Chapter One - Initium
I’m tired. Not hung over but the epitome of wellness either. My mouth is dry and the music from the club still seems to be thudding in my head. And although I showered this morning, I can still se the borders of the hand-stamp on my hand.
I order a Coke and sit at the far end of the cafeteria. I’m not in the mood to be around anyone. This includes Smiley, who is this mildly retarded black guy that I used to go to high school with. However, he sees me and heads my way.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Not a whole lot,” I tell him.
He sits down and opens his brown lunch bag, which strikes me as odd because this is only our morning break.
“If you eat that now you won’t have anything for lunch,” I tell him.
Ignoring my warning he takes a hugs bite from his sandwich and smiles at me with his mouth full. He’s called Smiley because of his overbite and big teeth. It gives the impression that he’s smiling all the time. It crosses my mind to ask him whether or not he likes being called Smiley but I let the urge to ask him this pass. I can’t help but to like him. Although he’s supposedly retarded, he’s a lot smarter…No, more intuitive than most people I know.
I look outside. It’s completely gray. February. Although winters here in
“Pretty ugly,” he says, commenting on the weather.
“Really,” I mutter in agreement.
“You need a job?” he asks.
Actually I do need one but I haven’t really been looking.
“I guess so. Doing what?”
“Yard work. I run a landscaping business.”
“Sure,” I tell him.
“Great. Do you have a car?” he asks.
“No, wrecked it.”
“Just come with me after class then,” he says.
I tell him okay.
It doesn’t take long to get into the routine of things. We get out of class at two. It takes about an hour to get to Mark’s, load the truck and then get to the job, so we usually only get about two or three hours of work in a typical weekday. Surprisingly, there is actually work to be done in the winter. Leaves to be sucked up, driveways to be blown off, and weed-eating.
Although I’ve only been doing this a few weeks now, I’ve already decided which yards I like and which yards I hate. The yards I hate working aren’t necessarily even bigger than the ones I like. For example, there are these three yards right in Mark’s subdivision that I absolutely despise. Its primarily because he always saves them for the end of our day. Two of these yards are right next door to each other. The third is directly behind the first house, which means we have to load the truck up, drive around the block and go through the whole process of unloading and loading again. When I suggested just passing the equipment over the fence Mark just laughed at me and said, “Don’t be so lazy.”
There is also this dog next door to third yard that I absolutely cannot stand. The fucker goes crazy the entire time we do all three yards. It really isn’t a big dog. It pretty much looks like a black Lab, except its fat and lower to the ground than most Lab’s. The fucker froths at the mouth and rams the fence with his head. It’s bark is a hoarse high-pitched yelp. The closer to the fence I get the crazier he goes.
When I pass the fence with the mower he runs along with it, trying to bite the wheels through the chain-link fence. I hate this dog, which is odd because I basically love all animals. I’ve yet to explain or rationalize my attitude and behaviors towards this animal. I taunt it. I throw sticks at him. I bark at him and kick the fence to get him even more enraged. (Maybe the fucker will keel over from a heart-attack one day) I even weed-eated his nose once. All he did was try to catch the string in his mouth. I’m sure that if he ever did, somehow, find a way over, under or through the fence he wouldn’t hesitate to maul me. Actually, I can’t say that I’d blame him.
On the other hand, there are yards I don’t mind, even like, doing. At the end of Highway 11, just before the old bridge that crosses over Lake Ponchartrain, there is a street, affectionately called Rats Nest Road (named so because of the rather large nutrias that like to nest in the weeds and grass near the water’s edge), that is lined with camps, condos and apartment complexes. We do two condos at the very end of
Mark has told me that there is a woman, a few condos down, that like to sunbathe topless during the summer. One of the condos we do is home to three very good looking girls. They always bring us tea or Cokes. One of them looks familiar. I think I’ve seen her at World War III.
