In order to
be further involved in Jenny’s life, which seemed to be reforming and
transforming without me, I figured if I cut back on my classes the second
semester and decided to make them up over the summer, I could make more time
for us. I’d basically have one whole extra day to spend with her during the
week.
We were sharing a cigarette at
Jerry’s on a Friday night in December. I had one every once in a while, nothing
like a habit, but those Camels were good…something my buddies and I did in
school when he hung out. Standing together, on the back patio, my girl and I
stared into the canyon of earth and back at the light soaked sky. Gray smoke
flew out from our breath and into the eucalyptus-filled air. The beauty of
California is honestly not in its people, it’s in the land. You feel the
energies surround you in peaceful splendor. The quiet regions are the mystical,
solemn places away from the chaos Man created. As so, California is where the
wandering souls of America float westward.
“Are you
gonna reenroll in school?”
She looked
straight out, “No.”
“Do you want me to?”
“Not really”
sighing, “I miss you, Eric. I miss the fun I thought we’d have every day.”
“Life is not
fun all the time, baby.”
She tilted
her head over, almost leaning it on my arm, “Is it fun now?”
I pulled her
into me, feeling the coolness in her hair from the Pacific wind. “Most of the
time, yes. The things we ought to do like school and work are not easy.” I took
my eyes off the sky and looked upon her crown. “I really miss you.”
Nuzzling in
even more, “I’ve not been very good to you, have I?”
“As of late,
our prerogatives are different.” In my arms, she trembled like I’ve known her
to before. It’s almost a silent cry, as though she were ashamed to show
weakness or emotion. “Something’s been bothering you. I’d like to know what it
is.”
A long pull,
followed by a longer exhale of smoke, “My mom’s sick.”
“How do you
know?” After all, Jenny never talked about her mom nor did I know of any phone
conversations.
“Your folks
called one day. While they still had me on the phone, they mentioned it.”
“How long ago
was that?”
“A few
weeks.”
“How sick is
she?”
“I guess they
put her in the hospital for a day. I don’t know any more than that.”
“Shit.” My
deep exhale seemed timed with her. “I’m surprised. My parents haven’t said
anything to me about it. What are you going to do?”
“Hold me.” Nothing else.
After a moment together, I ushered
her back inside. Jerry, Jack, Marion, Sissy, and a pile of other friends all
joined in the back room laughing and getting warm by drinking. After some
beers, whiskey, and tequila, I was pretty hammered. Things got crazy in and out
of my head. Everyone who had a shell of any craft came out of it, including me.
Strange joints were being passed around and that odd stale smell now hit me
again. Someone was sober enough to man the record player, because I heard Elton
John, Chicago, Todd Rundgren, The Rolling Stones, The Carpenters, and an early Steve
Miller on and off throughout the night. But it was an odd enough combination of
B-sides to indicate the selector of songs was at least a little trashed or
high.
As I attempted to catch the
spinning, wood-paneled walls, I saw Jerry, some dude whose name I can’t
remember, and Jenny go into the hall bathroom. I snaked over that way, but not
very quickly as my fingers traced the sections of wallpaper down the next path.
My navigation skills floundered. When I rounded the corner and down the hall,
the yellowish bathroom light was on. The Pioneer stereo was blasting, so I
didn’t catch anything if there was something to be heard. When I came around, I
saw Jenny snorting white powder from the edge of the sink and up her nose. The
trippy psychedelic sound of Quicksilver Messenger Service, especially at the
high notes, echoed through the hall and was felt in my chest where I could feel
my nerve endings. My inhibition was gone and I almost ask for a hit myself.
Yet, I meandered back to my car, sat in it, and cried. With little effort, it
would have been possible to pass out, but my mind was flowing, fueled by
adrenaline.
With my frustration and my alcohol
intake, my mood got mixed. In this intoxicated state, I tried to put logic into
my situation and my relationship with L.A. Stumbling back into the house almost
thirty minutes later, I grabbed Jenny. Her eyes were glazed and widened. Mine
probably were, too. Yeah, I was probably too drunk to drive but who gave a
shit? Though I tend to walk most places, longer hikes meant driving. I got to
the point I hated getting in the car. If I did, I took roads I knew and rarely
took a freeway. Driving up to the Canyon or down past Redondo into Palos Verdes
is hairy because of tight turns and the straight drops to your left or right.
Funny, I really felt California was trying to eliminate its idiot population by
not installing guardrails. Going on a bender wasn’t safe in a car.
“Eric, I’m not feeling well. Can we
go home?”
In the Camaro, I prodded her even
though this couple were both in bad shape, “It’s not home! Why do you call it
that? It’s Diane’s.”
Jenny lifted
her head up, wide-eyed, “We live there, don’t we?”
Knowing where
this was going, I half spoke, “Yeah.”
“Then it’s
home.”
And we did.
How? I don’t know. All I recall is driving slow, trying not to lose it, and
keeping one eye on the road and the other on Jenny. But driving slow was lame
and I gunned it. All of her words flew out of her mouth in 3rd gear.
Granted, the
Byrds drove up and down Laurel Canyon Blvd in their Porsches, but tough
American was not meant for the hills of Los Angeles: too many traffic lights,
cops, pedestrians, and curved roads. Somehow, Dennis Wilson found a way,
winning races in his split window, fuel injected Corvette, shutting down the competition
on the quarter mile. There was a thrill to growing up, hearing the Beach Boys
sing about racing and surfing and getting girls. For me and my friends, that
was a boy’s dream.
