unpleasant when you feel uneasy and don’t know why. I bit the inside of my month. When I saw that things weren’t getting better, I motioned to Betty. I asked Bob if there was anything we could do for them, told him not to worry about a thing. But no, no thanks, so I backed out the door as if there were snakes falling from the ceiling. I took off down the hall. Betty had trouble keeping up with me.
“Hey, what kind of bee’s in your bonnet? Not so fast!”
But I continued straight down the hall. I nearly tipped over an old man folded up in a wheelchair, who tried to enter my lane, jackknifing his vehicle. I didn’t catch what he called me-I was out the door in two seconds flat.
The fresh air relaxed me, made me feel better immediately. I felt like I’d just come out of a haunted house. Betty put her hands on her hips and gave me a sideways, worried smile.
“What’s wrong? What did that stupid hospital do to you?”
“Must be that I haven’t eaten-feel a little weakish.”
“A little while ago you said it was the bananas.”
“I don’t know. I think I better eat something…”
I turned around at the bottom of the steps to look back. Betty didn’t wait for me. I examined the building carefully, but couldn’t see anything abnormal-nothing particularly terrifying. It was rather pretty, in fact-well lit, with palm trees all around and nicely trimmed hedges. I really couldn’t fathom what had gotten into me. Maybe they’d been poison bananas after all-enchanted bananas, mysteriously breeding fear in one’s stomach. Add to that a small burned child, rocking his head in a dark room, and you have your answer-no more complicated than that.
I would be lying if I said that a slight feeling of uneasiness didn’t linger. It was barely perceptible, though- nothing to drive myself crazy over.
I knew this joint uptown where the steak and fries were edible and there was lots of light. The owner knew us-we’d sold him a piano for his wife. We sat down at the counter, and he got out three glasses.
“So… things working out all right?” I asked.
“Yeah, great. The scales are driving me out of my gourd…” he said.
There were quite a few people in the place-a few single men, a few couples, and a bunch of brush-cut twenty-year-olds without a wrinkle on their brows. Betty was in a good mood. The steaks were good enough to make a vegetarian wobble. My fries simply swam in their catsup. It put the hospital incident completely out of my mind. I was lighthearted. The whole world was swell. Betty smiled. I fired off jokes at the drop of a hat. We ordered up the Super Giant Strombolis-one full pound of whipped cream.
I downed two big glasses of water, then, naturally, had to hightail it to the men’s room. The urinals were Indian pink. I chose the one in the middle. Every time I find myself in front of one of those jobs it reminds me of the time I startled a six-foot blonde in the men’s room, straddling the urinal, who told me, Don’t fret, baby, I’ll give you your thingamajig back in just a minute. I’ll never forget that girl. It was back in the days when there was a lot of talk about women’s liberation-they bombarded you with it. It was that girl, though, who drove the concept home-I had to admit that something had changed.
I was thinking about her, undoing the buttons of my fly with one hand, when one of the brush-cut dudes came in. He sidled up next to me and stared at the big silver button that makes the water flush.
Nothing was coming on my side. His either. The silence he tween us was deadly. Every few seconds he’d look over at me to see how I was doing, and clear his throat. He was wearing baggy pants and a colored shirt. Me: tight jeans and a white T·-shirt. He was about eighteen. Me: thirty-five. I gritted my teeth and contracted my abdominal muscles. I felt him do the same. I tried to concentrate.
The silence was interrupted by the characteristic tinkle that squirmed out in front of me. I smiled.
“Hha,” I said.
“I didn’t have to go, anyway,” he muttered.
When I was his age, Kerouac told me, Be in love with your life. It was only normal that I pissed quicker. Still, I didn’t want to rest on my laurels.
“Got to take advantage of things,” I said. “Who knows how long they’ll last?”
He scratched his head. He made faces in the mirror while I washed my hands.
“By the way,” he said. “I was thinking… I may have something that might interest you.”
I turned my back to him to dry my hands. I tore off the regulation ten inches. I was in a good mood.
“Oh yeah?” I said.
He came over and unfolded a small piece of paper under my nose.
“There’s a good gram here,” he whispered.
“Is it good stuff?”
“Must be. But don’t ask me, I never even tried it. I’m doing this to raise money for my vacation. I want to go surfing.”
God, how youth can lead you astray, I thought. Not to mention that he hadn’t even washed his hands. There was quite a bit of crystal there, though. I tasted it. I asked him how much it was. He told me. It had been a long time since I’d dealt in such things-the price had doubled since. I stood there with my mouth open.
“You sure you got that right?” I asked.
“Take it or leave it.”
I pulled a bill out of my pocket.
“What’ll this buy me?”
He didn’t seem impressed. I forced his hand a little.
“This’ll buy you a pair of Bermudas at least…” I said.
He laughed. We locked ourselves in a stall, and he got it ready for me on top of the toilet tank. I blew my nose conscientiously before snorting. After that I was ready to face a brand-new day-my mood was electric. I grabbed his arm before leaving.
“Just remember one thing,” I told him. “Places with only sand and surf do not exist. Blood flows everywhere.”
He looked at me as if I’d just solved the riddle of the Sphinx for him.
“Why are you telling me that?” he said.
“Just kidding,” I said. “At thirty-five you wonder if you can still make people laugh.”
It’s true that I felt the world getting more and more somber with each passing year, but it never mattered much to me. I always tried to stand tall, to not let my life turn to shit. It was the best I could do, and I did my best to do it. It wasn’t easy. One thing I’m proud of in life, though; I’ve always tried to be a decent guy. Don’t ask any more of me-I wouldn’t have the strength. I went back to Betty, sniffling. I grabbed her in my arms, almost yanking her off her seat. People looked at us.
“Hey,” she said. “Nothing personal, but we’re not alone here.”
“Fuck ‘em,” I said.
I believed I could have bent the stool in half.
On the way home, I felt like I was at the helm of a runaway engine that nothing in the world could stop. Betty had drunk a little wine. The whole world had drunk a little wine, and I was the only one still lucid-the only one still faithful at his post, steady at the wheel. Everybody was signaling me to turn on my headlights. Bums. Betty put a lit cigarette in my mouth.
“Maybe you’d see a little better if you had a little light in front of you…”
Before I had time to look, she’d bent over the dashboard and flicked on the high beams. It was better, okay, but so what?
“You don’t have to believe me,” I said. “But I could see like it was broad daylight.”
“I believe you.”
“Just because it’s dark out doesn’t mean we have to act like blind people, you know…”
“I know.”
“Damn straight…”
I had an itch to do something extraordinary. We were back in town, and all I could do was crawl down the streets, avoiding pedestrians, stopping at red lights like a wimp, while the dynamite coursed through my veins.
I parked in front of the house. The night was soft, calm, and silent, underlined by moonlight; yet the general feeling was one of incredible violence-blue and pearl-gray. I crossed the street, inhaling the cool air, not feeling
