Ten. So
In the morning I woke up still dressed. Jack floated in and out of the kitchen, grabbing a towel, searching for his toothbrush, reaching for his cigarettes. In a suit he looked so different from his drunk splayed out lull. It was as if he was putting on airs along with his tie, tightening them around his neck.
“I thought you were quitting,” I said, watching the smoke curl out from Jack’s nose.
“It is a statistical fact that ninety percent of smokers relapse within the first year,” Jack breathed.
Adam snorted as he stormed past. “Or maybe ninety percent of what you say is bullshit.” He ripped open the cabinet and peered inside. “Have you been eating my beans?”
“Of course not.” Jack looked hurt.
Adam slammed the door shut and stalked out in a huff, aggressively sucked at a carton of juice.
“For a guy who drinks grape juice, he’s sure got a lot of anger,” I mused.
“I’ve been putting grape vodka in that for weeks,” Jack mused, “yet his mood hasn’t improved.”
“Why is he so angry?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “I stole his girlfriend – like a YEAR ago. “
“How did you manage to do that?”
“I think – ” Jack’s shoulders hunched as he let out a low chuckle. “Heh heh heh. I think I did it when he was on vacation.” He puffed out his bottom lip in a what-can-you-do. “When he came back, she was mine.” Then a raised eyebrow. “I never thought it would have caused such a stir. Talk about overreacting.”
“What did he do?”
“Well,” Jack said, “I had this bottle of Black Sambuca. The sweetest liqueur in the world. Also one of the most expensive – retails for about a hundred bucks. A friend had given it to me for a present. Well, Adam comes home and someone” – he shot a look at the door at the end of the hall – “wasn’t too gracious in telling him what happened.” He paused. “I come home, turn the keys, and the first thing I sense is…” Jack fluttered his eyes and inhaled deep through his nose. “Mmm. Black Sambuca. The smell is strong.”
He bit his lip. “Too strong. I walk to my room. The door is unlocked – and open. I walk into the room, and there, all over my floor, is the contents of my birthday bottle of Black Sambuca. He had poured it all onto my carpet – in the shape of the word ‘Cunt.’ It was huge!” he cried. “For months I couldn’t bring anyone into my room without their head going sideways and asking me, “Why is ‘Cunt’ written into your floor?” It was impossible to hide.” He nodded. “I’ve got to give it to him, it was pretty good.”
“That must be frustrating,” I mused, “to live with someone who hates you, always grabbing on like a power struggle.
Jack shook his head. “There will only be a power struggle if both people participate. If one person doesn’t take up the struggle then it's not happening.”
He stubbed out his cigarette and dusted off his hands. “Well, I’m off to work. Do you have class?”
“A better question is whether or not it’s worth going. That hour of my week would be better spent designing a time machine so I could watch history unfold myself.”
Jack flicked a finger at his shelves. “Would you like a book?”
I had to admit, I would. I was halfway through Beyond Good and Evil when I had lost it. When I asked if he had it instead of answering a book landed facedown at my feet.
“What don’t you try that instead?” Jack waved out the door.
I picked up the book – and when I saw it was pornography dropped it again. I padded over to Jack’s bookshelf. There were guides to America, to Thailand, to Istanbul. There were books on consumernomics and advice for worst-case scenarios. The more I drifted over the titles, the more I felt my request for Nietzsche ring hollow with intellectual snobbery. I would have to work hard to curb my elitist aesthetic. I brushed my fingers along the shelf until my finger stopped at the edge. There, under a thin layer of dust – Beyond Good and Evil.
My mouth fell open. “Asshole.”
I could hear Jack’s bouncing laughter through the wall well before he swayed back through the door, clapping into one hand.
“Why limit yourself to Nietzsche?” He seemed disappointed. “There’s lots of things to learn in the world.”
I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work or something?”
“I decided I’m not going in to work today after all.” Jack grabbed his side. “I think I’m getting an ulcer.”
