“I want you to stand up,” I said.
No one moved.
“Stand up, up,” I tried. “Please.”
The teachers looked around helplessly, hoping the assistant principal might intervene, but he did not.
“Come down off those bleachers,” I said, gesturing to the wide plain of gymnasium floor between us.
The kids stared. Some shifted on the bleachers. Someone cackled, sending the heat of shame up my neck. I should have known children would see right through a sham like me. My hands began to tremble. My voice felt like some wet netting had been thrown over it. Again I said, “Please.”
Then, down front, I glimpsed some movement. It was Ty, ever the obedient valedictorian, standing. Beside him Rust also stood, nodding emphatically.
“That’s right,” I said, clearing the webbing from my throat. “Up, up! Stand up and come down here to the floor.” Ty and Rust came toward me, only them, all the scary teens watching. I loved them for it. Eventually, the teachers signaled for the students to obey me and they did.
“That’s right,” I said, over the thundering of them coming down the collapsible metal bleachers. “Now,” I said, “lie down. We are going to do a creative writing exercise.” I plugged my phone into the AV system, unpressed audio mute as I’d been instructed. I’d maybe never felt so professional, still damp from the river. “That’s right, everyone find a space to lie down.” I invited some of the kids up on the platform stage. I remembered from teaching that students would do whatever I said if only I said it many times:
“Come up, come up, come up, lie down, lie down, that’s right, just lie down.” Soon only the teachers and the assistant principal remained in the bleachers, most of them on their phones. On mine I found my music, the navigation clicking throughout the gym. Rust got up and killed the lights and the kids shrieked perfectly.
Hundreds of phones winked on, then were extinguished under the assistant principal’s threat of confiscation. “Close your eyes,” I said into the microphone. “Close your eyes. Close them and let your creativity flow.”
I pressed play. Brian Wilson’s somber, whaley song hummed up into the rafters of the gymnasium. His soothing coo lay over the giggling students, silenced the clomping of their humongous shoes against the basketball court, softened their sneezes and coughs, pillowed their wisecracks and gave cover to their heavy petting. We heard Brian’s baleful plinking, his breathy begging. We swayed his dreamy sway.
My biologist’s word, dreamy.
Pet Sounds always makes me think of my dad, of him and Charlie taking a little orgy contingent to Dennis Wilson’s house just to blow the minds of his “hip” guests.
And then what, I wonder, once their minds were blown? Make all the love you can in all the ways you can and then what? Make art, maybe? I’d like to put it that way. I like to picture them all making music together in the afterglow. I hoped my dad got to jam with Brian. I hoped the girls sang.
And what a relief it was at last to honor the impulse I have every single time I stand at a podium! I lay down behind it, curled into the fetal position and closed my eyes, trying for a DILD.
1974
Denise,
Do you remember how when we were young it was just you and me? There were no Cyndis or Terris. No Harrys, Keiths, or Petes. No Nixons. It was just you and me.
Al, my editor, is the most far-out man. He’s shorter than me and about 50 years old, but I’m amazed how vital he is. He calls me “kid” or “baby” and always helps me with my homework. He edited my government paper on war and wrote a preface for it and said it was good. He’s showing a lot of interest in my work, too.
Everyone else at the paper is grade-A asshole. Last night, Al was off and I got in a hassle with the sports writer, Vince. He told me to take out some copy but it was after 11 o’clock. (I get off at 11.) I was studying for a test in the lobby, waiting for my mom to pick me up. He called me a “no good rotten little bitch.” I went outside to wait for my mom. I was going to quit. Tonight, I told Al and he told me if something like that happens again to just leave and then come tell him and he’ll get it straightened out right away. “But don’t quit!”
Today I did not go to Government second period (Mr. Byrnes’s class). He came looking for me fourth period in my Religions class. I thought my ass was up shit creek, but he said he just finished my term paper and wanted to tell me it was very good. That made me happy. He’s running for City Commissioner in the next election and I’m going to work for him. I would cry for joy if he got into office. He’s a good man.
We had our last speaker in Religions today. After having about 20 people speaking on all the different religions, this man was really refreshing. He was an atheist, owns the largest library in Nevada. Al says he’s well-known among the elite and the newspapermen around town. He was completely overwhelming.
Al is the only one who takes the time to answer all the stupid questions I ask and he’s the only one who really cares enough to take the time to help me learn to write. Anyway, he’s not going to be editor anymore. I guess the boss doesn’t like Al, so he gave him the City Hall beat and made Vince (the sports writer) editor. I’m tempted to quit. It’s really going to be a drag working with this chauvinist. It’s already a hassle. I missed a tape on a dumb sports thing and two of the writers and the new “editor” jumped on my ass.
I’m all typed out. It’s time for me to go home, finally.
Give everyone my love and take care,
Martha
Denise,
I have been trying to get a hold of you by phone for the last two days. You must be an awful busy girl. You never seem to be home. I had to laugh at your experience with our noble public school system. I realize it was a bummer for you, but now at least you have some idea of how these fantastic, efficient, well-organized public schools work. What happened to you is so typical of things that happen every day simply because of the shape of the place. It is outrageously stupid, but people just don’t want change. To most people, change is the most dreaded word in the English language.