————- —————– —————–
Saturdays are rough for several reasons. Today is Saturday. Since Mark and I don’t have class on weekends, Saturday is a long day. Its even longer because I don’t usually sleep on Friday nights, because I’m always out. It’s fairly common to still be buzzing pretty hard when he comes to pick me up on Saturday mornings. Surprisingly, Mark never says too much about this. This is surprising because Mark is some sort of born-again Christian. And this is odd because his wife is an avid pot-head. “I used to be too man,” he always tells me. “I had the long hair. I tripped. I smoked. I still love Black Sabbath and Rush.”
Although Mark can be a sarcastic, slave-driving prick at times, he’s actually an okay guy. The thing I really can say is that he doesn’t try to force his religion on me.
It’s four now. We’re in Kingspoint. The second to last house for the day. I’m still in the cab of Mark’s truck, finishing my Coke.
“Come on,” he complains, “time to go to work.”
“I know,” I say, irritated.
“You aren’t tired are you? “ he asks, smiling, knowing damn well that I am.
“Yeah,” I admit.
“I hate to see you in the summer.”
“Me too,” I mutter.
When we finish the last yard I get him to drop me off at Timmy’s house since we’re already in Kingspoint anyway. After briefly complaining that if he drops me off he’ll have to unload the truck by himself, he finally agrees.
No one answers the door when I knock, but since Timmy’s truck is here, I let myself in. I walk into his room and he’s still crashed out. I find my duffel-bag and grab a change of clothes.
The water in the shower hits me full force. I turn the hot water up and watch as the dirt slides off of me and trails into the drain, in a little whirlpool. I’m too tired to even beat off. After I shower I go to the kitchen and eat a microwave burrito. After that I go back to Timmy’s room and, get into bed and fall asleep.
“Hey brah!” is the first thing I hear. “I said, hey brah wake the fuck up.”
A pillow smashes into my head and I look up at Timmy.
“If you want anything to eat you’d better wake your ass up,” he tells me.
“What did you hit me with the fucking pillow for dick?” I ask
“To wake your lazy ass up,” he says.
“Lazy? You must be on drugs motherfucker, I worked all fucking day. What time is it anyway?”
“Almost eight.”
“Where are you going now?” I ask, trying to orientate myself.
“To get something to eat. Some motherfucker ate the last burrito.”
“That was me,” I say, laughing.
“No shit Sherlock.”
“What did you do with all the money your mom left you for food?” I ask.
“I bought a half-ounce.”
“Shit dude, bust up then.”
“Listen to you. Bust up? Like its your fucking weed or something. I want to eat first, take care of the munchies before they get here.”
“Allright, just give me a second. Let me get my shoes on,” I tell him.
“Cool. You want a beer?” he asks.
“Sure.”
We order McDonalds at the drive-through. After the girl, who is sort of ugly, gives us our change she asks if there’s anything else she can get for us.
“Yeah, your phone number,” Timmy blurts out, keeping a straight face.
The girl looks hopeful, then wary, as if something like this has happened to her before. “Are you sure?” she asks cautiously.
“Positive,” says Timmy.
“Hold on a second. Pull up to the little yellow box after you get your order,” she says.
We do and Timmy is in hysterics.
“This is fucked up man,” I tell him. “You cruel motherfucker.”
“What?” he asks, feigning innocence.
“You’re such a dick.”
“What dude? Hey, everyone gets fucked over every now and then. Today’s just her lucky day,” he says.
“Dude don’t do this. She seems nice,” I say.
“Sshh,” he says. “She’s coming.”
Timmy re-rolls his window down as she approaches.
She smiles awkwardly as she hands Timmy a piece of paper with her number on it. I brace myself for the onslaught of abuse that I’m sure is to come.
“What’s your name?” she asks Timmy.
“Timmy,” he says. “And you are…Karen” he says, reading her name from her nametag. “
I hang my head, semi amused and semi embarrassed, certain that he’s about to rip into her.
“What time do you get off?” he asks, painfully dragging out the process.
“Eleven,” she replies. “Look, I don’t usually do this, so like don’t think I’m a slut or anything.
“No. No,” he says, cajoling her. Then adds, “Hey, do you smoke weed?”
“Sometimes.”
“Well, I’ll call you around
She smiles, waves bye and walks away.
