. Sorry about the bed, I don't know what happened. Here, let me help..." Avoiding mention of spitting on the floor, and completely prepared to deny it if asked or accused.
I look around for Talia, I do not know how I know it is her, or why she is here, but I am beginning to calculate that this is a gathering for a wedding, and we are in a HUGE fancy hotel in the countryside in Vermont. I really hoped she was unaware that I spit all over the floor of my room. And bled all over my bed.
I cautiously, smoothly, ask where Talia might be. I am told she left for brunch already with the girls. There is much, much more blood (and raspberry filling, and yogurt) in the bed than originally thought, so more towels and a mop are called in, as well as several more hotel staff, who seem to be taking notes. I sort of want these people out now so I can get dressed. I keep looking down to discover my robe is wide open.
I walk into the huge adjacent room to find it is full of fancy-looking people, and two of the walls are made entirely of glass windows. I then notice we are very high up.
"How high up are we?" I ask someone nearby, wondering if they notice my puffy face. "The hundred and fourth floor" they answer. I feel queasey. I am afraid of heights. At this very moment the wind begins to blow very hard, the building begins swaying, I feel panic, and someone in the room shouts "It is designed to do this! Isn't this great??!" - People begin screaming soon though and crowd into the elevator as the building threatens to topple over, the last thing I saw before the doors shut was the world outside, a crazy vertiginous picture through those huge windows.
We are soon rapidly descending, and everyone is calm now, and I am pleased to learn we are going to see if they are still serving brunch, which I find interesting because Talia may be there and I can talk to her. It is only with conscious effort that I remember to hold my robe closed, casually, with my hands.
The door to the elevator opens into a huge, fancy hotel lobby that looks like a tasteful casino. People are everywhere playing slot machines, roulette, some electronic music is playing somewhere (while I am sleeping during this, I had Sigur Ros playing in the background). 'My' herd of people immediately diffuses in every direction, and I find myself with no one I know nearby, naked under a malfunctioning robe, in the middle of a casino in Vermont.
I pick a vector and there set forth, thinking to find the brunch spot by myself. It is impossible. I am feeling hopelessly lost, but go outside, down some stairs, towards a pavilion that I now understand is where the wedding, or brunch, will play out.
I am somehow back inside the casino/hotel now, and am staring at a light-skinned negro I somehow recognize from SOMEWHERE... YES! - Alison's father's birthday party - two years ago. I remember he was Dr. Lord's (Alison's father) good friend, and we had a gay old time talking but I can NOT remember his name now and am therefore embarrassed to strike up a conversation.
I stay close to him though, his is a friendly face amongst the strangers, but avoid actual eye contact. I am excited for Talia to see that I already know someone here, I am certain this will boost her opinion of me.
I begin to become aware that this negro is acting like a servant, or I should say, an employee of the hotel. He used to be old, rich, and act entitled. He seems to be waiting on people now in formal attire. As he passes me, he says under his breath "Zak, my man! How you doing?" - "You remembered my name?" I respond. "Wow! I'm surprised". "You kidding?" He says "It's only been what? - A year? Two? I ain't that old, man!" - I completely avoid any opportunity to have to call him by name as we banter for a moment covertly while he occasionally refills someone's coffee cup from the decanter he carries.
I finally say, "I am embarrassed to admit this, but I think I forgot your name... Joe? - Joe, right? Or was it David?..."
"You had it right that first time, bother". He almost whispers to me, over his shoulder. He has to go seat some people somewhere, but he beckons me to follow him. I do. I try to, but he is moving very quickly, skillfully navigating through this crowd of people and tables, glancing behind himself at me once or twice, his eyes and crooked finger encouraging me to hurry up, but I keep bumping into people and apologizing, and trying to keep my robe closed, and knocking things over.
I just see him turn and go down some stairs, which I discover are bleachers or stadium seating, to guide his people down and out of my sight. I follow, find out I have to jump over people, their drinks, folded coats, and I am now following other people over a tiny fence, down a hill, under a stage where I was surprised to see Depeche Mode playing. They look pretty old and their hair is dyed bright colors, but there they were! We are sort of outside now, but under a dome or something. In typical Las Vegas fashion, very few people are actually watching the band, but instead eating, gambling, talking. As security guards move towards me, I realize I just snuck in, not meaning to, behind some rowdy kids. The casino guy grabs my arm, and without saying anything, guides me back up the hill.
"I'm with the service guy" I explain. "Joe. He told me to follow him. I wasn't sneaking in. See? I have money" I say, realizing I am wearing only a robe, with no pockets, no wallet. Unfazed and unamused, this man releases me at the spot by the fence, and I climb back up the bleachers, back into the casino/hotel lobby.
At some point here, Joe finds me again, and we sit down, reminisce, and he reveals to me that Alison is angry with him. "The old man" (Dr. Lord) left Joe "everything" (which I realize is alright - Joe really admired/ loved "the old man") He tells me how he took over the old prining press, had to dump all of his money into it to keep it going, blah blah blah, and it is sort of like a scene from Goodfellas, two guys in a booth by a window, drinking coffee and talking about the good old days. I now realize Joe is not black at all, but a very old, old-school NYC Jew with a thick accent and fading blue eyes.