Today was the strangest day. I skipped, spent the morning cleaning Harry’s apartment, got home about noon. When I got there my brother Jack, Pete and Terri were there waiting for me. Jack was really mad, kept saying, “Where have you been all day? I’ve been waiting for you to come home.” Then he gave me a lid. Just gave it to me. It was really weird. We just got high and talked. I was getting ready for work when Steve Sears came over (Steve with the van) loaded on his ass on downers. I was really pressed for time, but he just wouldn’t take the hint. He asked if we could go back in my room and I said all right. We went back there and he started talking about all his problems and how he was just so heavily into dealing dope and how he didn’t have anyone to talk to. I said I’d noticed. His parents are really on his back because he smokes pot. They think he’s an addict, user, hippie, sick, pervert, blah blah. He’s really hung up about it. Then he started ranting about how he could get me any dope I wanted. He took two downers out of his pocket and said he wanted me to have them so he wouldn’t take them, but I told him I didn’t like downers, so he popped both of them into his mouth. He must’ve taken some earlier because right away he was really in bad shape. Then he started talking about how sorry he was that he didn’t “take” me back when I liked him (actually what happened is I went out with him a couple times and I liked him a little but it was really no big deal. He called me one day and told me he was hung up on Cyn and I said fine, whatever). I kept saying to Steve that I was going to be late for work and that I better go and finally he got up to leave (which itself took ten minutes) and as he was walking out the bedroom door he (of course) turned and kissed me. I said goodbye, Steve. End of tale.
Now I’m at work where the sports dept. is in the process of being moved into a larger room and everything is a mess plus the new set-up is going to make me walk about twice as mu
ch as I was before. Yet another bummer for those keeping score at home.
I have my classes for next semester. They are:
World Lit I
American Lit II
P.E.
World Lit IV—Shakespeare
Lunch
Quest (can’t tell you what this is)
Arts and Crafts
Oh, yeah! Forgive me, but I wanted to tell you about the dream I had last night. I dreamt that I was out in front of the school and I was waiting for someone to pick me up. Someone yelled for me and I looked up. Both Keith and Harry were waiting for me. This reporter from work was waiting for me too, all of them expecting me to go with them. I didn’t know what to do but left with Keith because he was sitting in his father’s blue Mustang. I’m deep as a spoon. A slut with a decision-making complex, Cyn says.
I haven’t seen Harry since last Friday. I haven’t had a way over there and I have so much homework I just don’t have time. He hasn’t called me either, so I know he’s not too worried about it. We are going to break up pretty soon, I fear. Or what I think will happen is that we will never break up, we’ll just not see each other ever again and I’ll never be free.
Altogether now,
Martha
Hey-O Nese,
Missed week of school screwed me up royally. The day I got back my World Lit teacher handed me twelve pages of notes and told me I have a test on them the next morning, so I made a big cheat sheet. My American Lit teacher told me to read a 50-page play overnight. I did. My Quest teacher told me I was going before the board in a week. Jeff (my Quest partner) didn’t do a damn thing while I was gone, so we had virtually nothing to present. What made it even worse was the fact that another couple are doing the same thing and they have interviewed close to 20 assemblymen, while we have done three. Mr. Byrnes really came down on us with the old “if you can’t handle it, get out” trip. We had two days before our seminar (or whatever) so I yelled at Jeff and he yelled at me and we both got down and did some work. Ok, really we didn’t do all that much work, but I read the shit and decided that we would come out of the thing shining. And we did! After we answered a few questions (quite well, if I do say so myself) the panel stopped and asked us what grade we were in, greatly impressed that we were only juniors, made little notes in their books and shit. One of the people on the board was a writer for another newspaper, very jazzed when he found out I work for The Sun. When it was all over Mr. Byrnes came outside and shook our hands, grin ear to ear. He looked like he wanted to hug us. So, the heads did all right.
I bought “Clouds.” I really like it but you can tell it’s her early work. I haven’t seen my mother since Wednesday of last week. I wonder how she is.
At the present time I am semi fucked up mentally. I think it’s time for a change but I can’t see the way. I’m tired of waiting. I wish I didn’t have to sleep, could go from running one day to running the next. Then I wouldn’t think or dream.
Work is piling up—a man shot himself, his lover, and her friend tonight. Steve (the crybaby with the van) is continually calling me and asking me to go out. I’m beginning to get very rude with him because I have a feeling that’s what it’s going to take. I wish he’d get the message. I don’t even answer the phone anymore if anyone else is home.
Shit. Just poured Coke all over my leg.
Dear Denise,
Hey-o! Just sitting at work looking at stupid motherfucking Vince Lyndelle (the sports editor who replaced Al). I hate working with him so I hang out in the back shop all night. Congrats on seeing Joni, although I was a little bit jealous.
