Squirrel dancing (Friday afternoon)

     Tomorrow, today, now. Up finally and milling around the room waiting for that damn too weak hotel coffee to brew. I have Jack take a picture of me smoking the morning get-up beside the big no smoking sign on the back of the entrance door. It is late morning but still I am beat, red eyed, tired. Jack looks like the second coming of my what I ate last night. The man, he just looks rough in the morning, haggard.

     'Do you want any of this? I doubled up on the coffee and halved the water. It should be pretty near what I usually make. But, still palatable for you normal people.'

     'Yeah, I'll give it a try. I need an eye opener. I'm hungry too. Are we going to eat before we go over to Susans?'

     'I dunno. Call up and ask the other guys. You know, I'm easy.'

     'Yeah.'

     'Ah, this shit is weak. Godammit. Hey, ask if they've got any coffee to spare up there. I need to add to this.'

     'Hey, yeah, it's me. Yeah, yeah. Can we grab some food before we head over to Susans? Ok, good. Jacob and me will be up in a little bit.'

     'The coffee! Damnit!'

     'Oh yeah. Do you guys have any extra coffee up there. Jacob needs to get the engine running, you know?'

     'So they got any?'

     'Yeah, but you need to go up there and get it your damn self. I'll get a shower while you're out. Take the card so that you can get back in. This stuff tastes like mud. How can you drink this?'

     'Practice my man, lots of practice.'

     'Put the smoke out before you go into the hallway.'

     'Right, right. I almost forgot.'

     I did forget. I was half out of the door when he yelled to me from the shower. Walking the hall down to the elevator, looking like some Yugoslavian war refugee. Ragged blue jeans and flip flops, a hooded zip front sweatshirt with no shirt underneath, and my best bed hair sticking straight up. I am basically still asleep, I need my coffee and a shower.

     Stepping onto the elevator I notice the two easily attractive women standing and chatting in the corner. Not speaking English, making them that much more attractive. Something about European women, living beautifully seems just so easy. Europeans in general. Maybe it's because of the history inside them, born deep, in their genetic makeup. They know the score, know that there's no rush, no need for trying so hard. I should expatriate.

     It's not that I don't like living in this country. Or that I don't appreciate it. It's just that I feel out of step with it. It feels closer to being right, in the city, time spent there feels more like home, but just. Still missing something, or maybe, that there's too much there. Even deep in the city you feel that too much American mentality. You can hide from it in here though, in the city. The city so far from the rural land I am used to. But Europe, my God, think about the secrets around every corner. Just there, waiting to be discovered, not needing anything or anybody. Wonderful stuff. At least that's my idyllic picture of the great European cities, the great Euro mentality.

     Anyway, I get my coffee, excahange a few pre-cognitive grunts with the guys head back downstairs. I add to the stuff that I've already made, making a potent brew. Thick, oily stuff that is just right for this morning. I'll have another couple cups and some diet coke for our brunch before we head to Susan's. I can only imagine how much of this garbage I would toss into my body if I had a real job. Thankfully for my kidneys that isn't yet true. Though, soon. Fuck, I gotta tell them. Fuck.

     'Fuck, fuck, fuck.'

     'What are you fucking?'

     'Oh nothing man. You done in there. I gotta get moving, you know.'

     'Yeah, Im done, hurry up.'

     'Quick like a bunny I'll be.'

     As usual I rush, going through the motions as quick as I can. I hate to keep people waiting. I would rather not show than to be even a moment late, for anything. Never bought into the idea of fashionably late. Probably the inevitability of being noticed if late. So, instead I choose to be so early that I just blend into the background, just fade into the shadows, the part of the moment that just melts into your brain. You know I'm there, but miss me so easily.

     'You should really eat something man. I haven't seen you eat since yesterday morning.'

     'I'm not hungry. Just some caffeine.'

     'I have a thing about eating, I don't like to. I guess it is a result of being such a fat kid for so long. I'm not anorexic of anything, in the long run I eat plenty. Though most often in candy form. Seems ridiculous that a full grown man should make a meal out of Runts. Especially though, when traveling, I eat like a four year old, though one that smokes and drinks like its going out of style.'

     The other guys take the opposite approach to road tripping, overindulgence in every sense of the word. Taking in life any way they can, taking it deep within them, like starving children who finally found that which gave them life, sated them. Made them full. My men are these, they are so full, they take it all in, arms wide open. Fucking lovely.

     'So, how do we get to Susan's?'

     'Easy, man. Just a quick ride on the T and were there. Here's a map. Enjoy.'

     The door buzzer rountine again. We screaming inarticulate noise. Only this time she screams back through the intercom. The door doesn't buzz. We stand waiting, staring at the thing.

     'I guess she's just coming down to meet us.'

     'Hey guys. So what are we doing today?'

     'Let's go downtown, maybe the freedom trail.'

     'In this shit? Come on.'

     The weather was acting to thwart our attempts to do anything more than drink. It was gray-spirited, spitting rain-ice. Just miserable weather to walk around in. But, dammit, what else is there to do. None of us wanted, nor could really afford to see any museums. Not really art aficionados, you might say.

     'Hey why didn't you buzz us in? I mean, it's freezing and miserable out here. It would've been neighborly of you. Anyway, I gotta pee, can I run up real quick. All that coffee is making my kidneys angry.'

     'Yeah, here's the key. I dunno, I just thought you guys wanted to get moving, to see as much as you can.'