I realize this gathering is NOT a wedding, but actually a wake for Dr. Lord, who just passed away. 'Alison will not be attending' Joe confides in me.
I tell Joe I have to go find my people. I thank him, and collect my Robe, and head back in the direction of the elevator, trying not to bump into people or knock anything over along the way.
"Zak! Zak! Zak!" I hear materialize out of the crowd behind me. Another concierge, or servant, or whatever is scanning the crowd he weaves through, his head on a swivel like a radar dish on top of a navy boat. "Here!" I yell "That's me!" - He becomes uninterested/ bored, and plows forward after only the slightest attempt at requesting I follow him. I try to follow. Almost immediately I hear "Zak! Zak! Zak!" again behind me and turn to see my mother and father catching up to me. They are dressed in their best get-ups, and I now realize we are all here for Brealan's wedding, and not a wake after all. My parents are both slightly amused and not surprised at all to find my in my current condition, thinking I planned on attending my cousin's wedding in a robe, my face spotted with blood. More of my family gathers, and we begin to move towards the lobby again.
I am now feeling bolder, no longer alone, not as shy with my family near me, and I begin to act out in typical fashion, making fun of people's hats, knocking things over, laughing loudly. Adequately encouraged, my other cousin, Brea, starts to knock things over too, but goes too far and knocks over a huge statue of glass things and plants, steel and candles. My family, no longer amused, frantically begins to right stands, arrange plants, and I too am helping, putting this here and that there, and as I finally find myself squatting to arrange something low on a shelf, I notice laughing behind me. I notice, again, my robe wide open while I am squatting, and Brea is mimicking or mocking behind me, my family all laughing, creating a scene, and I stand up to close my robe. Now I am beginning to become annoyed, and I notice that Brea is actually setting fire to the bottom of my robe with one of the candles, my family delighted, clapping, crying with laughter.
"Ha ha ha" I mock, closing the smoldering robe around myself "Real funny, until she burns the hotel down." At this very utterance, my smoldering robe bursts into full, licking flames around me.
I screech, flapping my arms at the flames, but unwilling to actually take the robe off and expose myself. I fall to the floor, slap at the bottom of my robe, slap out of flames with a napkin from a nearby table. I now notice Brea setting fire to a nearby tablecloth, still thinking this is funny. I begin to shout. My robe is still burning a little bit as the tablecloth goes up in a burst of bright yellow and orange. "Stop it!" I yell at Brea, who does not look sorry or worried. The bouquet on the table is burning then falls on the floor, setting another tablecloth on fire. Everyone suddenly realizes this is no longer funny, and there is a very real threat of burning the hotel down. People are running, yelling, but I somehow calm myself and deal with this menace, I pour a pitcher of water onto another tablecloth and use this to swat at the fire. I yell for someone to pull the fire alarm and then yell "Wait!" As I think I may have it under control and do not want to interrupt the Depeche Mode concert nearby. Just as I think the fire is dead, it pops to life from another smoldering area. It has crept up a wall, into a bookshelf. The books there are clearly a loss. As I am about to give up and yell again for someone to pull the fire alarm, I see a garden hose connected to some water fountain - thing, quickly disconnect, and start spraying. It should be noted here there I was the only person to contain the fire. I begin to imagine that it is *I* who will be celebrated here, (forget that it was me who sort of started it) Depeche Mode allowed to play and play, I will be a hero! Would I be on the news? I wondered. Would Talia see me?
Just as the threat is completely neutralized, a waiter, or Bell Boy, or someone clearly an underling rushes up to grab the hose out of my hand, threatening to steal my moment of glory.
"I GOT THIS!!!" I scream at him, again and again, keeping the hose out of his reach.
"There's a lot of water damage here" he slyly threatens me. The way he says this to me makes me think that maybe, maybe I should disappear. I turn around, mumbling something about needing to change into fresh clothes, and disappear into the crowd, away from the soggy burnt mess. Away from the barbarian members of my family.
There is now a Mexican, complete in a Zootsuit speaking to me in a cliche Mexican voice, like Cheech Marin, "Hey man, Jason says you need to come with me now."
"Are you Ruben?" I ask, the only person who I can think of that my best friend Jason knows who could match this character's outrageous dimensions. If this individual was in any way affiliated with Jason, he must be funny too, I think. Jason is never serious. "What are you supposed to be?" I ask, nodding to his suit. "Come on, man!" He guides me by my elbow away from the crowd and up to a beat up, white convertible monstrosity of American manufacture. I notice with amused contempt it is a General Motors product of some form. (Mexicans HATE Fords, and can not afford MOPAR products like Dodge, Plymouth, Chrysler; Medical Fact). This was maybe a Chevelle? Pontiac? Early 1970s vintage. This blue-suited man does not look at all amused as he fishtails out onto the main road, which is narrow and now covered in snow.
The Mexican's ridiculous hat remarkably remains on his head as we thunder down the street. "Nice hat" I say, still convinced this is some sort of joke if Jason is involved. The Mexican says nothing, but looks worried, annoyed, angry. "What are we doing?" I ask, and after a moment and no response at all, "You're Reuben, right?" - Nothing - "Where are we going? I have a lady to talk to back there. When do you think we'll be back?"
