The Excess Road

  Chapter Thirty-five: Facilitation.

  Over and over I wondered. How could Casey live with herself? But I only desired sleep and the thought of using Casey in a jerk off fantasy wouldn’t happen. My poker couldn’t come to a point.

  “I won’t obsess,” I said.

  The cycle of sleep began taking hold again and I only lived in the evening.

  On a gloomy night, drizzle in the air, I had ‘Film’.

  It was Tuesday in a large dark auditorium. Most of it was a lecture with movie clips. There were only two tests and no papers and the professor’s name was Charles Lewis and he was passionate about Hitchcock, Kubrick, and Kurosawa.

  Chuck talked about motifs and the evolution of special effects. Chuck was jazzed about visual symbols for death such as winter settings, the sunset, and the ocean.

  The darkness pressed on my soul.

  “Violence in cinema was changed drastically since the forties. It saturates and even sells movies today. It means practically nothing now. It has no impact and has become a vehicle of desensitization of the nation’s youth,” Chuck said and that was the last I heard until, “Mister Chandler, wake up.”

  I was shook by Chuck and came to almost in shock.

  “I am up. What is up Chuck?” I said and realized I might have insulted him.

  “Oh, thank you. Did I wake you? That’s a precious use of my name, but you’re not the first. You can see class is over. Has been for ten minutes but I was so miffed that I had to calm myself down before I could restrain myself from some sort of juvenile retaliation,” he said through his teeth.

  “I am sorry, but I have been behind in my classes and have not been getting enough sleep. I am sorry and it will not happen again,” I said.

  “Oh all right just try and keep on your toes with your work and try a little harder. Now get out of here,” he said.

  I grabbed my notebook and walked at a faster pace than normal. An odd sensation cascaded down my spine, I was ashamed. This could not be tolerated and I needed to go out.

  Recently I met a couple seniors I had Jacobean Lit with. Luke a kid from Manhattan with Yacht club blond curls and Paul was the son of a Gloucester fisherman.

  We talked over cigarettes before class.

  They lived three blocks from campus.

  Luke told me, “We have people over on all of the week nights so come over after class or whenever.”

  And I did.

  They had small parties and bought cases of cans. Beer can castles took up the corners of the house. As I walked in the front door of Luke’s George, Erin and James along with Jill were sunk back in his couch watching the huge TV.

  Tim was standing at the fold out card table in the den advising Paul on his hand. They were playing poker for bags of Raman noodles. He turned and said, “Man you look green. Maybe it’s just these lights. Hold on a second. Later Paul must go attend to business.”

  He waved me to follow and we walked a few feet down the hall.

  “I need you to come with me to Rascal’s tomorrow so you gotta get up around lunchtime. Make it worth your while. Lunch too but I need someone with me this time,” he said and stared.

  “Ya, sure, whatever, sure I will come but next time let me get a beer first before you start throwing shit at me like that okay,” I said.

  “Gotcha,” he said and I proceeded to the kitchen where a giant green tub was filled with ice and low budget beer.

  Luke hovered above.

  “Joaquin, back again. I’m going to start charging you rent. Nice to see you on this humid night,” he said and plucked out a beer from the ice and tossed it into my cupped hands.

  “How are you man? I hate this mountain fog,” I said and shook his hand.

  Turning away I cracked the can and went back to the living room.

  “I will go with you but not before one,” I said into Tim’s ear.

  He grabbed the molding around the door as he fell back.

  “I will get you at one-thirty. Deal?” he asked.

  “Deal,” I replied.

  He stumbled over to Erin and began whispering into her ear. James’ discussion with Jill came to a halt as I tried to cram into the couch. They wiggled and tried to free up space but I was rejected again. A bookshelf filled with empty jars sat below the windowsill so I sat on it.

  “Joaquin, how many times you been here this week?” James asked before he took a gulp from his shiny sweaty can.

  “Every night since Sunday, why do you ask?” I asked.

  “Because. I never saw these guys out before the last time and now here we are again” James said as if an illusionist’s trick amazed him.

  “Well you can go back if you want there is no pressure to stay,” I said.

  “Na, I’ll stay I don’t have any classes till three anyhow,” he said and finished his beer.

  “Cool. Grab me another?” I asked.

  The path cleared before James as he lumbered to the kitchen. As he came back around the corner, he threw a can side arm at me. Two hands clasped and I opened it without foamy overflow. A cheer came from the couch.

  The party over, I walked back alone to the dorm and tripped face first into the stone stairs at the side door. After feeling around my mouth with my tongue I found blood but felt no pain. I remembered getting a large plastic cup of water and not seeing anyone in the hall and that when my buzzing head sank into the pillow.

  Sleep couldn’t be denied.

  The next day Tim banged on my door. It swung open.

  “Come on man it’s one and there are things to do so hurry up, chop chop,” he said.

  The door was shut in his smiling face. I didn’t bother with taking a shower. Baggy black clothes gave me no sass as I tied my boots. My mouth was dry as paper and the guitar string ring choked my puffy finger. A little spit let it slip and it went on top of my copy of Less Than Zero in the cubbyhole. I should really read that book.

  My only hat, broken down Mets cap, crowned my head and grabbed my warm water on the desk. White-hot needles pushed through my right canine tooth in my upper jaw. The pain pierced the back of my head and burrowed straight down my back. The cup hit the floor and I yelled.

  Tim came through the door and yelled, “What the fuck man! What’s wrong?”

  “I broke my fucking tooth man, shit!”

  “Let me see,” Tim said.

  I tilted my head back and open my mouth.

  “Holy shit, you did that last night? You better go to a dentist,” he said.

  All I needed was Anbesol and wasn’t going to explain this to a dentist.

  “Let me brush my teeth and we can go,” I said, grabbed my stuff and went to the bathroom to examine the damage.

  I looked in the mirror and half of my upper right canine was gone. My gum was grated raw and bright red. I brushed around it. With a tiny scrape of a bristle, I went to my knees.

  I would have to smoke with my left.

  Eat with my left.

  Cold food, super hot food, tough foods were off the menu.

  I didn’t eat anyway.

  Tim had pulled up along the curb in his rickety car. He was playing the drums on his steering wheel over the loud music. The door ground open and I was pushed back by the bass. Violently I waved my arms to signal to turn it down and he did. I hadn’t been in his car in a while. The passenger side floor was buried below an avalanche of lollipop wrappers, soda bottles and fast food bags. He hit the gas and was played racecar driver in the parking lot.

  My seat belt was broken.