The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood

by Scott Semegran

  17.

  I was standing face to face with my childhood crush. This was the first time I had seen her since the night I kissed her goodbye over sixteen years ago. Well, I take that back. I did see her last night at Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza but, at the time, I didn't actually know that she was the same person I kissed when I was a boy. I only had my suspicions that she was the same little Patty Green that I had a crush on through all of my elementary school years and part of my junior high years. But now I knew for sure. She was the same little Patty Green, my crush, my Princess Pauline, my Guinevere. And she was smoking one of my cigarettes and standing in front of a goddamn Donkey Kong machine with me. It was picture perfect.

  "Of course I remember you," I said. "How could I not?" For some reason, I was nervous as hell. I was shaking all over the goddamn place. I could barely keep my hand still to hold my cigarette. I nearly burned my nose when I took a drag, I was shaking so much. It's crazy how women can make you so goddamn nervous. It's true. "What a strange coincidence seeing you here."

  "I guess it is kind of coincidental. But everyone in this part of town hangs out here. It's the place to be if you want to drink," she said. I didn't get a really good look at her last night because the lights in the Big Boobie Bonanza were pretty dim, probably to conceal how ugly the dancers really were. But in the brighter lights of Mitchell's lounge, I could see that little Patty Green had grown into a stunning woman. I mean, she was absolutely gorgeous. It's true. All signs of her adolescent-self were gone. She was no longer a skinny, flat-chested, little girl. She had grown into a curvaceous and stunningly beautiful young woman. The only characteristic that had carried on into her adult state was her hair. It was the same straight, golden blonde hair that I remembered. It was even about the same length and style that it was back then: straight, parted down the middle, and a tad longer than shoulder-length. "And I see that you need a drink. Your glass is about empty. What are you drinking?"

  "Budweiser," I responded. The word shook off my tongue with a thud. I had a difficult time speaking. It's true. I was shaking all over the place. She must have noticed how nervous I was. You couldn't miss my shaking limbs, like I had Tourette's syndrome or something.

  "I'll get the first pitcher. How's that?" she asked. Then she saw me glance in Jason's direction. He was sitting at our table like a sad bastard, what, with his head on the table and his lit cigarette dangling in his hand. He looked like he wanted to kill himself or something. "Is he all right? Should we go sit with him?"

  "No, we shouldn't bother him. He's really depressed. He and his wife might be getting divorced."

  "Really? He and Betty? That's terrible," she said. I forgot how small a town Montgomery was. Everyone knew each other and knew each others' business. It was pretty goddamn annoying. I realized I might have slipped a bit by saying that they were getting divorced. I decided to massage the story a bit.

  "Well, not exactly divorced. But they are having problems. He's pretty down about it. We should leave him be for now."

  "Are you sure?" she asked. Man, her perfume was mesmerizing me. It smelled so good and sweet. I imagined her rubbing it onto her neck and chest. That thought made me even more nervous.

  "Yeah, I told him I'd take him to New York with me tomorrow for a little vacation. Hopefully, he'll have some time to think about what he wants to do about Betty." Patty noticed two empty stools at the bar and she took me by the elbow and led me there. The minute her fingers touched my skin, a bolt of lightning shot through my entire body. I was shaking all over the goddamn place. I was that nervous. I hate how women can do that to you. Women can make men act like such idiots. It's true. Men have no control over it. We sat on the stools and Patty ordered a pitcher of beer from the bartender. They must have known each other because she knew his name and he winked at her after she ordered. I bet she was making the bartender nervous too. How could he not be? She was gorgeous. He promptly brought us a pitcher and two fresh glasses.

  "That's very sweet of you to do that for your friend, taking him to New York. You must really care about him."

  "Well, he is still my best friend. Even after I moved away, we kept in touch through letters. We wrote so much that sometimes it felt like he was still my best friend." I looked over my shoulder to see how Jason was doing and he was still suicidal. There was a fresh pitcher of beer on his table and he was obviously getting drunk out of his goddamn gourd. I guess the realization that his wife was such a whore was really getting to him. "He followed my entire career through clippings I sent him in the mail and then in more detail through my web site. Undoubtedly, he is my biggest fan."

