01:10
YJ's Snack Cafe
18th and Wyandotte
Kansas City Missouri
It was cool. Too cool to be outside with a jacket. The coolness of the weather did not keep the constant whine of sirens in the distance down. Perhaps the weather is not cool enough to keep the criminals from doing their thing. Joe sat out front of the cafe with his trench coat and flask to keep him warm. The music that had been constantly drifting out of the cafe had fallen silent now. The sidewalks were empty. A church bell chimed once. It seemed odd as it wasn't close to any time that a bell should toll -- not the top or the halfway mark of the hour. The absence of music brought a welcome silence -- save for the coffee grinder and the conversation of the people sitting at a table close to him -- two women. The silence was broken as more music was put on the player.
"There are many intellegent people in the world in that they are gifted with intelligence. But wisdom is the practice of that intelligence. There aren't a whole lot of wise people when you think about it. Oh, yeah, there are a lot of wiseguys out there and they will be sure to tell you so. But smart is as smart does. How many good capable intelligent people have you met who can't seem to get it together, or who do stupid things every day?" Joe listened to one of the women go on in this dialogue. What she said seemed reasable.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Thursday 4 May 2007
13:44
YJ's Snack Cafe
18th and Wyandotte
Kansas City Missouri
The cool rain formed natural reflecting pools in the streets. The reflections formed a mirror image city, upside down and deformed but somehow fascinating to Joe, like a parallel world in which the natural laws that bind everything and held it all down had somehow been repealed forming a chaotic and strange new order. Somehow on days like this you natuarally want to feel any ambition to do anything, but yet, you are contented with that. The reflections in the streets, to Joe, are an excellent mirrors to look into and reflect upon life. And like the reflections in the streets, the distortion of time and memory makes everything that has past like a parallel universe -- upside down and distorted, with some things taking on forms bigger and more different than what they really were, and others receeding like small moments and ideas into near non-existence. A lady walked into the coffeeshop from a clothing store next door. Her outfit interrupted Joes meditation. She was wearing a red striped jump suit with white stockings and red lightening striped shoes. A guy from one of the warehouses close by was ordering coffee. He looked her over from head to toe and said "that's a funky outfit." "Yes it is!" the lady stated with sarcasm. The man got his coffee and walked out with a sort of hurt expression on his face. The lady was out soon after him into the wet grey outside, where Joe resumed his gaze out the window and onto the reflecting streets.
13:44
YJ's Snack Cafe
18th and Wyandotte
Kansas City Missouri
The cool rain formed natural reflecting pools in the streets. The reflections formed a mirror image city, upside down and deformed but somehow fascinating to Joe, like a parallel world in which the natural laws that bind everything and held it all down had somehow been repealed forming a chaotic and strange new order. Somehow on days like this you natuarally want to feel any ambition to do anything, but yet, you are contented with that. The reflections in the streets, to Joe, are an excellent mirrors to look into and reflect upon life. And like the reflections in the streets, the distortion of time and memory makes everything that has past like a parallel universe -- upside down and distorted, with some things taking on forms bigger and more different than what they really were, and others receeding like small moments and ideas into near non-existence. A lady walked into the coffeeshop from a clothing store next door. Her outfit interrupted Joes meditation. She was wearing a red striped jump suit with white stockings and red lightening striped shoes. A guy from one of the warehouses close by was ordering coffee. He looked her over from head to toe and said "that's a funky outfit." "Yes it is!" the lady stated with sarcasm. The man got his coffee and walked out with a sort of hurt expression on his face. The lady was out soon after him into the wet grey outside, where Joe resumed his gaze out the window and onto the reflecting streets.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Saturday 28 April 2007
20:52 -- YJ's Snack Cafe
18th and Wyandotte
Kansas City Missouri
April started out unusually warm. The angry thunderheads had come and gone with regularity almost every day.
But the weather never seemed to change. It just remained hot and muggy, for April. Joe stood under an awning with his friend, Mike. They were caught in an afternoon downpour after the KawfeeKafe closed down early. It was easy to just watch the rain form huge rivers in the gutters and to watch the wisps of steam rise from the still hot streets. Both silently watched, enjoying the peace of the moment with nowhere particular to go. Even though there were torrents in the streets, this town still was dry. It is a dryness that no liquid could quench. Liquor made it go away temporarily but the dryness always came back when the due was to be paid the next day. " What's there to do in this town?" Joe liked his friend Mike for his matter of factness and for his love of good literature. Many hours had been spent talking to death the in's and outs of the "great works." So much so that the subject could not be broached without covering well worn territory. So even that could not dispel the dryness. So today, the talk turned to drink, and what passed for nightlife here. Mike replied slowly "weeellll, I guess there's a band playing tonight." "You know 'em. Pondscum." Joe shook his head like he had never heard of them before. "You know, Amy and her girlfriends, they formed a band. Kind of chickish rock, but ok." Joe thought of all the Amy's he met in his life, but only one rang a bell in this town. "Oh yeah, yeah, let's do that. Where are they playing?" "At the hammer." "Oh, ok... what do we do until then?" "This is it" Mike said, sarcastically.