We’re driving down Highway 11. Timmy pulls into Eden Isles and the guard at the entrance of the subdivision just waves us through. The stereo is turned up, blaring Bad Brains ‘Sacred Love. Timmy is finishing his Big Mac. I’m sipping on my strawberry shake. I’m about to ask him what just transpired when he turns down the radio and says, “We need to find some tabs.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“The point,” he answers.
The point is a road, near the marina, that dead-ends into a big clearing. People fish and launch boats out there during the day. At night it’s a cool place to go hang and party..
Timmy rolls two big joints once we stop. We get out of the truck and go sit on the sea-wall. He lights the joint, takes a hit and hands it to me.
I take a hit and finally ask, “What was all that shit about?”
“What shit?” he asks.
“The girl,” I remind him.
“I’m going to get some pussy. Is that okay with you dad,” he says sarcastically.
“Right,” I say, handing the joint back to him.
“I’m serious dude.”
“She’s not exactly cute,” I remind him.
“You have room to talk. I saw that girl you brought home a month ago. Fucking hideous.”
“This isn’t about me dude, its about you.”
“What is your trip?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
“It’s not like I’m going to take her out in public or anything,” he says, laughing.
“So you’re going to do this tonight?” I ask
“Yeah.”
“What about me?”
“What, you want sloppy seconds?”
“Fuck that. You’re fucking with me right?” I ask.
“Look dude, I haven’t had pussy since pussy had me. At least that’s what it feels like.”
“Whatever,” I say.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you getting so defensive about dude. Seriously, do you want her?”
“No,” I say. “Its just been a long day. I’m a little on edge.”
From the sea-wall the I-10 bridge over the lake is clearly visible.
“Wouldn’t it be a trip if we saw an accident?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“Wouldn’t surprise me. Fuckers around here can’t drive worth a shit. Did I tell you about that stupid bitch that almost hit me in the parking lot at Sears?”
“Yes,” I reply. “So like are we or aren’t we going out tonight?”
“Later.”
“Well you can just drop me off at Phase then.”
“Dude, what the fuck is your problem?” he asks. “You’re acting like a damn old woman. Don’t go getting all moral on me now.”
“What about your girlfriend dude?”
“We broke up,” he says.
“You said that last time,” I remind him.
“But this time is for real. What does it matter to you anyway?”
“It doesn’t. I just don’t feel like going out alone,” I say.
“You want me to hold your little hand?” he chides.
“Fuck you.”
“No fuck you. I see what this is about. This isn’t about me. Or my ex. Or me hurting that girl’s feelings. This is about Trevor being a selfish bastard.”
“I could’ve told you that,” I say.
“Well forget about it dude, I’m going to get laid.”
“I have two tabs,” I say.
“Bullshit,” he replies.
“I do.”
“You’re bribing me now?” he asks. “This is borderlining on the pathetic Trev.”
“Well, I have them.”
“Bullshit. Let me see them,” he says.
I empty them onto my hand.
“Where did you get them?”
“That guy. Martin’s friend. Dennis, Donald, starts with a D.”
“I guess I’ll blow her off then,” he says. “That capsule shit,” he says, referring to the tabs, “works better if you snort it.”
“I know.”
“Well we have to find a place to do them,” says Timmy.
——— —————— ————
I’m sitting at Randi’s table drinking a beer. Timmy is sitting across from me, rolling a joint while I break apart the capsules of Ecstasy and cut them into lines.
“You know,” begins Randi, “you’re lucky I have my own or I would’ve had to charge you a few lines for using my table.”
Timmy lights the joint, takes a hit and passes it to her. She takes the joint from him, walks across the room and flips the tape in her stereo. The tape is full of club music. She tells us some DJ guy in the city made it for her. She walks back over and hands me the joint.
“May I have another beer?” I ask her.
“Sure,” she says.
I don’t get up though.
“What?” she asks. “You know where they are. This is a self-service station only.”
I get up and grab a beer.
“Grab me one too while you’re in there,” says Timmy.
“Hey Randi, you have a straw?” I ask.
“Just use a dollar bill,” she says.
I sit back down and Randi goes to her room to change.