“That could be contagious,” I affirmed.
Jack flopped himself back down on the bed and rolled over. “So. What are we going to do?”
I had wondered what Jack did during the day. It turned out he did hardly anything at all. The job he wasn’t going to was with the electric company. It was one of the few industries where Jack felt like he didn’t have to punch in his soul along with his time card. Before then it was a bit hit or miss, some advertising here, some marketing there, all of which he had found deeply meaningless. Jack preferred to work with necessities – it kept him honest, he said, doing good things for people for the right reasons.
We adventured through the parks and tip-toed through the thin red paths in the park that swept their way up to the museum. We ran under the motorways that curved like gray rainbows over a graveyard that cut through the heart of the city. Under his guise the world melted into something mysterious and beautiful.
Jack was from the city, born and raised. He told me about the land, and all kinds of things you couldn’t learn in books. Most people only saw the city as a pile of jagged concrete hills and alleys – but when Jack turned a corner, and you caught a glimpse of the emerald water between the buildings, shimmering in the sun, your heart soared.
“Isn’t she wonderful?” Jack sighed as we looked out at the lashings of teal and liquid cerulean at each other’s side.
The water! That spire! It was as if Atlantis had been pulled from the slime.
“And people say the city is not a real part of the island.” Jack sighed. “But that’s all the better. Then we get her all to ourselves.”
Jack had both of his hands tucked halfway into his pockets, his chest puffed out soaking up the morning sun. He was, in all pure sense of the word, a man of the city. I felt a quiet pride standing next to him as the sun dazzled his skin, as if on command. It was as if he had a key to the world, hidden away like the bottle of wine tucked beneath his coat.
“Got to protect the image,” he insisted. “Wouldn’t want to run into anyone from work.”
“Should I feel guilty about ditching class?” I wondered.
“No,” Jack said. “The only way to sense whether something is morally wrong is to check... Ethics comes from experience. Be immoral and see if you feel truly guilty or just a little bit wicked.”
“I may miss a lecture,” I smiled, “but I’m discovering my soul.”
And Jack said, “That’s right.”
As he strutted along and I followed close behind I started to feel insecure about all my life had been. When did I become so half-involved? When did I become so hesitant? I had the sense I was witnessing something important even if he was just smoking and drinking his youth away. There was something about this 29-year-old man. He had nothing to show for it yet was complete, untouchable even. It was as if he declared things, rather than stumble and wonder and break them down into a million little pieces like I did.
Back at the flat Ben sat on the couch alternating between consciousness and deep snores.
“Is he going to eat that?” I eyed the half-finished sandwich clutched in his hands.
“Mine,” with eyes still shut he said.
“He’ll sleep through anything,” Adam mused, poking Ben with a stick.
“Say, where’s Anton?” Adam asked. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”
Morgan shrugged. “Neither – not since he tried that fire spitting trick with carbon disulfide.”
“Is he
nuts? It’s one thing to douse your lungs with turps,” Adam sighed. “but carbon disulfide – that is a highly flammable solvent… is he all right?”
“Mate, he burned his face off.” Morgan shook his head. “It was safe to say he was pretty rooted.” Then he gestured towards the grill. “Help yourself to some sausage. I got enough to last for a month.” He beamed with pride. “It’s the best bargain since I tapped the elementary school’s water main!”
“Where did you get them?”
His lips curled into a smile. “I acquired them.” And that was all he said.
“Here.” Adam shoved a chunk of cheese into my hands. “Try this.”
I sniffed, then took a cautious bite. Overtones of dark chocolate, burnt caramel and roasted onions rolled around my tongue. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Adam frowned, eyeing the molding rind. “I found it a dumpster. This cheese is more than food though, isn’t it?,” he sighed as I lunged for the sink. “It’s art.”
“You should come with me sometime – you can get some really great stuff!” Ben was awake again. “Last week I got an entire bag of peanuts."
"You have to wash ‘em,” Morgan stabbed at another sausage from the barbecue, “but they’re still good.”
