How is it I always
end up like this? All my life, no matter what I do, where I am, I end
up stranded somewhere. When I was twelve I had a baseball game on the
other side of the city. A mean part of the town. I rode with a
friend, but before I left, my Mom handed me a piece of paper with her
cell number on it. “If anything happens, you need a ride, call me
Bill.” So we're playing these kids, who are really just street
thugs, and a riot of sorts breaks out in the stands. My team up and
leaves. I'm desperately trying to find my friend and his Mom. During
the riot, I get get pushed out of the park. I end up on the streets
going west instead of east to my neighborhood. The thing is while
playing, I lost that paper. By this time my mom had decided not to
have a house phone. While walking through the roughest side of town,
I almost end up out of city limits and a cop picks me up. Luckily he
found my house by my infantile directions.
Several times I've
been stranded. A date left me in Dutch town, Pennsylvania. I wont
even go into that. In college I was left behind in a bar in New york
drunk and only wearing a loin cloth. I wont go into that, either.
And now I'm stuck in
the desert in the middle of an Arabic country whose name I can't
pronounce. Billy, you are a shithead.
I followed Emily
here. She wanted to see the middle east. I wanted to get in her
pants. Once I did, I couldn't get rid of her. Plus the girl is
loaded. I left college and my Mom is sick of caring for me. “Get a
job,” My Mom told me. A job? Nothing could be more mundane. I met
Emily at a friend's party.
And here I am.
The fucking desert
with sand between my toes.
Emily said she
wanted to shop in street markets. I said it was boring. So I went to
the local tavern(?) bar(?) saloon(?)...whatever they call it.
I was sitting there
drinking a beer....that's what they call beer? Camel piss I believe.
It burned my throat. I nearly puked it up. A big burly guy came over
to my table. He spoke broken English, a hybrid of Ebonics and middle
earth (Tolkien fans way out here?)
We were talking and
he was buying all kinds of drinks. I barely remember the time, but
man, they knocked me out. I hazily remember feeling hands inside my
pockets. I'm certain he got me wasted to roll me. When I did come to,
I was laying between legs sitting at my table.
The worst hangover I
ever had. I stumbled to the bar and asked the bartender what just
happened, where my friend went. He ignored me. Finally, In his
language I know he told me he didn't know English. That was lie.
It was night and I
hadn't seen Emily at that bar yet. She told me she'd meet me there. I
went over to a Jukebox. At least I thought it was a Jukebox. I don't
know, maybe the damn thing was a slot machine. It only had three
buttons, and under those three buttons were nameplates written in
Arabic.
Shit on it. I
thought. If I had a coin maybe I could win back some that Arabic
Mickey mouse money.
I spoke to the
bartender who was in the middle of closing up. He tried to ignore me.
“Hey buddy,” I
told him. “My girl's parents are high up in American government
doing business here. If I tell them you had a hand in that guy
stealing my money, you'll be in deep shit.”
He lowered his head.
“That machine broken, G.I .Joe.” G.I. Joe? I didn't even look
like a fucking soldier. “Don't try it.”
I threatened him
again. He sighed, flipped me a coin. He cursed me in his language.
“Get out of my joint!” He screamed.
I ran to the machine
and pushed the oversized coin in the slot. I pushed the first button.
Everything went
black.
When I came to, I
was on lying a linoleum floor with Emily and her parents staring at
me.
“Are you alright?”
Emily asked.
Her parents were
standing over me, looking bewildered.
“Did he just
faint?” Her Mother said.
“He just
fainted...dropped like a cow being slaughtered.” Her Father said.
“What in the world
is the matter with you, Billy? This is no time for jokes,” Emily
told me.
“Especially when
Emily is pregnant,” Her Mother scolded me.
“Come on, son. I
know it's a shocker. But you have to buck up...be a man.” Her
Father helped me to my feet.
Emily grabbed my arm
and whisked me to the living room. “So it's settled. Dinner at Old
Tom's Cabin,” Emily grabbed her coat and her parents were pushing
me forward out the door and into their Lincoln.
I was confused. One
moment I was in an Arabic bar putting a coin in a slot machine(or a
Jukebox). The next minute I'm eating dinner with Emily and her
parents discussing children and our future. I had to get out of
there. I was being forced into a life I didn't want. I excused
myself. I left them talking about diaper rashes and epidermal.