“Would you fuck her?” Timmy whispers.
Sometimes I’m astounded by how absolutely juvenile he can be.
“I guess so,” I say.
I’ve known Randi for a long time. She’s decent looking and nice when she wants to be but not exactly my type.
“You guess so? What are you, some kind of fag?”
“Sshh, she’s coming,” I say.
He clears his throat and says, “Sure is nice weather we’re having,” a little too obviously.
“Haha,” says Randi. “Idiots. Hey, does this look okay?” she asks twirling around in a black mini skirt.
“I’d do you,” laughs Timmy.
“Obviously,” she says. “Who wouldn’t you do? Now really, does this look okay? Trevor?”
“If you want to look like every other woman in there. Or if you’re planning in starring in a Whitesnake video or something,” I laugh.
“You’re right,” she says, vanishing again to change.
Timmy stares at the Ecstasy and the rolled up bill in his hand.
“What?” I ask.
“That,” he nods to the wall.
On the wall is a big, tacky, three-dimensional picture of Jesus that Randi bought in a thrift-store in the French Quarter.
“What about it?” I ask.
“Just sort’ve creeps me out. Snorting this shit in front of it.”
“You want me to cover his eyes,” I say, chuckling.
He rolls his eyes and snorts a line. He switches nostrils for the next line and says, “Shit, that shit burns.” He gets up and gets a glass of water. I do my lines. It only burns a little. I dip my finger into the water and stick it in my nostril, sniffing in.
“Lovely,” laughs Randi. “I hope you don’t do that in public.”
Egyptian Lover is blaring through the sound system. The place is dead except for us, the people who work here and three other couples all at one table drinking a pitcher of Margaritas. Phase is still pretty new though. Everyone still pretty much hangs at WW3. I, myself am getting burned out on that scene though. And five dollars all-you-can-drink here…Well, I’m content. More than content. The Ecstasy is kicking in hard. I feel good. Relaxed.
Timmy and I are sitting at a table. Randi is there too but she’s standing up, sort of dancing to the beat.
“This place is dead,” she yells over the music.
“Wait about a month or two. They’ll be packing them in,” predicts Timmy.
“But I wanna see people,” she whines.
“Oh, we’re not people?” I ask, laughing.
“You know what I mean. Real people,” she says, beginning to giggle.
Timmy and I begin to laugh uncontrollably. Timmy shifts on his stool and somehow it tips over backwards, sending him sprawling. Randi and I begin laughing and Timmy just lays there, laughing along with us.
———– ————— —————-
I’m sitting in Timmy’s living room. Halloween is playing in the VCR. Timmy is on the phone with Karen. Fred, Timmy’s dog, is laying down. His head is resting on my lap. Fred looks like a cross between a yellow Lab and something else, maybe pit bull. I sip my beer and scratch his head. He sighs and opens up his eyes and looks at me. His eyes are really trippy. One is brown and the other is a fiery blue, sort of like a Husky’s eyes.
On the television, Michael Myers impales some guy to a kitchen cabinet with a large butcher knife. I rewind the scene then decide to light the joint Timmy rolled before he called Karen. The Ecstasy we took earlier has just about worn off but I still feel good. Mellow.
Its raining real hard outside. The back patio spotlight is on and I can see wind ravaging the willow tree outside. A loud clap of thunder rattles the sliding glass door and Fred lets out a low, ominous growl.
“Its okay boy,” I say, scratching his head, comforting him
Timmy is still on the phone. I hand him the joint, he takes a hit and passes it back.
“I didn’t stand you up, my truck fucked up,” he says. “I’m serious. Come over here? In this shit? No don’t.” He pauses and then continues, “I do want to see you but I don’t want you getting in an accident or anything. No, I can’t come get you, I told you my truck is fucked up. I got a jump but it isn’t going to start again now. If you really want to come I can’t stop you. Bring a friend for Trevor. Oh you don’t know anyone. Hold on,” he says, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. “Hey man, do you care if it’s a black girl?”
“How black?” I ask, more out of boredom than really caring.
“Hold on. She says she looks like Lisa Bonet.”
