It's the gas station down on the Bibb County side of 87 where the road's probably still considered Riverside Drive. It's the last one you see for miles until you reach the intersection with 18.
The same old man who was there this time of night last year was there tonight. Old man, bald and peering behind large glasses. I remember the first time I saw him. It was late, late at night and he was new there. The doors stay unlocked 24 hours a day and he rightly watched me the whole time. I say rightly because no one in their right mind trusts anyone that late at night in a fairly remote location. I don't. You think I do, but I don't.
He seems to remember me now. Not like we talk, we aren't friends, but he's cracked a couple of smiles over the past year. He's a good guy, I'm sure.
I don't want to know what he's like away from work. I'm pretty sure I don't want to know what he's like now. I'm quite sure I've had my fill of other people's pain and suffering. No one asked me to care, but I have and I don't know where to unload.
I don't see people the way I used to. Once upon a time, I thought of my life as a path. Along the way, people were no different than trees and road signs. Metaphysically intangible, two-dimensional sights on the side of the road. I cared then about people, too. But the vast majority were just extras in my movie and I was traveling too fast to hold them. Cardboard cut-outs, some were.
Then I worked at the bank and railed at the Man. One day a woman came in. I don't remember much about her, but I haven't forgotten what she said to me. I'd asked her how she was doing, and she answered, "Better than I deserve."
At various points in my life, I've heard about all the purportedly deep cliches a person can give during the course of a casual conversation. I hadn't heard that one though, but I do not recognize it as anything different than one of the aforementioned cliches. It was just a well-timed salvo.
It didn't go away and I didn't care. Making no effort to expound upon it or cleanse it from me, I had the pleasure of watching it take shape in my head, gain weight and slide into my heart.
She wasn't telling me anything other than that she was grateful for being alive. She probably told me she was blessed. She probably said goodbye by insisting I have a blessed day. I took it that way, I let it be a motto for a while. I wrote it down and kept it in my journal, my wallet. When it grew bigger, what happened is that I was seeing things in three dimensions.
She wasn't yet another quirky person in a line of quirky people there to color my day -- to make my drive more enjoyable. She was inadvertently telling me how crappy life was and that all she could do about it was keep her head up. Soon, I was seeing the character lines in faces as more than just age or definition. There were things behind their eyes. Their hands meant something. Their voices had traveled the world and come back to visit me.
They'd lived life. I could see glimmers of it now. They weren't road signs. They had depth and I surrendered my respect. Still do.
I haven't been able to change it and I'm not sure that I should. All I need to do is learn what it means.
Back at the gas station, I was taking a leak. In the background, there were strings and piano, woodwinds and whatnot -- classical music. It hadn't done much to inspire the hack poets who'd marked up the condom machine over the urinal. Unfortunately.
"Give Jesus a chance."
"Retreads. 10cents."
"This gum tastes like rubber."
"KKK"
"Call John (followed by a phone number)" Not even the dencency to tell us why we should. Does Mark give good head? Will he be there later for hot anal sex? What?! Why?! The American public demands to know!
Maybe that's where humanity is heading. No imagination, no creativity. Just the desire to try to seem that way. Nothing new under the sun has erupted into an astonishingly dismal outlook on art for the rest of our history.
I'm in a mood.
I had dinner alone at the Steak n Shake because I wanted a Frisco Melt. It's the third one I've had this week. I haven't eaten at Steak n Shake in ages, but lately, three times. Riddle called, I left my fedora at the Jazzplex.
I was hoping he had something to ask. Like why I left it there. How could I forget it. I was wanting bad news too. Something to further upset me.
I called my movie date to affirm I wasn't going to be seeing the Sound of Music. Try as I may, there are some things I refuse to endure. Musicals, as a general rule, included.
I called my brother to tell him I'd put money in his account so he could come home, despite knowing that he blew $80 on bowling the night before. Then he confesses he wanted to go out and enjoy himself and that's why he wanted the money. He should, I suppose. Whatever.
Faithful had her car broken into and about $6000 worth of stuff is missing now. It only punctuates her shitty experience and talking to her today was an exercise in futile cheeriness. I wanted to tell her to keep plugging away, but I was more inclined to be practical. Maybe I'm being selfish and just want her back. I didn't tell her anything definitively except that she should keep her head up. Thankfully, she had to go before anything else could come out.
Juliet has called twice and emailed. She's said "fuck the program", she's leaving her mom's place and going to a hotel for a week to decide whether or not she wants to come back here. The other option is to go somewhere else in the country. Arrrggh.
Mammaw's birthday party is Saturday, Father's Day Sunday and somewhere in there I get to tell my family about how I quit and have nothing to turn to right now. Maybe I was foolish. Really, I don't care. I've defended my weirdness before and I shall again.
So I bought a gallon of milk that cost twice as much as it would have at Kroger. For no good reason, I also bought a pack of cigarettes. A brand I don't smoke unless I'm flat broke. I'm far from broke, but I'm practicing, I guess.
Before that, however, I was at Liz Reeds. I've twice been noticed as "that poet guy". People should realize I suck at that and I know it and I'm making fun of it. But I'm entertaining. The second of these ladies was with the one who wouldn't let me pee the previous night. She talked about her side business where she does airbrush tans. She confessed she wanted to paint someone and have them walk around in public. Though she hadn't asked me to, I laughed thinking about myself covered in a Pink Floyd like mural. It wasn't a pretty sight and that's why I laughed.
I said I was going to Liz Reed's for my Fedora because Riddle had it. But I really wanted to see Round because he's leaving next week for Nashville. I'm tempted to go with him. I know that city and had more fun there.... ha, ha, no I didn't. Had you though. The grass, my friends, isn't green anywhere else but here.
The girl at the door has met me three times but I only remember her name because someone else got it wrong last night and I overheard. She has a smile that makes me think she's someone else and I can't remember who. She says we talked about the Douglass Theatre and I believe it.
Back home, I took off my shirts as if I could disrobe my bad mood. I refrigerated the expensive milk and packed the cheap smokes. I checked to be sure that no one missed me and fixed some cereal. Fruity Pebbles I bought at Big Lots. I love Fruity Pebbles but I am so in love with these because they are only red and green in honor of Christmas. It was Christmas for me tonight. I prepared my meal in a long tupperware bowl that reminded me of a horse trough. After I dropped my spoon below the surface, I had to eat from it like a horse trough.
Shirtless, morose and listless, I'm stuck writing the neverending entry. Sorry. I'm done now.
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