     That was probably true. But, there was something else, she was uneasy, she was hiding something. Anyway, I did have to piss. I ran up the steps to her apartment, did my business. Was about to run back out of her door but forgot her keys that I threw on the counter top. They landed next to one of her notebooks, she was a writer after all. But most of the time it was that mid nineteenth century American stuff. I never cared for the flowery language, the too vivid color imagery. It just felt too much. Just not my style, I guess.

     I grabbed for the keys, noticed that there was pen still in the notbook, begging me to open it. I shouldn't I know. I did. I had to read it, even though I never liked the style of what she wrote, of what she read, she had an undeniable talent, that I was more than just a little envious of. I probably developed my distaste for that stuff because I never had the eye to see and the words to tell, those fucking vivid pictures of fall and spring, and love and loss. There was life in those words, all it took was to read. And you were there. Or maybe I just liked the journey, didn't want to be led anywhere. Whatever. What I read was as follows:

"They're here. As expected they showed up late. I dont know why I told them to come and visit. This is just stupid...and dangerous. It's weird to see him again, after so much has happened. I thought this was long since passed. I dont know why this is happening...the others are the same. He's not. He seems a little more fragile, hidden, off. Protected. He sat, or rather stood in the corner the few minutes they were here last night...something in his eyes. He's got something to say...this isn't just a trip to get away and have fun...I want to ask, just sit down with him and talk. That will never happen. This is going to be an exhausting mess. I should've kept them far away, at arms length. Christmas and Thanksgiving back in Frostburg, maybe. Oh well.

I love 'em. I do. I just never want to see them again."

     Fuck, what was that all about? I've got to get back downstairs. I want to read more, to find out more. I want to confront her. But, fuck I know that wasn't meant for any of us to read. Most of all, it wasn't meant for me to see. Play cool, try not to think about it, about her. Fuck. This is going to be tough.

     'What took so long?'

     'I got up there and forgot what I was doing. I didn't sleep much last night, haven't been sleeping real well for awhile now. But, anyway. Sorry, here are your keys.'

     'Well we decided to tough out the weather and do the freedom trail and hang out with the dead people. Basically just walk around.'

     'Sounds like a plan.'

     We get on the T, again. I love this thing. But, I am in a fog, the others, the world outside my head barely there, I can see it, blurred, I can hear them, but it's like being underwater. The sounds not moving at the same pace as my mind. I am, well am just confused. I wish I knew how to take her words, how to take her. It is dangerous though, to be around each other like this. I know it. I kind of like it though, seems dangerous and right all at once. Though, I don't have someone. Or do I? Fuck, Jen.

     Well, thats it. All's gone to black, they're all gone, I close my eyes. Someone will wake me when we need to get off, hopefully.

     She there, standing, nude. Beautiful. Black and white, even in dreams gray, everywhere. I look down, nothing beneath my feet, nothing supporting me, nothing holding me in place. I begin to float away. She looks so sad. Silent, hurt, delicately broken. I keep floating higher and higher, away, farther. She looks like the woman in that oyster shell painting, hair blowing, so softly hurting. Higher and higher I float into the darkness, the only light reflected by her perfect skin. She looks like porcelain, her posture makes me ache. I float away until all I can see is a pin prick of bright white light, Jen. Then...

     'Wake up man. Next stop is ours.'

     'Thanks man.' Good old Francis. The other bastards would've just let me sleep on the T all fucking day. I'd wake all alone and confused and, well.

     'I am so confused man. This trip is becoming quite a mind fuck.'

     'What about?'

     'I dont quite know. I'm just uneasy, have a really weird feeling. I don't know.'

     'That's ok man. I know what you mean, kind of.' God Bless Francis. He's always been the one to calm me down. I talk to him when I not so much need reassurance, just to calm down. He's that voice, the one in the group that seems to understand the most. He offers no answers, off no absolution but will always calm me down.

     'Yeah, well, you know how I am. It will pass soon, and then on to other things.'

     'Yeah. I can't wait to see the cemeteries. Oldest one in America here, isn't it?'

     'Yeah, I think so. Ask Susan.'

     The rest of the day spent walking around the old city. Taking it all in. I've not too much to say, just trying to absorb what the world is telling me. It tells me nothing, I am grasping at these whispy maybes swirling all around me. In the cemetery, I can almost take hold, those weatherworn tablets, with the names long since forgotten seem to be all pointing towards the same thing. I look, can't figure it out. Walking along the street in that Appalachian drawl, being encompassed, engulfed by the mass of Boston humanity, so fast, they're all walking so fast, not even noticing the sideways falling sleet, the slack backed rural people, we're just strolling along. I can see it in them, but can't grab it. I try.'

     We get to Boston commons, the great park being watched by that fatherly gold dome. Here, it seems that people let their guard down a little bit. We walk, watching all the squirrels dancing with each other. Ed offers one of the little beggars a cashew from the bag of home made man chow (more or less trail mix, but Ed-sized). Only one brave enough to take it from Ed's hand. He stands on his tiny little furry haunches, takes the nut with his hands, and I swear to god that little fucker winked at me. Like he just pulled a fast one. I've never seen a squirrel so fat this time of the year. A con artist, like all God's creatures.

     Like me. A fucking con man, nothing more. Coloring every stupid moment of my life with the pastel bright self diluted, fabricated denial in what I do. I am conning myself, everyone around, just playing a fucking game, making things up as I go. Ignoring at the same time I pretend to be searching. Fuck, the cloud's gotten so thick I can't even see myself in it anymore. I need a nap.

     'Hey, guys, I need a nap before we go out tonight.'

     'Yeah, that's what we just said. We're gonna go back to the hotel and chill for a little bit. Susan's gonna meet us there. And then, drink.'

     'Oh, ok, good. Just what I was thinking.'