I headed for the
bathroom. Through the hallway, I passed an old man in his seventies
making out with a woman with dyed blond hair in her seventies. I felt
sick to my stomach.
I pushed open the
bathroom door and saw it was empty. I thanked God for being good to
me at that time. Then I cursed him after I found out the toilet I
just puked in didn't flush. I went to the sink washed my face. In the
mirror I stared back t a young man with the first few strands of gray
hair on a cow lick that used to blond. For fuck's sake, I thought. As
I examined the gray hairs, I saw in the background that slot machine
had appeared. I swear to you, it had just appeared out of thin air. I
know on my way to the stalls I didn't pass it.
I sighed, looking at
the buttons. Still the nameplates above the button were in Arabic.
Just by coincidence, I reached into my pocket and found a coin. I
heard Emily's voice. She was calling to me. Quickly, I pushed the
coin into the slot and slapped a middle button.
Everything went
black.
I felt a hand on my
shoulder. I opened my eyes and saw a great many people dressed in
their best holding handkerchiefs to wet eyes. A casket lay on a
platform at the far end of the room. The woman who had placed her
hand on my shoulder whispered in my ear. “I'm sorry,Billy,” She
said. “If there's anything...” She let her words trail off.
I nodded and stood
from the pew. I made my way through a sea of people to the casket.
All of them touching my arm, spreading their condolences. I saw Rev.
white on the stage, fixing the microphone. He looked me, bowed his
head. I flashed an uneasy smile. Then I looked down.
I saw my Mother
lying there in that casket. To say I didn't handle the affair very
well is an understatement. I began shouting all kinds of ugly words.
Screaming obscenities at the top of my lungs. I was weeping angrily.
I nearly knocked the casket over kicking at everything around it.
Someone grabbed me.
I don't remember who, but they dragged me from the platform. I was
howling like a wounded animal. Passing by the Rev. White, he begged
me to get a hold of myself. I cursed and spat at him.
A woman was prying
my mouth open and forcing a pill in, followed by some liquid. A few
seconds later I felt much calmer. My legs were floating in warm
water. If I had paid more attention I would've realized I was lying
on a bed in a room in the back of the church. Rev. White's study, I
believe. There were shelves all around loaded with books and a desk
with notebooks scattered. I felt wonderful. So calm...but so sad.
I closed my eyes.
Sleep was inevitable.
When I awoke, hours
had passed. I forced my tired body off the bed. I walked out of the
Church study to where my Mom's funeral was being held. Everyone was
gone except Rev. White. He was sitting at a pew, reading. He had
removed his tie and coat. He didn't look so stern as I remember being
a kid listening to his sermons.
He looked up at me.
Closed his book. He was reading one of the books from True Blood
series.
I questioned him on
that. “I do read things other than scripture,” He told me. “I
am human, Billy, in spite of what others in my profession claim. How
are you doing now?”
“Better than
before. Sorry about that,” I said.
Rev. White waved a
hand. “Don't worry about it. It's not the worst anyone has ever
done. What are your plans now, Billy.”
“My Dad is going
to sell the house. It's weird. They were a lot nicer to each other
after the divorce. I don't know. I guess I'll follow Emily to the
middle east...some country I can't pronounce the name.”
Rev. White stood,
shook my hand. “I hope you find what you're looking for, Billy.
Good bye.”
“Thank you. Good
luck with that book,” I told him. He smiled, left the Church
through the back door.
I sat on a pew.,
sighed.
I stood there in
that Arabic tavern, staring at that slot machine (or was it a vending
machine.) with my finger ready to push one of three buttons. “What
the hell do any of them say?”
I was referring to
the nameplates above the buttons. An old Arabic man in a powder blue
evening jacket approached me. He smiled, shook his head.
“Something funny?”
I asked him.
“Yes,” He said
in a low voice. “These buttons—you ask. The first one,” He
pointed. “Is confusion. The second, is sadness. The third is
happiness.”
I cut my eyes at
him. “Are you kidding me?” He shrugged, went to the bar, ordered
a drink in his own language. I pushed the coin through the slot.
“Here goes nothing,” I said and pressed the third button.
Everything went
black.
I awoke with a mouth
full of sand. I sat up, felt nothing but dry heat and the worst
sunburn I've ever had on my face. I stood, looked around. There was
nothing but desert behind me, or in front of me for miles.
Happiness. Solitude.
Happiness. Loneliness. Happiness. Sand between my toes. Happiness.
Who the fuck
would've thought this was it.
