Jun 20, 2007


So, it was another of those weird, half-lived nights...

So much is going "right" for me at this moment, I keep peeking around the corners for the train I just KNOW must be headed for me...

And when I can't find it, something awful inside of me starts looking for tracks to tie myself to.

Clock struck nine. Damn. Where's she at? I busted ass as soon as I got off work. Cleaned the pool. Did the dishes. Even got Amy and Rain to clean their own room, for a change. They must have smelled the adrenaline in the air. Nary an argument... "Come on, Help Daddy. Your brother is flying in tomorrow- let's make everything nice". But that wasn't it.

Yesterday, she kept me from going out, on a whim, which is, invariably, how I do it. No plans for me, If I make plans, I will change them to spite myself. She defeated my best charming smile, unusual for her, but she stood firm and I gave in, with a subtle last ditch assault- "okay, then tomorrow?"

She knows me. She knows that if I want to go out now, I probably won't still want to go out in the uncertain eternity that - is - tomorrow.

So she said, "sure".

So, here I am, waiting for her to get home. House- clean, Check. The girls room -clean, (AMAZING!) check. Cooked dinner- plate in microwave, check. (aren't I a good boyfriend?)

So,"You know what to do, brush your face, wash your teeth, (me and the girls little bs). Hit the bed". A kiss for Rain, who insists on three more kisses, and a chaste pat on the back for Amy, who doesn't allow kisses from Dad. Eeeww!

Lights off, Night light on, and Dad exits the room and puts his hands in the air, like the triumphant cowboy who just hogtied the calf in record time. Yeah, baby! Who's your Daddy?

Then Lauren comes in, and her greeting causes the calves to stampede past our rodeo hero, "Lauren! Lauren!" Yes, they love you, but they also love a reprieve from bedtime.


So, 30 minutes later. Out of the shower. She takes a long hard look at me putting on my jeans and t-shirt.

"Oh, you're going out, after all" Innocently, as if an afterthought, when she's been consumed by nothing else since she got home.

"Yeah". Keep it simple stupid. This is critical time in Kept-Man world. Say too much, and it's "let's-see-how-much-time-I-can-keep-him-here-by-arguing time. And as a veteran, I know the crucial second step- give her the itinerary. If you don't, she will imagine the worst possible scenario, and with ME- that's bad. And guys, DON'T wait til she asks, give the info freely and as honestly as possible...

"Going to go grab some beer, head up to Speed's, play some pool, maybe swing back by Eden's place and check out that truck he's painting..." She goes into "warning label status" which, I try to listen to- but my maleness automatically tunes out. (oh who am I kidding? As soon as she said "Be careful" I totally blocked out everything.) Something about a storm coming in. Uh. yeah.

Slowly pull out of the driveway. Throw in one of my numerous burned cds that I didn't have the inclination to label=- "hmm what's this?" Ahh.. Judith... perfect circle. A good start, semi-subdued malevolence, violence and "fuck your god". The bass line makes the monte carlo tremble in long, tortured shudders. I'm feeling a little exhibitionistic, so I crack the windows. Pull through the ghetto... hear a bass bump from the caddie-hooptie at the light. Creep in slow. The hoodies fear the death metal, always have, always will, probably why I liked it so much as a 5'4 130 lb teenager back in the day. Maybe they can smell the adrenaline, too...

Wired on just being out of the fucking house. Damn. I AM getting old. Stop and get a 12 pack and a rockstar and some big red gum. Head to the bar. Play pool for a while. It's Tuesday, so its slow.Where the hell is everybody? Get tired of playing pool by myself and head back to the bar, watch snippets of the Holyfield fight, (re-run?) and bullshit with DeSade, the bartender-chick, who is a tad bit overweight, wearing a fake corset and extremely, extremely proud of her cleavage (Hey, what's NOT to be proud of). It's fucking boring and about an hour ago I realized I forgot my cell on the dining room table, so I can't call anyone to see where they are at, anyway. Well, it keeps me from entertaining any rare thoughts of booty calls. So, I tip and leave-

Lightning crashes. What was that she said about the weather? I hop in the car, head home. The sky (not skies) in West Texas is a big, singular thing. Everything is so flat on the ground that the sky dwarfs the earth in a mystical way. The lightning is magnificent. No thunder really, a little grumble here and there- but constant silver blue blades of energy crackling down, across, and even up all over. I pull into the drive. It's early. She probably expects me to close down the bars. I get out of the car, pull the 12 pack out of the trunk and climb onto the car. I want to get closer to the sky. Wind whips around and an occasional fat raindrop hits my upturned face as I milk the glory of it all as best I am able.

I compose poetry out loud that I promise myself I will remember to blog later. I don't.

I am off the ground, halfway between earth and sky, half-heartedly hoping for a stray bolt of lightning to end this existence in what I imagine in that moment is the coolest way ever to die.
'God finally got that blasphemous bastard', I see my friends chuckling. I think I can smell the adrenaline.

But, I survive and I move over under the "Father Tree"- the huge elm in my front yard, a tree that was here well before my sixty year old house. Having left the earth, I bring myself back and lie down at the foot of Father and watch the lightning play tricks through the wind-whipped tree limbs. It's a glorious feeling. One with it all.

But wait. Something's missing.

She's going to kill me, and that thought, as much as anything else, lights my face up in another mischevious grin as I rush into the house, wake Lauren and hustle her outside to lay beside me on the ground and experience it all with me. Can she, will she understand?

I don't know. I hope she does, but I'm lost in the moment, and moments later, lost in her kiss as well.


angry ballerina said...

I've been listening to APC non stop for the past week.

Fade said...

Kewl.... Don't kill anything ... uh that you don't mean to kill.

mirth said...

(Note to self: Don't be effusive.)

I enjoyed this read. Not only for its peek into male mind mysteries, but also for its hoped-for ending.


Very nice, fade.

angry ballerina said...

Check that....

Peacechick Mary said...

Whooot! You sucked us in and it was worth the ride. Thanks.

Fade said...

I thought it was cool too, sometimes I just sit down, start typing and it just zips outta me.

I just wish I could remember that poem I "Wrote" last night, while standing on my car in a storm...

Pam said...

so THAT'S what men think about......beautifully written, fade!

women need nights out of the house too ya know - even if nothing is going on. Except mine revolve around book clubs and indy movies with the girls. God, I am getting old!!

Does lauren read your blog? she ain't gonna like the "booty call" mention... ;-)

Targa said...

That was awesome. A very smooth read. Also, I may have just learned something about detouring an argument. heh.
BTW, every Tuesday I play pool with a handful of friends. They been at it for about 5 or 6 years... I recently joined them about 2 years ago. Good times.

Fade said...

Pam- Lauren reads my yahoo 360 blog, and I cross posted this there. But the first thing I did this morning was remove the booty call line on that blog. Is that cowardly?

It's mainly braggadacio here,anyway. As bad as I used to be, and yes, I was VERY BAD, I'm a good boy now.

It was an honest comment in its context, but I'm more of an attention hound than a booty call guy.

As much as it irritates Lauren that I am friends with most of my exes, I am positive she is equally soothed by the fact that I don't fuck around with them. I am, however, an incurable flirt.

And hey Targa - oh yes, Detours...

Pam said...

Is that cowardly?

No, it's smart. Especially since you wouldn't act on it. Why make her worry for nothing?

I'm friends with most of my exes too. Hubby - he doesn't keep in touch with his two. He was so damned innocent when I met him ;-).

Fade said...

Men are all innocent until we are introduced to the corruptive force that is woman.


angry ballerina said...

Oh thats such bullshit and you know it

Fade said...

There I go, flirting again.