Frying the Fuck Out Of the Roast

What would have been great excitement was tempered with the many frustrations of the day, or the frustrations of the day were diminished by the great excitement he felt with the upcoming adventure today, he was confused as to which perspective was correct now, but, a trip to the Beachhouse, a journey with Her which he had been looking forward to for some time, some time away from work, friends, food, DRINKS lay directly ahead, but this day was not going easily, things did not seem to happen as he planned them anymore, he knew he was somehow to blame for these miscalculations and oversights, but he did not feel capable of making the proper adjustments that would bring reality and fantasy into sharp focus upon each other.

Things were chaotic in the shop for the preceding 48 hours or more. There was a big job which had to be finished in order to be able to leave, both by obligation, and by financial necessity. The 10-hour job had taken much longer, there were hitches, and as always things were being done at the last minute (for everyone, by way of his choices) and so things were becoming tight. Tense.

He drove to her apartment and picked Her up, got Her and Her bag into the car. He was impressed by Her thoughtfulness, She had brought a gift, which may be obvious for some people, but the majority of the population are not so thoughtful. They kissed. They drove back to the shop so he could now, at the last minute, pack his bag and pick up his check and try to remember whatever it was he was supposed to bring or leave or whom to call, or return some emails. They were beginning to run late. They had a five-hour drive ahead of them and they wanted to get there as soon as possible, he wanted to make a claim on his favorite room in the house, they were going to drink and spend the night together, this was the first time. Possibilities lay fresh and undiscovered in front of them, wrapped in laughs and the sound of the ocean breaking not-far-away through the open sliding glass door of the room in which they were going to sleep. This was going to be fun. This was what adults did together and he was excited to spend this time with Her.

Once at the shop, his Helper was there, dropping off the customer whose car had just been completed at the last minute. The Helper and She exchanged a tense 'Hello' while he dealt with the customer, got paid, apologized again for the work taking as long as it did. He was paid. As soon as the customer was out of sight, he sent the Helper to cash this check he just received, this money earmarked for this weekend now in his grip at the last possible moment. Why do I live like this? He wondered. The Helper gone, She asked for the fourth time that day when he would fire his Helper. It was a funny joke and he got it and even appreciated it, but he wondered still: Was she serious? He knew he would fire his Helper if She really wanted him to, but he was confused if She was serious or not about this. He was actually confused a good deal of the time about things she told him, if She were being serious or not. This was a big reason he was drawn to Her, he realized, he could not tell if she was sincere or not, and in this manner She became unpredictable to him. Most people were boring and followed a script, or so it seemed to him, and She did not. She had caused him some agony already earlier in the year, but he seemed to be drawn to it even though, if asked, he would deny that he wanted more agony in his life, but he pursued Her and eventually they were 'together' or entangled in some charade of it.

He entertained the joke and the idea, then the Helper returned with the money and he took her into the front office and paid her, discussed the coming week with her, thought about how he would miss her, gave her the number where he would be should she need him for anything. The Helper provided another element of painful confusion in his life, but for completely different reasons than She did. At any rate, she was dismissed for the weekend and he got his stuff together, after a few quick errands She and he were headed down the freeway and toward whatever promise lay ahead in the following days.

The drive was was just as fun as he had imagined, the hours passed by as quickly as possible, there were no uncomfortable silences or arguments and often his hand rested on her leg beside him and he felt calm, which was unusual most of the time. Soon, they were turning off of the freeway and heading due West. In another hour they could smell the salt in the air, see the rust eating away at the cars sunken in the front yards of the houses here along the river, the bay, the coast. Giant green trees provided shade usually, and every now and then the road would open up and the sunlight would warm them as sand dunes could be seen off to the left. A few more turns and they were pulling through a gate and up a driveway and shutting the car off in front of the big gray house.

In the relative silence of the sudden vanished carnoise, he looked over at Her, the soundtrack of crashing surf thrumming powerfully in the background, and leaned over and kissed Her. As natural as could be. They disembarked. They collected their shit. They entered the house.