The Garbage Times - White Ibis

by Sam Pink

  Keith started looking really extra fucked up.

  He was staring straight forward and making sounds like newwwmmmm or gerrrrnk, then laughing until his eyes watered and he lost his breath.

  ‘Hey but no, we gotta leave I think,’ he said. ‘Should probably go in case they show up.’

  He poured the last of his tallboy into the plastic container and threw the can behind a bush.

  ‘All right, Keith,’ I said.

  I knocked off the smoke’s cherry on a large stone.

  We walked down a few alleys to a different spot.

  Keith was laughing and hiccuping the whole way—saying something like nernk or laaaang every so often, then laughing uncontrollably.

  At one point he completely stopped walking and laughed with his head back, both arms out, and yelled, ‘NERRRRRRRRRNK!’

  ‘Keith, what the fuck?’ I said, laughing.

  We went into an unpaved lot with a bunch of scrap metal and garbage, by the back staircase of a house.

  I sat on the stairs and lit the smoke again while Keith walked around mumbling things.

  There was a huge pile of bricks against the fence.

  He picked up a brick and tossed it over the fence, yelling, ‘LAAAANG!’

  Then he got serious and said, ‘Oh yeah, and there’s this,’ and grabbed a broken scooter from under the stairs, held it up, then threw it over the fence, yelling, ‘NEWWWWLANG.’

  I kept checking over my shoulder because I didn’t know where we were and my back was to a weird basement entrance.

  ‘Paranoia will destroy ya,’ Keith said, smiling, his eyebrows up really high.

  He pointed at me, hunched over in his trench coat.

  He walked up and put his fingers in my face and wiggled them and went ‘Doo doo doo doo’ and laughed.

  Crazy Keith.

  We sat on the stairs and finished the smoke.

  Keith looked at me and yelled, ‘Nerb!’ then laughed.

  ‘Keith, shut the fuck up.’

  He got serious again.

  He pointed beyond the fence.

  ‘Hey but no, don’t go over there, man. It’s all rock heads. They smoke that bullshit all day. All they do is ask for money. Ask ask. Ya know? What is this, the Gimme Gimme Club?’

  ‘Fuck that, man.’

  ‘No but, we should prolly go, I think,’ he said. ‘If they catch you they will literally make ya fucking retarded.’

  ‘All right, Keith, let’s go.’

  We walked back down the alley towards a main street.

  He tried to tell me about his woman again but every time he just laughed uncontrollably.

  He grabbed my arm and said, ‘BRO-KEN GOOOOOOAAAAAAAAT,’ really loud.

  I laughed, moving away from his sharp, broken fingernails.

  ‘Keith, your nails are sharp as fuck.’

  When we got to a main road, he pointed at a 7-Eleven across the street.

  ‘Newww-laaammmm,’ he said, then broke off from me and wandered into the street.

  He yelled, ‘Lang’ and laughed, standing in the middle of traffic.

  Crazy Keith.

  I walked a couple blocks towards the park to take a nap.

  September

  I woke up naked with one boot on, bad bruises and cuts and dirt all over me.

  When I checked my phone there was a text from my boss that read, ‘You’re fired.’

  So after I got appropriately cleaned up and dressed, I went to adopt a kitten.

  There was a shelter a mile from my place.

  You had to fill out a computer survey before they cleared you to see the animals.

  Name.

  Address.

  Phone number.

  Occupation.

  Etc.

  I put ‘Dr.’ as my occupation/prefix.

  Once approved, a volunteer led me down a hallway with six rooms on either side where they kept the goods.

  The first room was all kittens—a few running around, some sleeping in groups, some cleaning each other.

  One started clawing at the laces on my boot.

  This ugly, bat-faced black kitten, looking up at me with one eye more winked than the other.

  I knelt down.

  Said ‘Dotty’ on the nametag.

  I picked her up.

  She put a paw on either side of my neck and pushed her nose into my beard.

  She was purring, doing some sniffing and huffing and pushing her nose around.

  She sneezed in my face.

  Dotty.

  I looked at her.

  EW NO WAY!!!

  Too stupid and ugly!

