This box of memories. Spilling, spitting, Gawd, at least it is in my face -- when else would I recognize that beautiful missive.
But what happened? Where was she when I really needed her? Dark and damp in some silence of the lambs thingy, begging a dog, c'mon, sweetie ... Huddy, let us ... da ... da ... dance --
And at the dance, Lester and Spooner danced as slowly and as afraid of each other as they possibly could.
Lester said, "My goodness, it is enough they want us to dress like them."
Lester was interrupted by a minor seismic event (I cannot even begin to describe. I just ain't that ... ); a hallucination, lucky enough Spooner was there.
The customers, mainly kids, but one man, who always asked about money clips; but kids, kids who pandered to sarongs and visors. There is no accounting for, still.
Lester said, "My apologies. I really thought it was locked."
Slippery she was, they call her Debut (she was the first born of identical twins) -- still he falls overs (is not it amazing, how no one has figured out this tired metaphor?)
"Gawd," said Lester.
The room changed, her face different. He reached for the alarm. It had been going off for at least a quarter of an hour.
"Can you lean closer," Lester said, "I cannot hear you."
Hear you! The Charles de Fucking Gaulle! Did not you see my boobs in the window? Not really. Was not I there to look down and be shy? Or the long long stare o'er a mile, or five? (Boy, is that corny.) I am bad. Can not you hear me? I will be better. Do you hear? I love you. (hug.)
Spooner remembered the old days, whisky and extra syllables on all the important words. Lester thought this world would bring him the the riches of the sexual/spiritual -- I mean, spiritual world.
"Gosh," Debut said, "Right!"
Suddenly, Debut's normally placid voice turned in to a bark. Quite close a light turned on in a house. But it was a mistake. Lester and Spooner and Debut understood, ultimately, that this light made no fire, did not disturb the peace of Lolita-surbubia -- and, hell, no one noticed except for our heroes. It is alright. It is deep and mysterious, you can not touch it or describe it, but it is real. And it is quiet and calm and relaxing, a peace of mind worth respecting.
Lester closes his eyes. Debut kisses them.
"Don't you ever shut up," Lester asks.
It is true. They looked at each other as Spooner went to the loo.
Lester smiled, "I hate it when they get the words wrong."
Wait! Is this a love story, Spooner thought to himself?
Debut did her toenails, whistled the Monty Python Theme Song, ... It was over.
"Did our [insert team name here] win?" asked Spooner.
Debut leaned over one more, two time more, damn, it is not just Seinfeld, or cable, or woman, really do these sort of, ...
Damn! It is the King, all bow down, damnitt, you have got to -- blinded, blitzed -- it is a crystalline hurricane of lame love, obliterating the atmosphere: That is when Lester spit on the floor in someone else's house. He never, never, ne'er does that, even in his own Carmel house.
New Orleans called. "Hey," NOLA said, "Listen to the kitchen table. Those 'just kid' bathroom conversations, those late night bunk bed confessions. You were never there, Mom, Dad. Where were you? You missed the entire -- "
That great city was interrupted by a train of thought, of huge cars, miles long, of second line parades, playing their hearts oot until they spill. It looked like a funeral procession to Lester. Debut did not argue, kissed Spooner -- changed his life -- and took a breath.
Debut spoke, "It took me forty-three years to learn there will never be any good criticism now that Sontag is dead."
Well, I mean, what can you say to that?
The procession poured by. A not so sad song, a memory, or real, passed by the window. Then voices like a fucked up radio:
"You're right as always," Lester said, "There is nothing I can say here. It is all too real."
Lester bent over and kissed her,
"Don't you," Lester asked, "Ever shut up?"
Let us whip away the the curtains, the crummy walls, the make-up, even the 'they are asleep attitude'.
"That word," Lester said, "Has become very important and I do not want to think of it in such a cheap way."
Spooner rolled his eyes and said, "Such a speech."
The walls bulged and moved. And smiled.
The massive hallways, echoes, never knowing the outside life, head in a book. Eyes glistening, catching the tube, Debut, a vision of innocence, and e'en more, beautiful in experience.
Well, it is true.
Swish swish swish, quietly laughing. Shhh, the dog, it is an overture for a biography, no name, in lights, just repeated over and over again at a giant Rebecca hoose.
"Can't," Spooner said, "Make jokes about the races."
Just then Lester's escort called.
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