I got my income tax return ($140) and I have about $60 left. I have been buying a lot of clothes. So far I have two pants (dark Levi’s and light blue cotton), four shirts: one is like a white muscle shirt with light, see-through flowers, one is a beige smock top, with yellow and brown flowers and puffy sleeves, one is dark blue with white flowers, sort of wraparound type, and a blue short-sleeve sweater like yours. Two pairs of shoes. I will probably go out and spend the rest of my money this weekend. It’s insane how fun it is to be able to go out and buy anything I happen to want. I’ve bought other things too—plants, food, jewelry, some paint. But mainly I’m buying clothes. I just got sick of running around in Monica’s holey Levi’s all the time. Money is my new favorite drug.
Put on another scene today (from Shakespeare’s As You Like It). It came off pretty okay. That class is getting to be fun. I’m not doing as badly as I thought I would.
We interviewed this Assemblyman the other day in my Quest class. It was a bit touchy. I got loaded at lunch before the interview because besides being an Assemblyman, the guy is a big, big Army cock, all decked out in uniform. You bet he was surprised when he saw me sitting there with my recorder. Being so loaded I told him what I thought about war. It turned out pretty interesting. I can’t agree with the guy, but at least he knows what he believes in.
Do you remember that book I showed you? Buckminster Fuller? Fuller’s going to be out at the university next Monday and I’m going to see him. It costs money to get into the lecture, but it’s worth it. I don’t know if you got into Fuller, Spaceship Earth and all that, but I know you read at least part of it and you have to admit the man has seen the future.
Who all went to Joni Mitchell? What are you going to do this summer? I’m probably going to work so I can have some money to boogie on down the road when the time comes. I’d like to catch the Shakespeare festival together.
Love,
Martha
Dear Cuz,
Tonight Monica was taking me to work and Pete came along for the ride. We got to talking about Munchie and his friends, a bunch of little rip-offs. Pete was bloviating about how Munchie and those guys had broken into a lady’s car on Christmas Eve and stolen her purse and got $140. I was completely amazed by this. For some strange reason I don’t think it’s right to steal from our own fuckin’ neighbor. I said something about how that was a pretty low thing to do and Pete said, “Shit, it’s a good way to get money.” I couldn’t believe it. I started saying, “How do you feel when someone steals your money? Can’t you put yourself in the other person’s place?” etc. but then I just . . . let go. I thought: I used to know a guy named Pete Felix.
I’ve got to get out of here. I joined the credit union at work tonight. I told them to take $25 dollars out of my paycheck every week. I’m going to save up and get out of here as soon as possible. I can’t stand it. Denise, please try your hardest to get a job. I want to find out what it’s like out there.
Dear Denise,
Brace yourself, this is going to be a weird one. First of all—and this is very very confidential so please please don’t tell anyone—I have been having doubts about telling even you:
I had a little episode with Keith. I don’t know if you’re interested, but I’ve got to tell someone. Keith has been going out with this chick Cecelia for months. He’s probably going with her again now, but I’ll get there. Anyway, Cece and Keith broke up and Keith started coming around my house again. I’m not home hell of a lot so I didn’t see him much plus I was trying to avoid him because I still want him and I was afraid of what would happen if we were alone together. I don’t know what it is about him! He’s just got it and I can’t stay away. So, the other night he came over after I got off work and we went shopping for my mother together. Then we came home and made some cookies. My sister had gone to bed and my mom had gone out with Mark, so it was just me and Keith. We sat and talked for hours. He and I agreed on just about everything—getting out of here especially. It helped to know that someone else had seen all this and I’m not going out of my mind. It got to be about 4 o’clock in the morning before he left. I regressed to where I was two years ago with Keith. It was really a lot of fun and honestly I enJOYed myself, but Monday morning I woke up to the reality
that I couldn’t even wonder about how he felt about me. I knew (and know) that he absolutely does not give a shit about me. Not that I didn’t know that that night. He has told me that before in so many ways, but now I have accepted it. Since then I have seen Keith for maybe three minutes twice this week and at school and he’s a real nice dude but that’s all. A fun little epic.
* * *
—
I got called into the principal’s office yesterday. I knew I couldn’t be in trouble because the man does not deal with petty ditcher stoners who get good grades. So I went to him and asked, What’s the problem? and he said no problem and proceeded to explain that this professor at the university called him looking for me and he wanted Miller (the principal) to get a hold of me for him. The professor didn’t know anything about me except my name (which he spelled incorrectly) and the fact that I went to Western and that I asked a question at Buckminster Fuller. This prof left a number, but no one answered when I tried so I called the university but no one answered there either. I don’t know what the hell is going on but I don’t know how to reach this man, so I guess I’ll wait. Miller wants me to ask the prof some questions and then come back to him with the answers. Like I said, I don’t know what the hell’s going on. I figure if they went through the hassle to get hold of me once they’ll do it again if it’s that important.
Epic the next: Vince, the editor/sportswriter, has been asking me out. He just got divorced and he has a little four-year-old boy. Tonight he showed me pictures. He’s looking for a mother for his kid and boy he’s looking in the wrong place. He’s called me several times but I’ve kept it pretty cool and shall continue to do so.
* * *
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I Love You but I've Chosen Darkness Page 12