"You'll see" he answers enigmatically, then takes it up a notch with two more words: "Bad selection", which was spat through his gritted teeth. ? What the fuck does this mean, I wondered. Without saying another word, he now accelerates more and more, the car tires sloshing, hydroplaning through the moist snow. I want to be cool, don't want to be considered a nag, but a sharp corner is rapidly approaching and we are doing about 90 miles an hour now according to the speedometer, which I had to sneak a look at.
"Ummm, What's the hurry?" I begin to panic, yet again. I grab the dashboard in my hands and brace for disaster as we slide around the corner in the wrong lane. I begin to sense that this may not be a joke at all after all? He says nothing. He begins to drive faster.
Finally getting upset I muster the nerve to bark "Hey! Slow the fuck down, man!" - He tells me to shut up - Fuming now, I wait a moment before yelling again at him (Banking on the fact that this is still possibly a joke) "Fucking! Slow! Down! I don't want to die out here in the fucking snow with some fucking Mexican dressed in a ridiculous blue suit, in a fucking G.M fucking car!"
At this he now stares at me with naked hatred, the car still hurtling forward, now towards the back of a much slower moving Cadillac (Note: also a GM product). He glares at me for two full beats before slamming on the brakes with both feet and skidding to a full stop just inches from the rear bumper of the Cadillac.
"I'm. No. Fucking. Mexican. PINCHE! You got that? I'm Spanish. You right about one thing though. You gonna die in a fucking G.M, you call me a Mexican again!" He seems not to notice the huge (Chevrolet, 4x4, manufactured by G.M.) truck skidding towards us from the rear, threatening to smash us between it and the now-not-moving Cadillac. As if to make his threat concrete, real, he now draws a huge blade out from somewhere on his person and thrusts it in my face. "Plus, you think I want to fuckink die with some stoopeed-lookink grinko dressed in some burn-up fuckink cape?" (as if to mock me, his Mexican accent more irrefutable than ever) As if to prove his reluctace to die then, there, with me, he smashed the accelerator pedal to the floor at the last possible moment before being sandwiched in G.M. Hell, and skillfully peels out, fishtailing around the Cadillac with one hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing his steel blade into the side of my cheek.
I wait a moment heart pounding, give him time to calm down, then cautiously offer: "I don't think you are supposed to drive a car and handle knives at the same time. Like running with scissors? You know? It's not safe?" The man surprised me by smiling, suddenly happy to oblige. "Well let me just put this away then" he says, speeding, and then slowly pushes the knife into my side.
I can not tell if the knife is going into my body, or only between my robe and the skin of my left shoulder, but I feel no actual pain despite feeling intense fear and doom settle in my core.
"Hold REAL still" he tells me. I do.
He removes the knife, then slides it up my robe, suggestively against my thigh, and again I can not tell if he is actually stabbing me or not, holding my breath I wait to see if blood begins to pool or spurt. I finally conclude I was only scratched.
My Latin captor now turns right, bumping down a driveway, still holding the knife between my legs. I try not to jostle too much.
"Jew gonna bee coo?" he asks me. "I got friends in heeyere, jew better not ack stoopeed."
I slowly calculate what was said. I nod, relieved as he finally puts the knife away. I have no intention of provoking anyone here in this giant hideout. I really want to get back to the scene of the fire and my awful family.
I follow him inside, and the house is huge, nice, open. Many people are inside, and the Mexican/Spaniard is well received here. He speaks in a language I do not understand, and try not to understand, as he speaks in machine-gun staccato bursts his friends laugh, regarding me with looks of amusement. We all sit down now at a low table. Many people are around us now, and he is suddenly holding the knife against my leg again, obscured by the table top, I assume to keep me from acting stupid. I sense plans are being made in this bizzarre language. It becomes more tense. I have no control over anything and feel I am being dealt into some nasty game that will have no happy ending for me at all. I fill with dread. I am among evil starangers.
A vehicle audibly pulls up outside, crunching gravel and a low rumbling idle announce it's arrival. The ranks now all stand, organize themselves. My captor jumps up, puts the knife away in his suit somewhere and asks me over his shoulder as he goes down a staircase to open the front door to whatever awful fate is waiting on the other side - "Jew ready?"
"Uhh, what's happening?" I respond.
"Be cool!" he warns, again. He does a double take at me, and then adds, surprised, amused, smiling: "Hey man, look! Jew got a gun now all of a sudden!" He laughs.
I look down to find in a special holster built into my robe a black gun I recognize as my own, heavy, waiting there for me.
With this discovery, I am filled with immense joy and sweet anticipation for whatever is going to happen next. I palm the pistol, pull back the slide and let it snap back with an enormous, loud 'CLICK', drawing a hollow-tipped .45 caliber round into the chamber.
Grinning maniacally, I nod to the Mexican, but say nothing.
"Be cool, man!" he advises one more time and now HE looks a little worried. "Be careful with that. These guys here in the house are my crew"
"Got it, I know" I assure him with bobbing head as I hide myself from the door he is about to open, me at the top of an exposed spiral staircase, my back to a wall.