  "That's great. So, how does it feel to be a famous writer?" she asked. Man, that was a loaded question. It really was. I had to really think about that one. I had been so busy up to that point that I really never thought about it. It's true. When you have publishing deadlines and agents calling and editors e-mailing you and writers' block and all, it's hard to think about anything else besides work. I didn't know what to say.

  "It's my every dream come true," I said.

  "So what do you like best about writing?"

  "Where do I start? I like everything about writing. I like that I can express myself to my adoring fans. I like that I can paint a picture of how my thoughts work through words. I like that I can genuinely speak my mind about what I feel about this world, unencumbered by doubt and self-awareness. And I really like the idea that I might have a profound effect on someone and their outlook of our society. I feel very empowered by that. Plus, I like that I'm invited to all kinds of celebrity events and get to meet all kinds of famous people. That is definitely a major perk. I was able to introduce my wife to her idol, Selma Hayek, at a celebrity golf tournament in Dallas. It was amazing."

  I was blabbing all over the place like a big dope. I was so nervous that I was running at the mouth. It was ridiculous. I looked over my shoulder to see how Jason was doing. He looked like he was dead, sitting there with his goddamn head on the table like someone had shot him. The only reason I knew he wasn't dead was because the pitcher was practically gone. He must have been drunk off his ass. The bartender saw that I was looking at him and he walked over to us.

  "Hey, is your friend OK?" he asked. "He looks wasted. If he's drunk, you'll have to get him out of here."

  "Don't worry about it, Steve," Patty said. They must have been friends, the way she was talking to him and all. "We'll make sure he gets home all right. No worries, I promise."

  "I trust you, sweetheart." And then he winked at her like they had a thing going or something. It was pretty annoying, all of his goddamn winks and questions and good service. He was making me sick.

  "So, what about you?" I asked. "You said last night that you still didn't know what you wanted to do with your life. How'd you end up at Cinammon's?"

  "Oh, I don't know. I still live at home with my folks and I needed to make some decent money and Cinammon's is pretty close to the house. It just kind of worked out that way. It's not the greatest job in the world but the tips are pretty good. Besides, being close to home is nice because both of my parents are really sick and I have to take care of them." Her face exposed the sadness that she was hiding deep down inside. It seemed like she had to use all of her strength to keep from crying. It really started to depress the hell out of me. I mean, I was so fortunate that my family was pretty healthy. I guess I took it for granted sometimes. I felt sorry for poor little Patty Green. "They both have cancer."

  "I'm so sorry, Patty. That's terrible." She looked so sad that she almost made me cry. Well, almost. I had to fight back those goddamn tears. I was choked up and all.

  "It's OK. I've dealt with the pain and disappointment. But I'm spending as much time with them as I can and that's enough for me. At least they know how much I care about them. My dad always tells me that maybe after they are gone that I'll find my way. Maybe that's true. We'll see."

  Normally, I would have had about enough of all this depressing stuff about de
ath and shit like that. But I could see that Patty was genuinely grappling with her emotions and wasn't just blabbing up a storm like most people do about themselves. Most people are pretty selfish and arrogant, even when they say they are not. It's true. Most people just care about themselves and don't give two shits about anyone else, even when they say they are taking care of a loved one. Most people only care for their loved ones because they want to make goddamn certain that they are in the will somewhere, getting some piece of crap heirloom or something. But I had to give Patty some credit. She was the genuine article, that's for sure. She was a really good person. I could see that she wanted to cry so I put my arms around her and she did cry a bit on my shoulder. I could really smell her perfume then and it was driving me crazy, even with all of her crying and sniffling. I gave her a bar napkin and she wiped the tears from her eyes. She didn't wear a lick of makeup so her mascara didn't run like with most women. She was naturally beautiful that way. A lot of women in Montgomery were naturally beautiful.

  "I'm sorry. It makes me cry thinking about it. I'm really sorry," she said.

  "It's OK. Really, it is."

  And then Steve the goddamn winking bartender came over and ruined everything. He was getting pretty good at that.

  "Hey, I don't mean to break up your beautiful moment but you're going to have to get your friend out of here. He's wasted and I don't want to be responsible if he gets in a car and runs over someone's baby."

