Synonymy IV

When I woke from a nap on the plane, I found Cal ostensibly reading the Fernando Pessoa biography I had carried on with me. Apparently he had finished with all the comic books he had picked up in the airport bookstore, and the graphic novels I was bringing down with me to use in my teaching. I knew, not having the proper training except for what I would be able to grasp along the way, that I would have to be innovative. I had even thought while Cal was paying for the comics, with my money, that I might be able to find some use for them, but in his considered review they were garbage. "And this guy," he said, pointing to the cover sketch on the bio, "he was just weird; I mean, I couldn't tell the difference between any of the voices." "Among," I said, "between is for two people; among for more," and he just looked at me with that "fuck me" glare he possesses before calling the flight attendant to bring another drink.

Synonymy III

"Hey, Caligula," I said, "are you thinking of going out to look for a job?"
"Are you looking to get rid of me," Cal asked, "as if friendship and relative proximity count for nothing?"
"I was wondering if you might consider coming down to Mexico with me for a little while, and it'll be my treat." Yeah, and I can keep my eye on you until such time as I find a way to dispose of your annoying presence. I knew if I offered him a couple of hundred bucks to make him go away, he would just return after I had gone, so I only saw one solution. Besides, I was fairly certain I could pack him off to Acapulco and he would get distracted enough, in some get-rich-quick scheme not to want to come back to where I'd be staying.

Synonymy II

Cal told me all about how Jay-Jay was doing with her schooling; he knew I would be interested in that, and that he had seen Diana in concert—never so bored in his life. "I mean she is my sister, fer crissake, but all that opera twaddle leaves me cold." Why'd he go, I wanted to know, and he said, who wouldn't on free tickets, but mostly he went to get bombed at the after party, which didn't turn out quite the way he'd foreseen. "The kid and the nanny were there to help mom celebrate. You know she's always been a bigger hit over in Europe, and I guess she considered it a form of victory to be performing here in New York even in a secondary role." He did not mention whether or not he had hit her up for "something to tide him over" as was his usual m.o., but he said she headed back to the continent shortly thereafter, and since he was in the city, he hopped on a ferry and came over to the Island looking for me.

Synonymy

I decided about two weeks into the thing that my original plans were not the best choice. I wanted to do it right, and that meant asking for a few days off to fly up to New York, gathering together all my papers, and returning in a way that I could hold my head up and not walk around preparing for a hand to come down on my shoulder by someone telling me I would have to take a hike. The flight up was non-eventful, but imagine my surprise on finding someone living in my house in my absence! My ex-brother-in-law Calvin was drinking the last of my private stock, sitting in his boxers and watching television in my favorite chair, and after I squelched the desire to rap him on the head, mostly because I quickly recalled the devious reactions he was capable of, I asked him why he wasn’t working. He simply replied that his last good job had ended six weeks earlier, he had coming looking for me to hang out with, and on finding the house empty of me but not my stuff, decided to await my return. He declined to say how he had entered, but I figured that part out when I discovered I had to clean up the bits of glass from one of the panels on the back door, bits he hadn’t bothered about after discovering the full larder.

But Will I Pick Up on the Grammar?

My "life" has evolved 360 degrees. I'm looking up (and I guess I'd have to say backwards at my "past") instead of forward because I've opted to move my base of operations down to Mexico. I wouldn't give up the house on Staten Island. That would be stupid. But I can do this. Hadn't heard from Raymond or Denise in a while, so I rang their number. She answered. Said he was no longer upset with me, just wasn't in at the moment. She wished me luck and said the move would be a good thing. Wish it was more of an adventure, but as I don't have to work, and have no qualifications, it may end up as just a repositioning. I could look Michael up and ask him to help me get a job teaching English. Apparently he's been at it a while, and doing all right. He must know some people. I'm a quick learner. I just tire of things before they run out.
No. No. No. This is going to be different.
I'm going to do this. Correctly. Or maybe not.

Day 3 of a Long Weekend

All the lights of the city would be shining. The pink sky of the late afternoon would fade to the blue of dusk. It would be autumn with red, gold and brown leaves everywhere. They would have made their journey, probable and right, unlike the places we went.
I will wonder where you might be and where you're going to. Again, I´ll be going nowhere, but now I will realize drugs will not literally take me to some other place. Like the leaves at my feet, bunched together, you know, I don't want to travel alone. Going home again, I'll turn a corner, resigned to another evening in front of the television. I will think if you were here, we could order a pizza and listen to music and tell each other a few jokes, have some wine and laugh, then get serious. Then I would tell you just how much of a fool I have been. We would kiss and make love without undressing. Then we'd go to bed and hold each other so close neither of us could make plans to try to live alone. These are the simple things I never allowed you to think me capable of wanting.
I will climb the steps and remember the woman I disturbed by speaking my thoughts aloud, and her disapproving look. Perhaps she didn't feel I was crazy, but was only reminding me it doesn't do to dream. Perhaps she knew I was high, or thought I was a lost soul. If so, she had that right.
Putting the key in the lock, I will hear a familiar sound behind me causing me to turn, and I won't believe what I'm looking at. It will be you, standing on the lowest step, and when I start to say a word of welcome, you will put one finger to your lips.

