Chapter XXXVII: New Year's Day
Chapter Thirty-Seven: New Year's Day
When I was done Cristo said, “That is bullshit. You're a big liar. None of that happened. You and Kodiak don't have the Skipper Sullys to do that.” As he walked away I heard an explosion outside. Someone yelled “Happy New Year, assholes.” Then I passed out.
Darcy, or someone who looked like her, had sex on the floor in front of me that night. I was still drunk and it took fifteen minutes for me to jerk off on the blanket I was under. I was dizzy and still sick from the tobacco spit, but I managed a numb orgasm as the couple wrestled and moaned softly under their own blankets. It didn't feel good. It just felt like a small relief, something different, a bleeding of some pressure building from within. After, as I relaxed and descended the carpet covered stairs of sleep, Toddy or his Wraith visitation walked by me and said, “Don't forget where you come from, Charlie.” He casually flicked some spit at me. Then I fell asleep on the wicker chair, crumpled, discarded, bathed in my own ejaculate, wasted.
I awoke in the morning, the first morning of 1992, feeling like a used condom. I went outside and threw up the beer and vodka from the previous year onto a shrub pine. The Timewraiths held my hair out of the way. Bill Buckner's ghost rubbed my back in the chill morning sunlight. Another year.
One more strike, Oggy. Tell the story like you used to tell it at Ogden's Point. I really respect that story. I respect loyalty. Fans aren't loyal now. They like players, not teams. You loved a team and that made you part of a team. I respect that, Oggy. Maybe this year you'll be ready.
But I wasn't ready yet. I was just hung over and I wanted to go home. Bonigan was gone. Huggy was gone. Skipper was gone. Cristo was long gone. Only Erin was left so we toe-tested 1992 by trying to hitchhike back to Bone Harbor. We hugged our coats close to our bodies in the wind. My lip was stiff where it had been punched and a bump on my forehead rubbed my Sox sweatband. Where had these injuries come from?
“Don't you remember when Darcy's boy toy punched you in the face? He must box. You should've seen him bouncing around after he hit you. He thought you were gonna fight.”
“Is she OK? Did she ask about me?”
“Its friggin' cold,” said Erin. “Wicked cold.”
“I didn't mean what I said about you and Skip. I was just talking shit. Drunk. You know.”
“Friggin' cold.”
Erin was as pale as a corpse, his puffy eyes watching the road in front of his feet. His lips were chapped. His ears were bright red from the cold. I turned around and stuck out my thumb as a car passed. The driver didn't even look at me. Erin shuffled along the breakdown lane of the highway leading back into Bone Harbor, kicking a rock in silence. I was old enough to take a punch in a strange house. That was something, wasn't it? I wasn't complaining. It was our war. It was our new day. It was our new year.
“What are you going to do about the whole Rachel thing, Oggy?” Erin had to shout into the cold wind
“What else? Leave. I'm leaving. You wanna come to Mexico?”
“I go back to Norwich in two days. But you don't have to leave. I could help. We could take care of it.”
“No, you go back to Vermont. At least someone made it out of here in one piece. I'm already damaged goods. I'll see you. Maybe when I paint the big one. I have to preserve this, our youth, our lives, what we call our lives, our loss.”
I waved at the bare trees, the rusted cars and fields of snow. I had seen enough. How many pitcutes can you take of the same landscape? How many laps can you run over the same track? Erin put a pinch of Kodiak in his mouth and wiped his fingers on his pants.
“It's up to you. You're the only one who can do it. This'll be ancient history soon. My people don't come from here. It means nothing to me.”
“Damn Irish,” I said with a grin. “Breed like rabbits. Take all the fahkin’ jobs.”
“The fields'll be parking lots, donut shops. The cars'll rust at the dump. Ogden's point will be developed. I might even buy a plot. You're the last one. Do you think anyone back there at the party is going to paint anything?”
“What party? I just went to a funeral”
The highway was empty. I put my hands in my pockets. What was this? I pulled out a white bra. 33, C-cup. Darcy's size. Had I found it on the ground or had I stolen it while she wasn't looking? The details were a blur of beer and vodka and fistfights. All I could remember was Cristo blowing cigarette smoke in my face. I stuffed it back in my pocket before Erin saw it.
“Zuzu's petals. There they are. Hey!”
Erin was trying to cheer me up with the Wonderful Life routine, but I wasn't in the mood. Christmas was over. We walked all the way home, 7 miles. No one picked us up. The wind blew our hair in our faces. The salty snot dripped over our lips and we wiped it with our sleeves. I smelled like decay and bile. Erin's face was pale and my nose was bleeding. It was New Years Day, 1992. I passed a beer can laying in the snow. Fahk it, I thought. Then I stopped and went back. I shook out the remainder of its contents, then crushed it with my foot and put it in the cargo pockets of my pants. Erin waited while I did this and said nothing. As we resumed walking Erin started to hum a Jimmy Buffett song, “Havana Daydreamin'“
When I was done Cristo said, “That is bullshit. You're a big liar. None of that happened. You and Kodiak don't have the Skipper Sullys to do that.” As he walked away I heard an explosion outside. Someone yelled “Happy New Year, assholes.” Then I passed out.