  I put her down and went to another room.

  There was an older, all-white cat lying on the top of a four-foot scratching post.

  ‘Well, say hi to Bruce!’ said the volunteer.

  Bruce looked at me.

  I started petting him.

  He rubbed his head on me.

  Oh, does Bruce like that?

  He closed his eyes.

  Bruce likes that shit, eh?

  The volunteer told me Bruce didn’t get along with other cats.

  Yo, me neither, Bruce.

  Then Bruce swiped at me and hissed, glaring.

  I laughed.

  Fucking Bruce!

  You would!

  The volunteer said, ‘Oh. He’s just seen so many people today. He’s probably overwhelmed.’

  I looked into Bruce’s eyes.

  Yeah.

  Wait, yeah …

  It made sense.

  It made sense in a way that made sense of everything else.

  Everything made sense right then.

  I got it.

  Overwhelmed.

  Too much.

  Just, too much everything from everyone.

  Yeah, Bruce.

  Fuck.

  God fucking damnit.

  All these people.

  Everyone all over.

  Too much.

  Overwhelmed.

  Sometimes you have to swipe back.

  You have to, Bruce.

  But also, fuck you, you’re staying here.

  I went back to the first room and saw the ugly bat-faced black kitten again.

  I picked her up and held her.

  Dotty.

  ‘I’ll take this one,’ I said.

  ‘Hey, all right!’ said the volunteer. ‘Sounds good, Doc!’

  I smiled and said, ‘Good, then everything’s in order.’

  ‘Woo-wee!’ said the volunteer, clapping once. ‘Dotty, you hear that?!’

  Dotty was climbing up my arm onto my shoulder.

  She almost fell, but clawed me and I said, ‘ssss fuck,’ and knelt down for her to land.

  ‘Let’s make this happen!’ said the volunteer. She opened the door and blocked it with her foot and motioned for me to come out. ‘Careful with Charles here, he’s a runner.’

  ‘Easy there, Charles,’ I said, shaking my head as Charles looked up at me like, ‘Fuck you!’

  I followed the volunteer to an office where I sat down with a different volunteer to finalize the adoption process.

  He went over basic care and other things, like how I could bring the cat back at any point in its life and they would adopt it back.

  He talked about what foods to use and how to ‘introduce’ her to my place.

  I wanted to yell, ‘If the bitch don’t like it she can move out!’ and spit on the ground.

  I signed a bunch of shit.

  The volunteer looked through all the forms and printouts and folders to see if he’d missed anything.

  He shuffled forms, making a sound with his teeth.

  He looked at one form and laughed. ‘Man, here I am talking to you about food and health and you’re a doctor! Wow, nehhhvermind then!’

  I laughed and tapped the desk. ‘It’s quite all right.’

  We went to a more medical-looking area where a different volunteer told me about Dotty’s files but I just stared off, thinkin
g about how good of a shotgun her ass would be … eventually.

  Not now, no, but eventually.

  *

  That night, Dotty jumped on my chest as soon as I got in bed.

  And we both went to sleep.

  Except after maybe an hour, she woke up and started walking back and forth across my shoulders and chest—rubbing her face into my beard with each pass, doing turns where her ass brushed against my face.

  I laughed a little bit at first, trying not to disrupt her.

  But then, it felt weird.

  If I’m being honest, it … it was very weird.

  She stopped and put her paws on either side of my face and kneaded my beard with her claws.

  Her eyes were half closed.

  She kept kneading, her claws going in and out of my beard.

  Then I felt a drop.

  Felt another drop.

  She was drooling on me.

  Haha.

  Fucking shit.

  Dotty.

  She put her nose into my beard and tried to suckle—making a sound like chlik chlik chlik.

  Chlik chlik …

  Chlik chlik chlik …

  I lay there laughing.

  What the fuck.

  She kneaded my beard with her claws, arms on my jaw like a hug.

  Chlik chlik …

  Chlik chlik chlik …

  Drooling.

  When I tried to move away, she crawled right back.

  When I pushed her off the bed she just landed, plok, then immediately jumped back up onto the bed and came at me, her eyes half closed in the streetlight.