Day 2 of a Long Weekend

My mood changes, ostensibly. Green lights tell me everything is go. The streets are crowded once again. They're always so, but this time I just push my way through, past the nameless faces. None of them are you. Having taken something from the medicine cabinet, I don't know what it was, I feel like a wild thing, all on fire and ready to burn something. It's invigorating. This works for about an hour, but then I think how I would like to share this experience with you. You know, I believe, for a little while at least, that I am able to see everything more clearly. I realize I've been afraid to show you how I truly feel, and I want to admit I have made some terrible mistakes.
In my head I'm having this conversation with you, when for no good reason at all, out loud, I say, "You never had to doubt my feelings." A woman with a shopping bag looks at me as if I'm just another crazy man. I'm asking you to forget the reality of what happened. Let it go. Please. Forget what reason tells you, and feel what I feel in this moment. She doesn't know me. She doesn't know us. Shaking her head and tut-tutting, as if to wither me, she doesn't realize her actions cause me mixed emotions. I'm also sensing that I must have taken something left over from our college days of staying up all night to study. Remember when we used to pop a few No-Doze and drink liters of coke to cram? I know if you were here with me, you would find it amusing to see how it affects me now.

Day 1 of a Long Weekend

I didn't know what to do with myself. I walked through crowded city streets. Red lights everywhere told me to stop what I was doing. Go home. To what? Later, with a bowl of popcorn that tasted like chalk, I sat in front of the tube, and flipped the remote. What was happening on the box didn't catch my interest, but the dialogues reminded me of things we'd said. Like the times you asked me why I felt the need to smoke something before we went out with friends and I pretended not to hear you. I would ask you if you'd seen my black shoes, or if you knew where my jeans were. When the boyfriend in the sitcom played stupid, it was me I was seeing. When I thought back on what happened, you know, I realized I was thick-headed. I was blind to my own self-centeredness and to your needs. I thought I would be a fool to get so involved, to open up my heart and have it broken. Little did I know that the hurt experienced is the essence of being in love. All I expected was eventual jealousy and bitterness. I couldn't find the words to tell you and you probably wouldn't have believed me then if I had. I went to bed earlier than usual feeling as if I were the one who was hurt.

NLE at the POB

The job fizzled out and I did not even remark about it. I’m not suited to sitting in an office keeping track of other people’s numbers. Nobody, I am aware of, keeps track of mine. Two months ago I decided to treat myself to a cruise to the Mexican Riviera, had a blast escaping from the New York winter, but when I reluctantly returned I found only three pieces of junk mail in the mailbox. Two had Tom Lawrence’s name on them, and one was addressed to “Current Occupant.” That would be me.
I tried to write while I was onboard the ship, but the only thing I came up with, extensions to someone else’s story, went uncommented. I guess the writing was too much about me and the other person didn’t recognize herself, nor did anyone, it would appear.
Someone did sort of satellite position me and asked a friend if he were traveling incognito, but by the time he advised me, it no longer had the power to make me feel good. Oddly, upon observing my post, he told me he didn’t feel the need to comment either as he had been working toward the same end. I had to agree. He had started the tale which inspired the other writer, which inspired me… Perhaps I had taken too much liberty. We had only been acquaintances in a previous life, but I thought we had gotten to know each other enough to become friends. That might take another life. The whole thing was going in circles, not leading anywhere. Still, it’s there to be taken up at any time.
Jobless now, I think I will begin writing a novel. I don’t know enough about myself in a meaningful way. I feel like a tabla rasa, and that might be a good space to explore.

Symptomatic 6

I slept through the long bus ride north, having thought to map out my plan of action along the way, but quickly becoming overwhelmed by heat and exhaustion, then finding a comfortable reclining seat on the air-cooled bus, I gave in to sleep, which provided a pleasant dream of slow freefalling. In the morning, I was surprised to find Tuxtla much like Tapachula in tone and ambiance, having expected to find some dusty little pueblo because of my inexperience leading me to believe Mexico only had modern amenities in its resorts along the shorelines. I ate breakfast at a MacDonald’s, and after scoping out the place discovered there were plenty of little English schools where I might apply for a job with a promise to supply proper papers as soon as I could have them sent to me. I figured by the time I would actually have to deliver my documentation, I would be in a position financially to move on, and if I worked the situation out befittingly, I could be in Mexico City in about three months. Everything changed one afternoon three weeks on while I was relaxing at Starbucks enjoying a latte after successfully talking my way through a session with a group of teenagers eager to learn some American slang, when a familiar looking young woman passed by, and looking at me quizzically for a moment, said, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Preposterously, I offered, “Why don’t you have a seat, and we can see if that is true?”