The door is opened. I hear chatter. Commiseration? A minute passes. What is going on? I wonder.
Finally the Mexican yells out to explain to us all "It's just the UPS guy" - and he steps back from the door allowing to pass three serious, solid, square men dressed in the brown standard - issue UPS uniforms, carrying long cardboard boxes and tubes, and wearing dark sunglasses. Everyone in the room relaxes a bit, some men coming out from behind their cover. I begin to descend the stairs to ask the Mexican what was about to happen, then notice all the UPS guys have shoulder holsters containing semi automatic pistols. I realize they look like a swat team. As I pass them on the stairs, me on my way down, them on the way up, I lock eyes with their trailing member, the only one not wearing reflective lensed sunglasses.
His eyes are threatening, angry. I see contempt. I return the look. Something here is not right.
I stop on the landing, halfway down the stairs, as the group of UPS guys arrive at the top of the stairs. I turn around to look at them. As I do, the guy who stared at me begins to reach for his gun.
"It's a trap!" I yell - I am barely aware of the Mexican, now my friend (maybe he is Jason?) Shouting for me to be cool as I raise my gun at the UPS guy and squeeze the trigger twice in rapid succession.
I am now having the time of my life, I am so happy as I can see the two bullets leave the barrel of the gun, lazily exiting the belch of flame, silvery and spinning, and after they float through the air for what feels like minutes, one punches neatly through the UPS guy's chest, dead-center, the other through his forehead and he does an equally slow back-flip, ruined, over the banister to crash on the floor below.
I am again the hero, I realize, for the second time this day! I am brimming with joy and pride as I squeeze two more off at one of the Mexican's friends for fun. I blast one round at a vase perched on top of a grandfather clock, for fun I dispatch one more of the UPS guys with three swimming bullets. I artfully shoot a framed portrait on a tabletop through both of it's subject's eye sockets rending it a crazed, smiling zombie. I am very much aware of the dashing and skilled figure I am now displaying - Robe flowing in slow motion back and forth as I spin this way and that, dispatching my bullets now with no discrimination whatsoever as to their target. This is fun!
"Hey man - That was my cousin!" I hear the Mexican complain somewhere behind me. To show my prior captor how little I care, I now fire my gun at another of his friends, knocking him flying backwards, arms uselessly pinwheeling, through a plate glass window.
"Ah, MAN!... You're good!" I hear with satisfaction as the Mexican's protests turn to compliments.
I am now having the best time I have ever had in my entire life, and it is really, really funny to me now, I shoot without aiming from the hip, I shoot from between my legs after I jump, I am dispating enemies left and right, even shooting using only the reflection in small compact mirror I pull from somewhere as a guide, it is all very funny now, the Mexican even is doubled over laughing.
At first I am trying to keep a straight face, then actually begin to ham it up. Ironically looking serious I fire, raising one eyebrow I fire, gritting teeth as I blow holes through everyone and everything in the room, all too aware of the laughter track now playing in the background. I am the star of some insane, violent sit-com, entirely out of control.
Finally, the last UPS guy is charging toward me, his pistol drawn in one hand, firing at me, in his other hand the long awkward package he had been carrying this whole time, hell-bent on delivering it, I understand now this is his duty, and this is his final, desperate act.
I easily sidestep the bullets whizzing towards me, then I calmly take one knee as I announce to nobody in particular "I'll take that!" and fire my gun three times at the angry delivery man.
He is knocked straight back into the space he just arrived from, but the box continues on its same trajectory, unimpressed and flung high towards the vaulted ceiling, spinning. Not one to be trifled with now, I jump from my crouch and up into the air to meet this defiant package, and I seize it effortlessly in one hand, my gun still held in the other, and on my controlled descent back down to the floor, I finally break character and begin to laugh at the ridiculousness I had just witnessed before me.
I hit the floor on both feet, robe up over my head, then it floats back down over my back, and I am laughing so hard I colllapse on the floor.
I hear the Mexican whining that I killed all of his friends and broke his vase, which makes me laugh even harder, and I level my captured box at him. Sighting down this long package I want to mimick aiming a rifle at his horrified and complaining face, but can not do it because I am laughing too hard. I realize I am awake now and laughing into my pillow, full force, I swear to God.
The beginning, I woke up, my throat full of snot, I cleared my throat and spat a huge ball of phlegm out, which audibly 'splat', loudly on a floor nearby I was surprised to find was made out of marble.
It was at this moment I realized I was not alone. In another bed, nearby, behind me? Maybe in a connected room? There were several girls sleeping. Or, I hoped they were sleeping and did not hear the noise I just produced. One of them was Talia. I do not know how or why. Fear crept up my spine as I realized she was in fact awake and heard me hack up a huge loogie and spit it out on the floor.
With shame and fear I ran to the bathroom to find something to wipe up my mess with. More shame as I understand I was only in my underwear and I was in this huge hotel suite was filled with people already awake. FANCY PEOPLE.
I closed the door to the bathroom to look for kleenex, or a towel or something, and was arrested at the sight of my face in the mirror. It was horribly, impossibly swollen, with blood leaking from nostrils, Chinese eyes almost entirely puffed shut.