They talk a few minutes longer and he finally hangs up. He walks to the kitchen and mixes a drink. The thunder roars again and this time the electric goes off.
“Fuck,” I hear him yell. “Dude, turn your lighter on.”
I do and start making my way towards the kitchen. Timmy finds a flashlight and begins rummaging through a kitchen drawer. “Fuck,” he moans. “I know we have fucking candles in here somewhere..Ahha, here.”
He starts lighting them and I tell him he should just light the fireplace. He agrees. I open the fridge and grab a beer. He asks me why I’m not drinking a mixed drink.
“Hey,” I joke, “if mine really looks like Lisa Bonet I don’t have to. You better get drinking though Bubba.”
I down my beer and ask him where all the imported beer is. He tells me they’re in the fridge in the garage. I grab the flashlight and go to the garage. It smells like cat piss in there. I open the fridge, grab a sixpack of Foster’s and bring it back into the kitchen. Timmy is in the living room, getting the fireplace lit.
Fred growls at the crackling fire.
“Shut up Fred,” says Timmy. “Man, I don’t understand this fucking dog. Crazy bastard will chase and catch lit bottlerockets in his mouth but he totally weirds out on the fireplace Timmy opens the sliding glass door. We’re both wearing shorts. He doesn’t even have a shirt on. I’m wearing an old Circle Jerks shirt.
“Dude close that shit,” I yell. “It’s fucking February.”
“Pussy. By the way Einstein, it turned March three days ago.”
He steps out onto the patio.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Come here, bring the flashlight.”
I step out into the rain. The back yard is now pitch black. He snatches the flashlight from me and shines the light upwards.
“What are you doing?” I ask again.
“Looking to see if the line is down,” he says.
“The line isn’t down. That was a transformer that blew dude.”
I go back inside.
It’s about four in the morning. Timmy is in his bedroom with Karen. It turns out that I actually know my intended date. Her name is Kat and I’m not really sure where I met her. Martin used to buy coke from her brother. I’ve known her for some time now. Kat was also good friends with this girl, Jennifer, that I used to date.
I haven’t seen Kat in ages. When I ask her what she’s been up to she tells me she was living in the French Quarter with this guy that was in a reggae band. She tells me it didn’t work out. “Too many damned groupies,” she said, laughing.
Now we’re sitting in the living room drinking beer. Jimmy and Karen start getting loud and we both laugh.
“How do you know her anyway?” I ask. “She seems sort of young.”
“You know Sherri?”
“Which one?” I ask.
“
“Sort of. Not really though.”
“Karen’s her little cousin. Here from
The electric is still off. Karen’s moans get louder. Kat laughs awkwardly and says, “Damn, your friend must be good.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I laugh. “I mean, I hate to sound mean but she probably doesn’t get laid too often. I mean, look at her.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” laughs Kat.
Eventually we get bored and go out for breakfast. We both get the breakfast bar at Shoney’s. After that we drive out to the point and smoke a joint. Its still raining but its cool because the lake is real choppy. On the way back to Timmy’s, for lack of anything better to do, we stop and buy a fifth of Crown Royal.
After we finish half the fifth we end up in Timmy’s mom’s bedroom. Her skin is soft but it feels cold. When I try to slide into her I sort of miss and she says “Ouch, a little lower. Yeah, there.”
She’s kind of dry but after a few moments she begins getting wetter. She throws her head back, grits her teeth and begins to moan lowly.
———– —————— ————-
Tuesday. We’re doing a new customer in Country Club. The yard is trashed. There are a lot of branches and pine-cones littering the yard because of the storm Saturday night.
I don’t like this yard.
———— ————— ————-
It’s Friday again. On the way through town, on
————— —————- —————
I’m in my room, sprawled out on my bed. It’s Sunday night and I haven’t slept since Friday because I’ve been cranked up on acid, bad coke and low-grade speed. The only light on in the room is coming from my aquarium lamp. On my wall is a Xeroxed picture from Samhain CD cover. In the picture are three guys covered in blood. At the bottom is written the word INITIUM.
What does INITIUM mean?