Back east,
there were a lot of empty roads north of town. Kids could drag without too many
worries. The cops didn't care much because they knew all of our parents, who
the real punishment came from, but a few times they broke it up after
passer-by's complained. No one raced for money either. The only wager was who'd
buy the next burger, which I wound up buying my share. Wide receiver, Dustin
Thomas, had a little sleeper: a ’62 Ford Galaxie with a 406 in it. He ran the
hell out of that car and unlike moonshiners who ran big blocks against the law,
Dustin outran the dads of the girls he was poking. He never fixed the bullet
hole he had in his back window from one sharpshooting father. Dustin said it
“too cool to lose” and it was a badge of honor for his deviant deeds.
When I was
bored, I took my Camaro out to the deserts’ roads east or north of L.A. and let
her roar. By no means did I have the fastest car on the road. She was just a V6
automatic RS model (I really wanted an SS) and couldn't out-perform the 8
cylinder, supercharged beasts that could rape her at a stop light. Besides the
exhaust system, the only modification was an adjusted carburetor so the jets
had been opened up a bit to give her more horsepower and not flood the engine.
The automatic transmission’s gear shift was rectangular, like something on an
aircraft. Many times when I mentally unwound, I went out on the back roads with
a few beers and pretended to fly.
For Jenny,
the car and I were equally alluring. Its brown exterior and black insides were
dark and dangerous, leather just like Jim Morrison’s pants and jacket. The
large, hard body and loud presence said: tough, mean, bad. Muscle, baby! Sorry,
but I look at those little Japanese cars that filtered in the late 70’s and
have tore the market wide open ever since…cars have come a long way. Yuck.
The Saturday, after Jerry’s, we
woke late. From Diane’s cuckoo clock, out belched twelve slow chimes. For being
a cool night, the room seemed incredibly stuffy. Now I understood Jim
Morrison’s line about sheets being hot, dead prisons. I opened the window facing
my side of the bed, eyeballing the street, choking on the air, and wondering if
anyone of those people walking by had come from a small town with aspirations
of something better. And while street noise filtered in, Jenny stirred for a
little before coming to.
As I like to
tease her, “Wakey wakey. Good morning, I mean afternoon, sunshine!”
“What time is it?”
“It’s time to go out, enjoy
ourselves, and live.”
Smiling, “Okay.” Yes, she had terrible
bed-head and impression of the pillow on her cheek, but she looked so cute.
When she gives me that smile, I almost forget I’m her boyfriend and get jealous
of who might be.
For breakfast/lunch (not brunch, I truly
dislike that word), we scored some tacos. They’re a food type that grew on me.
And on the west coast, there’s plenty of it. After all, we’re as close to its
native land as we can get. You got to know what places were good and reliable
and always went down with a nice Tecate. As my hair got scruffier and I stopped
shaving as often, people thought I was older. Therefore, I didn’t get ID’d as
much and stores willingly took my cash.
The wind tried to take off with a
taco, but I grabbed it quickly, and Jenny laughed. Reaching for the golden
Mexican beer, I told her, “I wasn’t sure what to expect from this place.”
“This Mexican place?”
“No, California.”
“Oh.” She refocused, “Continue.”
“It’s like a weird uncle you only
see at Christmas. At first, he seems a little off. You’re unsure of his
mannerisms, his behavior is coarse, and you distance yourself from him. Once
you get to know him, he has his charm and fun. However, no matter how well you
think you know him, there’s more mystery than facts. And for all the fun you
had with him, you’re glad you only see him once a year.”
“So, you’re saying it’s only
tolerable in small bits?”
“I think so.” I dip into my
thoughts, trying to best detail what I want to convey. “I think when we were in
junior high, this place was different. The current artistic interpretation
through music cannot properly depict the scene, but right now it’s all on the
decline.” The James Taylors and Elton Johns were too busy in the moment to make
a subjective, Phil Ochs observation.
Jenny picked up where I left off. “There’s
too much money floating around. Most of the music is fake and dressed up. You
know, I doubt anyone in the Eagles has country roots. Gram on the other hand,
he did.” Jenny really stood up for the people she liked. As religious people
hold up their convictions of God, she did the same for her idols.
“I don’t know. Things are nasty.
And I think we got here too late.”
Jenny evaluated that thought,
“There’s a darkness I did not see right away. It crept up on me and you saw it
last night.”
“The drugs?” My mouth tensed.
“Yeah. I’m not sure why, but it did
feel good.”
Not what I wanted to hear. I was
anticipating her to confess she was wrong, it was wrong, and she wouldn’t do it
again. Taking it to an even more selfish place, I wanted her to ask me to save
her like some heroic knight. So I asked, “Have you done this before?”
“Not coke. No. But I’ve played with
other stuff here and there. Most of it was when you were back at State. I fell
on hard times and felt horribly alone but before you freak out I did it around
trusting friends.”
“I don’t want you doing drugs,” as
I gave her that parent look.
“It’s really not that bad, Eric. I
don’t even really use them at all.”
“You’re not seeing my point –
they’re bad!”
“It’s harmless fun that everyone
does.”
“Not me.”
I swabbed my taco through a mound
of sour cream. A nice healthy bite got the nasty taste out of my mouth. Without
saying a word, I went to the counter and got another Tecate. Carrying it back
she said, “Those aren’t healthy either, but you drink them.”
Putting my food (and beer) back
down, “Life is not easy. We both have our problems.”
“Tell me Eric, what are yours? How
bad are they,” she fired nastily.
“Bad enough that I left home.”
“Life
leads the blind, innocent minds
Through
black cores of nothingness
We
suffer from lack of intelligence
Victims
to unknown precaution
Stare
dull into the void
Where
the ocean meets the night sky”
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