I was hungry and the kitchen was stacked with piles of encrusted dishes. The rule sat that if someone missed their daily turn, it remained their turn until they remembered. It was nearing day seven, and the dishes had grown into tottering edifices of art that challenged physics.
I picked up a cup with green residue encrusted on the bottom.
“You may not want to drink out of that,” Morgan advised. “That one has seen a lot.”
I tipped it over. The crust stayed put. “It has stories to tell?”
“Oh yeah,” he affirmed. “It’s seen the bottom of rivers. Has been kicked off cliffs. I’m pretty sure it gave me gangrene once.”
“I just remembered,” Jack announced, suddenly appearing from the hall. “I have to see a man – about a dog.” And poof! Just like that, he was gone.
“Where is he always going?” I wondered, watching from the balcony as his silhouette sprinted away below.
Morgan shrugged. “I find it’s usually best not to even wonder.”
“The dishes are Jack’s.” Adam snorted.
“I’ll do it.” The words come out before I know why.
I was bent over the kitchen sink, brow furrowed, scrubbing heartily at a plate when I heard a familiar voice echo down the narrow hall. “She shouldn’t be raising ostriches anyways,” the voice cried. “You should have poured acid in her eyes.”
Then the boy with the blonde wig from the theater stumbled into the light – except this time, the blonde wig was nowhere in sight. “Was that Jack I just saw running off?”
Adam nodded.
“Typical. And what were you two getting up to?” he called out to the balcony, a hand fanned out over a freshly jutted hip. “I believe that’s what the university council defines as inappropriate conduct! Naughty naughty!”
“Leave it, Nick.” Stu snapped back.
He turned back and cast a mischievous grin over his shoulder. It was only then our eyes met.
Nick glided to my side in three elegant leaps. “What are you doing?”
I looked down. “The dishes.”
“But why?”
“Someone’s got to.”
His face was drawn. “Karma would never do such a thing. There’s plenty time for that in 2012.”
“I don’t know about that,” I replied. “The history channel tells me the world may end.”
“Exactly.” Nick grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels at lightning speed. He tore off a chunk of licorice and gestured accusingly with the flaccid remains. “Whoever encourages kids to go on these shows and have their dreams crushed should be taken out and shot.” The channel flipped again. Guns. Fire. Buildings. Politicians.
“Carline!” he screamed – and then, without missing a beat – “I was on this show, you know.”
Nick had penetrated every niche, party and society in the city. He had been on soaps, partied with pop stars, chased thieves down Broadway and ridden on elephants. They were never dwelled on, and always came out in offhand comments.
“But that’s over now,” he would then say with a wave of the hand. And none of these past exploits satisfied him more than his permanent state in the Now... which was, at the moment, cross-legged on the floor popping beer tops across the lounge.
“Guess where I’ve been?” he insisted, shoving a beer between the dishes and me.
“Porlock?”
“K Road!”
The name sounded familiar. “What’s K Road?”
Nick was aghast. “What’s K Road?”
At the sound of the street Adam’s eyes lifted slow. “I know K Road. I hate that place.”
“K Road!” I marveled. “A street so nasty all the other letters ran away.”
Nick’s face dropped. “You’ve never been to K Road?” I admitted it was so. “Well come on, let’s go!”
“Wait!” I said. “First I need to find Jack.”
At the sound of the name Nick’s head returned, his lip curled. “Jack Anodyne?”
“Yes.” I paused. “Why?”
“Let me guess,” Nick smirked. “You got left behind?”
My silence was interpreted again as admission.
“Get used to it. Jack doesn’t care about anyone but himself. Now, K Road.” He rubbed his hands.
The boy was always onto whatever was next. Listening to him bubble up with excitement gave his stories the sense that things were always really happening. And I was ready to believe in something, so I followed eagerly in his wake with eyes open, taking in as much as I could. And it was decided. It was done. I was going to K Road.
back