I tried to clean the blood off (why?) with a towel when someone began to knock on the bathroom door and ask what was wrong. I then remembered the snot/spit ball on the floor outside. I wadded up a huge ball of toilet paper and hoped I could sneak out there and wipe it up before anyone noticed.
I opened the door to find several people already working frantically, one on the floor, two on the bed which (at first I thought was only a 'little' bloody, BUT) was drenched in blood, and saliva, and to my horror, VOMIT which confirmed ME as being the type of person to eat a quart or two of strawberry or raspberry yogurt in bed before he goes to sleep.
Someone now looks up and sees me and shrieks "ARE YOU OKAY??!"
I now find I am actually NAKED, but draped in a robe that is shamelessly flapping open. I pull the robe around myself, can not find the draw-tie and answer "Yes, I'm fine. Sorry about the bed, I don't know what happened. Here, let me help..." Avoiding mention of spitting on the floor, and completely prepared to deny it if asked or accused.
I look around for Talia, I do not know how I know it is her, or why she is here, but I am beginning to calculate that this is a gathering for a wedding, and we are in a HUGE fancy hotel in the countryside in Vermont. I really hoped she was unaware that I spit all over the floor of my room. And bled all over my bed.
I cautiously, smoothly, ask where Talia might be. I am told she left for brunch already with the girls. There is much, much more blood (and raspberry filling, and yogurt) in the bed than originally thought, so more towels and a mop are called in, as well as several more hotel staff, who seem to be taking notes. I sort of want these people out now so I can get dressed. I keep looking down to discover my robe is wide open.
I walk into the huge adjacent room to find it is full of fancy-looking people, and two of the walls are made entirely of glass windows. I then notice we are very high up.
"How high up are we?" I ask someone nearby, wondering if they notice my puffy face. "The hundred and fourth floor" they answer. I feel queasey. I am afraid of heights. At this very moment the wind begins to blow very hard, the building begins swaying, I feel panic, and someone in the room shouts "It is designed to do this! Isn't this great??!" - People begin screaming soon though and crowd into the elevator as the building threatens to topple over, the last thing I saw before the doors shut was the world outside, a crazy vertiginous picture through those huge windows.
We are soon rapidly descending, and everyone is calm now, and I am pleased to learn we are going to see if they are still serving brunch, which I find interesting because Talia may be there and I can talk to her. It is only with conscious effort that I remember to hold my robe closed, casually, with my hands.
The door to the elevator opens into a huge, fancy hotel lobby that looks like a tasteful casino. People are everywhere playing slot machines, roulette, some electronic music is playing somewhere (while I am sleeping during this, I had Sigur Ros playing in the background). 'My' herd of people immediately diffuses in every direction, and I find myself with no one I know nearby, naked under a malfunctioning robe, in the middle of a casino in Vermont.
I pick a vector and there set forth, thinking to find the brunch spot by myself. It is impossible. I am feeling hopelessly lost, but go outside, down some stairs, towards a pavilion that I now understand is where the wedding, or brunch, will play out.
I am somehow back inside the casino/hotel now, and am staring at a light-skinned negro I somehow recognize from SOMEWHERE... YES! - Alison's father's birthday party - two years ago. I remember he was Dr. Lord's (Alison's father) good friend, and we had a gay old time talking but I can NOT remember his name now and am therefore embarrassed to strike up a conversation.
I stay close to him though, his is a friendly face amongst the strangers, but avoid actual eye contact. I am excited for Talia to see that I already know someone here, I am certain this will boost her opinion of me.
I begin to become aware that this negro is acting like a servant, or I should say, an employee of the hotel. He used to be old, rich, and act entitled. He seems to be waiting on people now in formal attire. As he passes me, he says under his breath "Zak, my man! How you doing?" - "You remembered my name?" I respond. "Wow! I'm surprised". "You kidding?" He says "It's only been what? - A year? Two? I ain't that old, man!" - I completely avoid any opportunity to have to call him by name as we banter for a moment covertly while he occasionally refills someone's coffee cup from the decanter he carries.
I finally say, "I am embarrassed to admit this, but I think I forgot your name... Joe? - Joe, right? Or was it David?..."
"You had it right that first time, bother". He almost whispers to me, over his shoulder. He has to go seat some people somewhere, but he beckons me to follow him. I do. I try to, but he is moving very quickly, skillfully navigating through this crowd of people and tables, glancing behind himself at me once or twice, his eyes and crooked finger encouraging me to hurry up, but I keep bumping into people and apologizing, and trying to keep my robe closed, and knocking things over.
I just see him turn and go down some stairs, which I discover are bleachers or stadium seating, to guide his people down and out of my sight. I follow, find out I have to jump over people, their drinks, folded coats, and I am now following other people over a tiny fence, down a hill, under a stage where I was surprised to see Depeche Mode playing. They look pretty old and their hair is dyed bright colors, but there they were! We are sort of outside now, but under a dome or something. In typical Las Vegas fashion, very few people are actually watching the band, but instead eating, gambling, talking. As security guards move towards me, I realize I just snuck in, not meaning to, behind some rowdy kids. The casino guy grabs my arm, and without saying anything, guides me back up the hill.