  Steve was right. Jason was wasted and passed out. I could see the drool draining from his mouth onto the table. He looked pretty goddamn pathetic. I decided that it was time to get him home.

  "I'll take him home," I told Steve the jackass bartender. He was really getting on my nerves. And wouldn't you know it? He winked at Patty again, the bastard. "I'm sorry, Patty, but I have to get Jason home. We're leaving pretty early tomorrow anyway so we should get some sleep. I hope you don't mind."

  "I don't mind at all. Actually, can you give me a ride home? I took a cab here from work."

  I hesitated for a second because I remembered that we came in the turd-on-wheels. But for once, I put aside my pride and said yes. I paid the winking bastard for both tabs and gave him a good tip, at least twenty percent. I wasn't going to take any chances with this bartender. I threw Jason's arm over my shoulder and pulled him up from his seat. But I almost broke my back because the bastard weighed a ton. It's true. I mean, he looked slim and all but he must have weighed a lot more than he looked. He was heavy as hell. Patty led the way, saying excuse me to the lazy cocksuckers who stood in our way of the exit. I dragged the heavy bastard to the turd-on-wheels and laid him on the ground next to the car. I was about out of breath. It took a lot out of me to drag that pudgy fucker that far.

  "Are you OK?" Patty asked. I guess she saw that I was about to have a heart attack. I must have looked awful, panting all over the place.

  "Yeah, he's just really heavy."

  I opened the door and lifted and shoved and pushed my friend into the backseat. Actually, he was partially on the seat and partially on the floor. But at least he was in the car. And he was snoring like he was hibernating or something like a goddamn grizzly bear. Patty and I hopped in and we took off, the turd-on-wheels kicking and screaming all over the place because of the extra weight of three people. We left a cloud of black smoke that would have covered a football field.

  "I appreciate you giving me a ride home, Simon. You didn't have to." She was being all sweet and sincere. She was making me nervous again.

  "What are old friends for, right?" She agreed and we sat in silence through a few traffic lights. We didn't say one word to each other. But we sure could hear Jason. He was snoring like a real bastard from the backseat. He was passed out cold and drooling all over himself like he had rabies or something. He was driving me crazy with his snoring and snorting and gurgling.

  We eventually made it to Country Down Estates, passing Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza on the way. The two of us smiled in acknowledgement as we passed it, kind of like we both knew it was now a place of some fateful significance. As I pulled into the neighborhood, Patty finally started to speak.

  "Simon, I know what you did to Kenny Jones back when we were kids. His friends told me all about the fight and what Kenny said. They told me how you stood up for me." Her voice was really soft and quiet and sincere. I was really starting to get nervous now. My hand was shaking so much that I had a hard timing driving the turd-on-wheels. "And you never called me any of the names the other kids called me. Why was that?"

  "Because I knew it wasn't true. I never understood why they called you that anyway. We were all too young to be hookers and gigolos and all that stuff."

  "That's true. In fact, I didn't lose my virginity until I was eighteen. All I was guilty of was kissing a few boys and being myself. And you were the only one who understood that. You didn't think badly of me." My heart was racing and my hands were shaking. All this talk about her virginity and kissing boys was getting me riled up. I don't know why, it just was. "And this may sound funny, but to this day, when I think of you riding your bike all the way to my house and kissing me, I think that was probably one of the most romantic things anyone has ever done for me."