  Putting her face into my beard.

  Chlik chlik.

  Drooling on me.

  Walking all over my chest and shoulders, hugging my face, coiling up, sleeping for a few minutes, then waking up and scratching/suckling my beard, drooling on me.

  Chlik chlik chlik …

  The Suckler!

  The foul Suckler.

  No …

  NOOOOOOOOO!

  Be gone, foul Suckler!

  Fuck!

  Eventually I just lay back and let her do her weird shit.

  And right as the sun started to rise, she stopped.

  She curled on my chest and slept.

  I looked at the sky through the window just above the tablecloth I had stapled up for a drape.

  Oh, hello, everybody.

  Hello and welcome.

  Always welcome.

  The time is somewhere between 5 and 6 a.m.—where every emotion happens at once—and everything makes sense—but it’s still all very sad—and something is about to climax—but it doesn’t—instead slowing down to long frames where nothing happens—and the braking train outside sounds like a thousand dogs shrieking—and everything else—and a gigantic version of myself stands up from Lake Michigan, holding Dotty upside down—pumping her tiny ass like a shotgun and shooting it at the city, except the first shot barely comes out and rebounds off a building into my face and Dotty and I fall backwards into the lake, gone forever.

  *

  I went out to buy cat food.

  Passed by the park.

  There were like thirty–forty people sitting on the stairs around the fountain.

  I saw my dude Larry at the top.

  I climbed the stairs and sat next to him.

  ‘Hoowee,’ he said, shaking my hand. ‘Namn. I feel bayd t’day.’

  He was pale as fuck, wearing an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, a baseball hat, and Velcro shoes, sweat dark around his breasts.

  He spit some dip into a cup.

  Larry came from Florida on a train and lived on the streets.

  He did odd jobs around town.

  He got me a painting job one time.

  ‘I don’t git fuh-tup ivvry day, yinno. I don’t wan wake up and have shaky hands n’whatnot. But boy, hoooo.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Shit. You get your onions boiled?’

  ‘Hoowee, haha, yep.’

  We sat quietly on the stairs.

  Every once in a while Larry’d whistle and say, ‘Namn.’

  And that was all I needed from my little Larry.

  He worked dip around his empty gums, lifting his hat and scratching his bald head.

  ‘Hoo do I feel bayd t’day,’ he said. ‘Namn.’ He stared forward, shaking his head. ‘That’s why I ain talkin too much. Apologize bout that. Just feelin bayd.’

  ‘Yeah, man. Don’t worry.’

  ‘I only git fuh-tup maybe once a week. But last night, hoowee. Namn. I draynk three six-paycks and four forties.’

  ‘Fuck,’ I said, laughing. ‘Larry.’

  He looked at me, chewing his gums.

  Larry Larry Larry.

  This guy came up the stairs, singing: ‘Baby don’t worry … bouta ting. Cos every little ting … gonna be ah-right.’

  People booed.

  Someone yelled, ‘Tom, shut the fuck up. Sound terrible.’

  ‘Nah,’ Tom said. ‘It’s about not trying to sound different than who you are.’

  ‘Nah, it really ain’t,’ someone else said.

  People laughed.

  Tom tried to sell porno DVDs he’d copied.

  Nobody wanted any.

  He was dressed for an AA meeting: stiff blue jeans that were very blue, hybrid hiking boot shoes, a tucked-in T-shirt with ‘Wyoming’ on it.

  He had a goatee and gray/black hair, calculator watch, and extremely thick arm hair.

  He came over by us, loudly announcing himself and greeting everyone—including this mostly incoherent guy in a Blackhawks jersey sitting next to Larry.

  Blackhawks Guy kept opening his mouth and going ‘Ahhhhh,’ then ‘Heeeeee,’ and baring his empty gums.

  He pointed his finger out towards the DVDs when Tom walked up.

  ‘Three for ten,’ Tom said, spreading out the stacks in his hands.

  Each stack was wrapped in an undone napkin.

  ‘They’re all perfect condition,’ Tom said. ‘Condition: perfect. Perfecting the condition. Erp. No scratches.’