"I'm with the service guy" I explain. "Joe. He told me to follow him. I wasn't sneaking in. See? I have money" I say, realizing I am wearing only a robe, with no pockets, no wallet. Unfazed and unamused, this man releases me at the spot by the fence, and I climb back up the bleachers, back into the casino/hotel lobby.
At some point here, Joe finds me again, and we sit down, reminisce, and he reveals to me that Alison is angry with him. "The old man" (Dr. Lord) left Joe "everything" (which I realize is alright - Joe really admired/ loved "the old man") He tells me how he took over the old prining press, had to dump all of his money into it to keep it going, blah blah blah, and it is sort of like a scene from Goodfellas, two guys in a booth by a window, drinking coffee and talking about the good old days. I now realize Joe is not black at all, but a very old, old-school NYC Jew with a thick accent and fading blue eyes.
I realize this gathering is NOT a wedding, but actually a wake for Dr. Lord, who just passed away. 'Alison will not be attending' Joe confides in me.
I tell Joe I have to go find my people. I thank him, and collect my Robe, and head back in the direction of the elevator, trying not to bump into people or knock anything over along the way.
"Zak! Zak! Zak!" I hear materialize out of the crowd behind me. Another concierge, or servant, or whatever is scanning the crowd he weaves through, his head on a swivel like a radar dish on top of a navy boat. "Here!" I yell "That's me!" - He becomes uninterested/ bored, and plows forward after only the slightest attempt at requesting I follow him. I try to follow. Almost immediately I hear "Zak! Zak! Zak!" again behind me and turn to see my mother and father catching up to me. They are dressed in their best get-ups, and I now realize we are all here for Brealan's wedding, and not a wake after all. My parents are both slightly amused and not surprised at all to find my in my current condition, thinking I planned on attending my cousin's wedding in a robe, my face spotted with blood. More of my family gathers, and we begin to move towards the lobby again.
I am now feeling bolder, no longer alone, not as shy with my family near me, and I begin to act out in typical fashion, making fun of people's hats, knocking things over, laughing loudly. Adequately encouraged, my other cousin, Brea, starts to knock things over too, but goes too far and knocks over a huge statue of glass things and plants, steel and candles. My family, no longer amused, frantically begins to right stands, arrange plants, and I too am helping, putting this here and that there, and as I finally find myself squatting to arrange something low on a shelf, I notice laughing behind me. I notice, again, my robe wide open while I am squatting, and Brea is mimicking or mocking behind me, my family all laughing, creating a scene, and I stand up to close my robe. Now I am beginning to become annoyed, and I notice that Brea is actually setting fire to the bottom of my robe with one of the candles, my family delighted, clapping, crying with laughter.
"Ha ha ha" I mock, closing the smoldering robe around myself "Real funny, until she burns the hotel down." At this very utterance, my smoldering robe bursts into full, licking flames around me.
I screech, flapping my arms at the flames, but unwilling to actually take the robe off and expose myself. I fall to the floor, slap at the bottom of my robe, slap out of flames with a napkin from a nearby table. I now notice Brea setting fire to a nearby tablecloth, still thinking this is funny. I begin to shout. My robe is still burning a little bit as the tablecloth goes up in a burst of bright yellow and orange. "Stop it!" I yell at Brea, who does not look sorry or worried. The bouquet on the table is burning then falls on the floor, setting another tablecloth on fire. Everyone suddenly realizes this is no longer funny, and there is a very real threat of burning the hotel down. People are running, yelling, but I somehow calm myself and deal with this menace, I pour a pitcher of water onto another tablecloth and use this to swat at the fire. I yell for someone to pull the fire alarm and then yell "Wait!" As I think I may have it under control and do not want to interrupt the Depeche Mode concert nearby. Just as I think the fire is dead, it pops to life from another smoldering area. It has crept up a wall, into a bookshelf. The books there are clearly a loss. As I am about to give up and yell again for someone to pull the fire alarm, I see a garden hose connected to some water fountain - thing, quickly disconnect, and start spraying. It should be noted here there I was the only person to contain the fire. I begin to imagine that it is *I* who will be celebrated here, (forget that it was me who sort of started it) Depeche Mode allowed to play and play, I will be a hero! Would I be on the news? I wondered. Would Talia see me?
Just as the threat is completely neutralized, a waiter, or Bell Boy, or someone clearly an underling rushes up to grab the hose out of my hand, threatening to steal my moment of glory.
"I GOT THIS!!!" I scream at him, again and again, keeping the hose out of his reach.
"There's a lot of water damage here" he slyly threatens me. The way he says this to me makes me think that maybe, maybe I should disappear. I turn around, mumbling something about needing to change into fresh clothes, and disappear into the crowd, away from the soggy burnt mess. Away from the barbarian members of my family.
There is now a Mexican, complete in a Zootsuit speaking to me in a cliche Mexican voice, like Cheech Marin, "Hey man, Jason says you need to come with me now."