Darcy, or someone who looked like her, had sex on the floor in front of me that night. I was still drunk and it took fifteen minutes for me to jerk off on the blanket I was under. I was dizzy and still sick from the tobacco spit, but I managed a numb orgasm as the couple wrestled and moaned softly under their own blankets. It didn't feel good. It just felt like a small relief, something different, a bleeding of some pressure building from within. After, as I relaxed and descended the carpet covered stairs of sleep, Toddy or his Wraith visitation walked by me and said, “Don't forget where you come from, Charlie.” He casually flicked some spit at me. Then I fell asleep on the wicker chair, crumpled, discarded, bathed in my own ejaculate, wasted.
I awoke in the morning, the first morning of 1992, feeling like a used condom. I went outside and threw up the beer and vodka from the previous year onto a shrub pine. The Timewraiths held my hair out of the way. Bill Buckner's ghost rubbed my back in the chill morning sunlight. Another year.
One more strike, Oggy. Tell the story like you used to tell it at Ogden's Point. I really respect that story. I respect loyalty. Fans aren't loyal now. They like players, not teams. You loved a team and that made you part of a team. I respect that, Oggy. Maybe this year you'll be ready.
But I wasn't ready yet. I was just hung over and I wanted to go home. Bonigan was gone. Huggy was gone. Skipper was gone. Cristo was long gone. Only Erin was left so we toe-tested 1992 by trying to hitchhike back to Bone Harbor. We hugged our coats close to our bodies in the wind. My lip was stiff where it had been punched and a bump on my forehead rubbed my Sox sweatband. Where had these injuries come from?
“Don't you remember when Darcy's boy toy punched you in the face? He must box. You should've seen him bouncing around after he hit you. He thought you were gonna fight.”
“Is she OK? Did she ask about me?”
“Its friggin' cold,” said Erin. “Wicked cold.”
“I didn't mean what I said about you and Skip. I was just talking shit. Drunk. You know.”
“Friggin' cold.”
Erin was as pale as a corpse, his puffy eyes watching the road in front of his feet. His lips were chapped. His ears were bright red from the cold. I turned around and stuck out my thumb as a car passed. The driver didn't even look at me. Erin shuffled along the breakdown lane of the highway leading back into Bone Harbor, kicking a rock in silence. I was old enough to take a punch in a strange house. That was something, wasn't it? I wasn't complaining. It was our war. It was our new day. It was our new year.
“What are you going to do about the whole Rachel thing, Oggy?” Erin had to shout into the cold wind
“What else? Leave. I'm leaving. You wanna come to Mexico?”
“I go back to Norwich in two days. But you don't have to leave. I could help. We could take care of it.”
“No, you go back to Vermont. At least someone made it out of here in one piece. I'm already damaged goods. I'll see you. Maybe when I paint the big one. I have to preserve this, our youth, our lives, what we call our lives, our loss.”
I waved at the bare trees, the rusted cars and fields of snow. I had seen enough. How many pitcutes can you take of the same landscape? How many laps can you run over the same track? Erin put a pinch of Kodiak in his mouth and wiped his fingers on his pants.
“It's up to you. You're the only one who can do it. This'll be ancient history soon. My people don't come from here. It means nothing to me.”
“Damn Irish,” I said with a grin. “Breed like rabbits. Take all the fahkin’ jobs.”
“The fields'll be parking lots, donut shops. The cars'll rust at the dump. Ogden's point will be developed. I might even buy a plot. You're the last one. Do you think anyone back there at the party is going to paint anything?”
“What party? I just went to a funeral”
The highway was empty. I put my hands in my pockets. What was this? I pulled out a white bra. 33, C-cup. Darcy's size. Had I found it on the ground or had I stolen it while she wasn't looking? The details were a blur of beer and vodka and fistfights. All I could remember was Cristo blowing cigarette smoke in my face. I stuffed it back in my pocket before Erin saw it.
“Zuzu's petals. There they are. Hey!”
Erin was trying to cheer me up with the Wonderful Life routine, but I wasn't in the mood. Christmas was over. We walked all the way home, 7 miles. No one picked us up. The wind blew our hair in our faces. The salty snot dripped over our lips and we wiped it with our sleeves. I smelled like decay and bile. Erin's face was pale and my nose was bleeding. It was New Years Day, 1992. I passed a beer can laying in the snow. Fahk it, I thought. Then I stopped and went back. I shook out the remainder of its contents, then crushed it with my foot and put it in the cargo pockets of my pants. Erin waited while I did this and said nothing. As we resumed walking Erin started to hum a Jimmy Buffett song, “Havana Daydreamin'“
posted by Oggy Bleacher | 8:15 PM
<< Home