  Blackhawks Guy kept saying things that were almost things—like, ‘Oh no, I don’t, but I’m having like yeah! I mean DVDs it’s wow!’

  He handed Tom some singles and took a stack of DVDs.

  ‘I love love love DVDs!’ said Blackhawks Guy, looking up at the sun and laughing like yeeeeee.

  Tom sat on a bench with this guy everyone called Minnesota—Minnesota himself included.

  Minnesota and Tom were dressed almost identically.

  The only difference was Minnesota’s yellow-mirrored sunglasses.

  Never never never would they let the sun in.

  Never.

  After a few jokes with Tom, Minnesota directed his yellow-mirrored sunglasses at me.

  He came up to me and asked what I was doing, why was I there.

  He looked down, trying to be imposing.

  I just stared back up at my ugly face in his yellow mirrors.

  Larry said, ‘I know him. He’s cool.’

  Minnesota said, ‘Larry knows you.’

  ‘Yeah, I know Larry,’ I said, smiling.

  Minnesota stared at me.

  ‘You must be a total scumbag then,’ he said, smiling half a smile and holding out his hand to shake. ‘Minnesota.’

  I shook his hand.

  ‘So what’s up, how do you know Larry?’ he said.

  ‘Well, Minnesota, Larry helped get me some work a while back.’

  ‘Ohhhhhhh,’ he said, rubbing his goatee for a second. ‘Hey, you need work now?’

  He told me about a place that needed people to test food.

  ‘It ain’t weird tubes up your ass shit, ok? Ya just go in, eat some granola, eat a omelet, answer some questions—boom—ya make sixty thousand a year, ok? No problem.’

  ‘Sixty thousand,’ I said.

  ‘Nothing weird,’ he said. ‘Just take down the number.’

  I took down the number.

  He said, ‘Hey
, seriously, call them up and go in. I’m trying to help you. You need work, there you go. It’s right there.’

  ‘Thanks, Minnesota.’

  Tom walked up and looked at me, his arm around Minnesota. ‘This guy is so full of shit. Don’t trust him.’

  He patted Minnesota’s back.

  Minnesota laughed.

  He and Tom went back to their bench and had a quiet conversation with some guy who’d just pulled up on a bicycle.

  Blackhawks Guy was laughing again, the DVDs pinning down the napkin they were carried in, waving a little in the wind.

  He had a pipe and a sack of tobacco and some rolling papers on his lap.

  ‘Can I’ve a cigarette?’ Larry said, leaning forward and holding his elbows.

  Blackhawks Guy handed Larry the sack and the papers.

  Larry took out a rolling paper.

  He looked at it closely and said, ‘Aw, fuh. These been raint on?’

  He tried rolling a cigarette but it was really loose.

  Every time he tried to take a pull he’d either over-inhale or get nothing.

  Every time, he’d look down at the loose cigarette—completely speechless and hurt.

  He tried to take out another paper.

  The entire package came out sealed together, like an extended accordion.

  He held it up in the wind and smiled, cigarette falling apart in his mouth.

  He looked at me, still holding the accordion of rolling papers up.

  ‘Namn,’ he said.

  Minnesota yelled, ‘Use some toothpaste. Like they do in county. Seal it right up. You got toothpaste?’

  Larry laughed. ‘Ain got no toothpaste, man. The fuh?’

  Tom looked at me. ‘Hey, Minnesota said you were looking for work.’

  He got off the bench and came over.

  ‘Why don’t you go ahead and dial me. I can talk to my boss and see if I can get you in at the warehouse.’

  I didn’t say anything for a second.

  Then I said, ‘What?’ when he kept looking at me.

  ‘Just call me. Right now. Call me so I have your number. Go ahead.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The drywall job,’ he said. ‘Come on, man. I heard you need work. I’ll call my boss. I want to shake the tree, see if I can get some apples to fall.’

  He sat next to me and started pressing buttons on his phone, holding it a foot from his face.

  ‘Might as well go ahead and show you some pictures of the warehouse then,’ he said, licking his lips in such a way that made a mmchlep mmchlep sound.

  He kept trying to show me pictures on his phone.