"Are you Ruben?" I ask, the only person who I can think of that my best friend Jason knows who could match this character's outrageous dimensions. If this individual was in any way affiliated with Jason, he must be funny too, I think. Jason is never serious. "What are you supposed to be?" I ask, nodding to his suit. "Come on, man!" He guides me by my elbow away from the crowd and up to a beat up, white convertible monstrosity of American manufacture. I notice with amused contempt it is a General Motors product of some form. (Mexicans HATE Fords, and can not afford MOPAR products like Dodge, Plymouth, Chrysler; Medical Fact). This was maybe a Chevelle? Pontiac? Early 1970s vintage. This blue-suited man does not look at all amused as he fishtails out onto the main road, which is narrow and now covered in snow.
The Mexican's ridiculous hat remarkably remains on his head as we thunder down the street. "Nice hat" I say, still convinced this is some sort of joke if Jason is involved. The Mexican says nothing, but looks worried, annoyed, angry. "What are we doing?" I ask, and after a moment and no response at all, "You're Reuben, right?" - Nothing - "Where are we going? I have a lady to talk to back there. When do you think we'll be back?"
"You'll see" he answers enigmatically, then takes it up a notch with two more words: "Bad selection", which was spat through his gritted teeth. ? What the fuck does this mean, I wondered. Without saying another word, he now accelerates more and more, the car tires sloshing, hydroplaning through the moist snow. I want to be cool, don't want to be considered a nag, but a sharp corner is rapidly approaching and we are doing about 90 miles an hour now according to the speedometer, which I had to sneak a look at.
"Ummm, What's the hurry?" I begin to panic, yet again. I grab the dashboard in my hands and brace for disaster as we slide around the corner in the wrong lane. I begin to sense that this may not be a joke at all after all? He says nothing. He begins to drive faster.
Finally getting upset I muster the nerve to bark "Hey! Slow the fuck down, man!" - He tells me to shut up - Fuming now, I wait a moment before yelling again at him (Banking on the fact that this is still possibly a joke) "Fucking! Slow! Down! I don't want to die out here in the fucking snow with some fucking Mexican dressed in a ridiculous blue suit, in a fucking G.M fucking car!"
At this he now stares at me with naked hatred, the car still hurtling forward, now towards the back of a much slower moving Cadillac (Note: also a GM product). He glares at me for two full beats before slamming on the brakes with both feet and skidding to a full stop just inches from the rear bumper of the Cadillac.
"I'm. No. Fucking. Mexican. PINCHE! You got that? I'm Spanish. You right about one thing though. You gonna die in a fucking G.M, you call me a Mexican again!" He seems not to notice the huge (Chevrolet, 4x4, manufactured by G.M.) truck skidding towards us from the rear, threatening to smash us between it and the now-not-moving Cadillac. As if to make his threat concrete, real, he now draws a huge blade out from somewhere on his person and thrusts it in my face. "Plus, you think I want to fuckink die with some stoopeed-lookink grinko dressed in some burn-up fuckink cape?" (as if to mock me, his Mexican accent more irrefutable than ever) As if to prove his reluctace to die then, there, with me, he smashed the accelerator pedal to the floor at the last possible moment before being sandwiched in G.M. Hell, and skillfully peels out, fishtailing around the Cadillac with one hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing his steel blade into the side of my cheek.
I wait a moment heart pounding, give him time to calm down, then cautiously offer: "I don't think you are supposed to drive a car and handle knives at the same time. Like running with scissors? You know? It's not safe?" The man surprised me by smiling, suddenly happy to oblige. "Well let me just put this away then" he says, speeding, and then slowly pushes the knife into my side.
I can not tell if the knife is going into my body, or only between my robe and the skin of my left shoulder, but I feel no actual pain despite feeling intense fear and doom settle in my core.
"Hold REAL still" he tells me. I do.
He removes the knife, then slides it up my robe, suggestively against my thigh, and again I can not tell if he is actually stabbing me or not, holding my breath I wait to see if blood begins to pool or spurt. I finally conclude I was only scratched.
My Latin captor now turns right, bumping down a driveway, still holding the knife between my legs. I try not to jostle too much.
"Jew gonna bee coo?" he asks me. "I got friends in heeyere, jew better not ack stoopeed."
I slowly calculate what was said. I nod, relieved as he finally puts the knife away. I have no intention of provoking anyone here in this giant hideout. I really want to get back to the scene of the fire and my awful family.
I follow him inside, and the house is huge, nice, open. Many people are inside, and the Mexican/Spaniard is well received here. He speaks in a language I do not understand, and try not to understand, as he speaks in machine-gun staccato bursts his friends laugh, regarding me with looks of amusement. We all sit down now at a low table. Many people are around us now, and he is suddenly holding the knife against my leg again, obscured by the table top, I assume to keep me from acting stupid. I sense plans are being made in this bizzarre language. It becomes more tense. I have no control over anything and feel I am being dealt into some nasty game that will have no happy ending for me at all. I fill with dread. I am among evil starangers.
A vehicle audibly pulls up outside, crunching gravel and a low rumbling idle announce it's arrival. The ranks now all stand, organize themselves. My captor jumps up, puts the knife away in his suit somewhere and asks me over his shoulder as he goes down a staircase to open the front door to whatever awful fate is waiting on the other side - "Jew ready?"