  I couldn't speak because I was so goddamn nervous. She put her hand on mine and gave it an endearing squeeze. I almost drove off the goddamn road, what, with her touching me and saying nice things about me. Before I knew it, we were at her parents' house and I parked the car in front. She hopped out of the car and came over to my side. Before I could turn off the engine, she pulled me from the car, the doors still open, the engine still running, the headlights glaring. She led me through the front yard and to the side of the house by the air-conditioner. She turned to face me and held both of my hands. She smiled sweetly as the air-conditioner whirled and wheezed behind us. I was experiencing that condition again of having déjà vu, a daydream, a memory, and a flashback all at once, except it was more intense now. I felt like I was thirteen again, heartbroken over my impending move to another state and leaving behind my crush, my true love. And before I knew it, she leaned in and kissed me. But it wasn't the gentle peck of a naïve little girl. It was the kiss of an experienced, grown woman. She rolled her tongue into my mouth in search of my tongue. And when our two tongues met, the déjà vu, daydream, memory, and flashback all stopped instantly. I immediately thought of my wife and kids and how I wasn't thirteen anymore and that I was kissing Patty the whore who worked at a titty bar called Cinammon's Goddamn Big Boobie Bonanza and Whorehouse and I wanted to puke. I quickly put a little distance in between us, at least an arm's length. She looked confused and a little hurt. I didn't know what to say. But I did know that I was tainting my memories again. The innocent little kiss as a child had turned into an adulterous moment. And more than anything, I hated myself for letting it happen.

  So I left her there again, just like I did when we were kids, standing by the air-conditioner next to the house of her sickly parents. I hopped in the turd-on-wheels and headed for Jason's house. I drove there as fast as I could get the turd-on-wheels to go. And I hoped, with all of my heart, that I would never see or hear or kiss her ever again.

  18.

  I woke up the next morning on Jason's filthy couch and I was drenched in a cold sweat. For the first time in what seemed like years I slept so soundly that when I came back to consciousness, I felt really disconnected from myself, as if I had left my body for the night. And also for the first time, I witnessed a dream as a passive observer, like I was an audience member in a movie theater. I was so completely engrossed in the visuals before me that I was not aware that I was dreaming. It's true. Have you ever watched a movie that touched you so much that you were emotionally kidnapped? That's how I felt. Usually when I dream, I am aware that I am dreaming and I have some influence over what happens. Not this time. I watched helplessly as the dream ... no, as the nightmare progressed before me. It was awful and violent and so unlike what I usually see while I sleep.<
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  This is what I remember. I was driving my family in our Volvo, heading to some vacation destination down a long, deserted highway. I'm not exactly sure where we were going but it seemed like we were probably headed to the Texas coast. The terrain looked rural and flat and barren like south Texas does on the way to the beach. As a family, we loved going to the beach together and there were several places along the Gulf Coast where we would vacation: South Padre Island, North Padre Island, Galveston, Corpus Christi, Port Aransas. I was wearing my prized Hawaiian shirt, the shirt I christened as my driving-to-the-beach shirt. And the rest of my family dressed accordingly; my wife in a designer outfit looking gorgeous and ready for the sun, and my kids in shorts and t-shirts singing from the back seat. Jessie and Sammie loved taking turns singing their favorite pop songs and my wife and I, once we learned the chorus, would sing along with them. And that's where the dream began a continuous loop for what seemed like an eternity. You ever noticed that in your dreams, how sometimes it seems that your mind becomes fixated on some particular part or sequence? Well, that's what happened. It went on and on like that and I was repeatedly experiencing a continual state of familial bliss, singing pop songs and driving my family to the beach. And then, without warning, I found myself watching our car as a bystander from the side of the highway. I watched as a small cloud of white smoke burst from beneath the back of our car, propelling it up and over in the air. The car slammed top-down on the highway, blowing all the windows out like hot shrapnel. And the Volvo slid in a horizontal avalanche of sparks, smoke, gravel, glass, metal, plastic, and caustic liquid chemicals for hundreds of feet. I immediately ran toward the accident, frantic and scared that I wouldn't reach the wreckage soon enough to save my family. And as I approached to within a hundred feet or so from the edge of the highway, the car exploded into a fiery ball of charred, twisted metal. The blast knocked me on my back. I didn't let that impede my rescue so I quickly jumped to my feet and got as close as I could to the burning car. But I could only get so close. The car burned too hot for me to get near it. I looked around for any sign of water or liquid that I could douse the flames with but there was nothing. There was no sign of anything that could help me anywhere. There was nothing except the highway and the barren landscape of my dream. I watched in horror as my family burned inside the wreckage, still moving, still exerting every ounce of their will to survive. And I was helpless to do anything. I remember thinking that I couldn't live with myself without my family. So I jumped into the burning funeral pyre to be with the ones I loved most: my wife and children.