"Uhh, what's happening?" I respond.
"Be cool!" he warns, again. He does a double take at me, and then adds, surprised, amused, smiling: "Hey man, look! Jew got a gun now all of a sudden!" He laughs.
I look down to find in a special holster built into my robe a black gun I recognize as my own, heavy, waiting there for me.
With this discovery, I am filled with immense joy and sweet anticipation for whatever is going to happen next. I palm the pistol, pull back the slide and let it snap back with an enormous, loud 'CLICK', drawing a hollow-tipped .45 caliber round into the chamber.
Grinning maniacally, I nod to the Mexican, but say nothing.
"Be cool, man!" he advises one more time and now HE looks a little worried. "Be careful with that. These guys here in the house are my crew"
"Got it, I know" I assure him with bobbing head as I hide myself from the door he is about to open, me at the top of an exposed spiral staircase, my back to a wall.
The door is opened. I hear chatter. Commiseration? A minute passes. What is going on? I wonder.
Finally the Mexican yells out to explain to us all "It's just the UPS guy" - and he steps back from the door allowing to pass three serious, solid, square men dressed in the brown standard - issue UPS uniforms, carrying long cardboard boxes and tubes, and wearing dark sunglasses. Everyone in the room relaxes a bit, some men coming out from behind their cover. I begin to descend the stairs to ask the Mexican what was about to happen, then notice all the UPS guys have shoulder holsters containing semi automatic pistols. I realize they look like a swat team. As I pass them on the stairs, me on my way down, them on the way up, I lock eyes with their trailing member, the only one not wearing reflective lensed sunglasses.
His eyes are threatening, angry. I see contempt. I return the look. Something here is not right.
I stop on the landing, halfway down the stairs, as the group of UPS guys arrive at the top of the stairs. I turn around to look at them. As I do, the guy who stared at me begins to reach for his gun.
"It's a trap!" I yell - I am barely aware of the Mexican, now my friend (maybe he is Jason?) Shouting for me to be cool as I raise my gun at the UPS guy and squeeze the trigger twice in rapid succession.
I am now having the time of my life, I am so happy as I can see the two bullets leave the barrel of the gun, lazily exiting the belch of flame, silvery and spinning, and after they float through the air for what feels like minutes, one punches neatly through the UPS guy's chest, dead-center, the other through his forehead and he does an equally slow back-flip, ruined, over the banister to crash on the floor below.
I am again the hero, I realize, for the second time this day! I am brimming with joy and pride as I squeeze two more off at one of the Mexican's friends for fun. I blast one round at a vase perched on top of a grandfather clock, for fun I dispatch one more of the UPS guys with three swimming bullets. I artfully shoot a framed portrait on a tabletop through both of it's subject's eye sockets rending it a crazed, smiling zombie. I am very much aware of the dashing and skilled figure I am now displaying - Robe flowing in slow motion back and forth as I spin this way and that, dispatching my bullets now with no discrimination whatsoever as to their target. This is fun!
"Hey man - That was my cousin!" I hear the Mexican complain somewhere behind me. To show my prior captor how little I care, I now fire my gun at another of his friends, knocking him flying backwards, arms uselessly pinwheeling, through a plate glass window.
"Ah, MAN!... You're good!" I hear with satisfaction as the Mexican's protests turn to compliments.
I am now having the best time I have ever had in my entire life, and it is really, really funny to me now, I shoot without aiming from the hip, I shoot from between my legs after I jump, I am dispating enemies left and right, even shooting using only the reflection in small compact mirror I pull from somewhere as a guide, it is all very funny now, the Mexican even is doubled over laughing.
At first I am trying to keep a straight face, then actually begin to ham it up. Ironically looking serious I fire, raising one eyebrow I fire, gritting teeth as I blow holes through everyone and everything in the room, all too aware of the laughter track now playing in the background. I am the star of some insane, violent sit-com, entirely out of control.
Finally, the last UPS guy is charging toward me, his pistol drawn in one hand, firing at me, in his other hand the long awkward package he had been carrying this whole time, hell-bent on delivering it, I understand now this is his duty, and this is his final, desperate act.
I easily sidestep the bullets whizzing towards me, then I calmly take one knee as I announce to nobody in particular "I'll take that!" and fire my gun three times at the angry delivery man.
He is knocked straight back into the space he just arrived from, but the box continues on its same trajectory, unimpressed and flung high towards the vaulted ceiling, spinning. Not one to be trifled with now, I jump from my crouch and up into the air to meet this defiant package, and I seize it effortlessly in one hand, my gun still held in the other, and on my controlled descent back down to the floor, I finally break character and begin to laugh at the ridiculousness I had just witnessed before me.
I hit the floor on both feet, robe up over my head, then it floats back down over my back, and I am laughing so hard I colllapse on the floor.
I hear the Mexican whining that I killed all of his friends and broke his vase, which makes me laugh even harder, and I level my captured box at him. Sighting down this long package I want to mimick aiming a rifle at his horrified and complaining face, but can not do it because I am laughing too hard. I realize I am awake now and laughing into my pillow, full force, I swear to God.
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