Everyone knows the Hammer. It is the kind of place where the piss overflows from the men's room and runs out the front door. The plywood floors are little improvement over dirt and sawdust. It is a townie dive that features only live music. Twenty years ago when things flowed more freely this place featured many up and coming and national acts. There was always a line to get in and standing room inside only. As the years passed and attitudes got more puritain, the crowds thinned to nothing. Now the door man wondered how he was to get paid. Shaking down the bands to pay to play when they didn't drew worked less and less, as the quality of the musicians went under the floor and many bands, if they showed, could hardly afford decent wheels to get themselves to the show. So Pondscum was a joy. Not only were they pretty, but they drew the fratboy crowd from the University. Nevermind that the band was made up of lesbians. Nevermind that the drummer in the band, Amy, had to teach the other girls to play and that they often weren't very good. The songs were catchy and it drew the guys, who liked to drink and yell vulgarities at the girls. The girls mistook it for rabid fans. They also brought in a core group of their "cool" friends every night -- all of them getting in for free. However, many in this group drank hard too, so the doorman always looked the other way. He just took it out of the bands take at the end of the night. The split was supposed to be fifty fifty, but the band rarely counted anyway. As long as they had a crowd.
The rain before made the night seem steamy. When Joe and Mike walked to the Circle "C" to eat some cheap junk, they ran into Stevo and Lupe. Lupe was driving his car, so they all decided to cruise. Joe liked Lupe a lot. He was a simple kid with a great sense of humor. He had a tendency to laugh at nothing -- to just sit there silently and burst out laughing like he heard the funniest story. And he would keep on laughing and giggling at his own private joke for hours. Most people found it odd in a funny way. Joe enjoyed it. "Too many people in this world are too hard to please. They demand you entertain them with something funny, then they grade you on your wit. It is their own insecurity that makes them sour. And it is their lack of imagination and drive that makes them demand to be entertained." "Who needs 'em." Joe thought. Lupe is like a kid, easy to please, and therefore entertaining to be around in his own right. Joe also liked Stevo. He is a bit uptight ... too worried what people think of him all the time, and as such, he is awkward and often kind of dull to be around. But inside he was deep and philisophical. He loved trains, much more than Joe, spending a lot of time away from others at the tracks, looking mooney eyed at their convergence in the distance, wishing that a distant airhorn would bring some excitement, and would eventually take him away. Many people didn't like Stevo, and thought he was a dork to be around. Joe never had any problem talking to him about things that were interesting to both parties on a much deeper level. "People like Stevo are kind of like divining rods. When you are around them they are always so deep and thoughtful, that when others would try to dis them or ignore them, you can figure out who's a fake and who's not by the way they react to Stevo." "Stevo is just happy to have a friend around since he seemed to have so few of them." Joe always thought this way about his friends .. re-evaluating and sizing them each time he is around them. Joe is usually jovial and affiable, but he has a hard time really trusting people.
They drove around town for about an hour and a half. Joe was drinking, but with his three friends, he didn't need the alcohol to chase the dryness away. The time seemed to go by like minutes. They made it to the Hammer, and found the bar packed and the girls were playing. As usual, when the band finished a song, or even if they didn't, they were greeted with the usual cat calls and blue propositions, which they mistook for appreciation of their song. Their friends, for the most part, clustered in a group in front of the stage. Most of the "fans" hung out in the back in the maze of bar stools and tables that littered the place. The bar is a cavern. The walls are all black and covered with pictures of all the acts taht played there before, along with other memorabilia. No one is sure if the walls are painted black, or if they just appear that way from the dim lighting and layers of soot. Actually, nobody has ever really put much thought to what color the walls really are. They are so covered up with pictures and antlers and road signs and such that if they have any color at all, it would be barely visible were the lights, though non-existant, turned up full blast. The owner is a high school coach. He has long since retired from this place, though it is named after his nickname -- Tony "the Hammer." No one thought much of where he got his name. He has rarely visited his place except to take care of the business of keeping it open. That isn't too tough, as he knows every cop and Judge in town, and drinks coffee every morning with the head of liquor control at the "britchbusters" club at the Second Empire Cafe. Half the cops played on his team or were in his gym class. So if there were ever any trouble at his place, no one ever thought for a second that it would turn out bad for the staff or the boss of the Hammer. Most of the townies knew this, and would try to get on the good side of Tony, or his manager. No matter who started the trouble, if it were someone no body knew, then they would catch the bad end of it. But with the dryness of business lately, the bar has been forced to try new things. This new crowd was allowed to take it over on certain nights. They were dumb kids mostly. Many of the old hands at the bar would try to help the kids in their efforts, only to find themselves brushed off. The kids were too "cool" and didn't seem to care too much for these old guys telling them how to run their scene. Normally that kind of rebuke would get an ass kickin', but lately, it seems the kids were the only ones bringing in people. Most of the old crowd has gotten married off with kids and responsibilities and little time for music or bands. So the few old hands could give a damn weather this new clique listened to them or not, as long as they brought some money into the bar.
20:52 -- YJ's Snack Cafe
18th and Wyandotte
Kansas City Missouri
April started out unusually warm. The angry thunderheads had come and gone with regularity almost every day.
But the weather never seemed to change. It just remained hot and muggy, for April. Joe stood under an awning with his friend, Mike. They were caught in an afternoon downpour after the KawfeeKafe closed down early. It was easy to just watch the rain form huge rivers in the gutters and to watch the wisps of steam rise from the still hot streets. Both silently watched, enjoying the peace of the moment with nowhere particular to go. Even though there were torrents in the streets, this town still was dry. It is a dryness that no liquid could quench. Liquor made it go away temporarily but the dryness always came back when the due was to be paid the next day. " What's there to do in this town?" Joe liked his friend Mike for his matter of factness and for his love of good literature. Many hours had been spent talking to death the in's and outs of the "great works." So much so that the subject could not be broached without covering well worn territory. So even that could not dispel the dryness. So today, the talk turned to drink, and what passed for nightlife here. Mike replied slowly "weeellll, I guess there's a band playing tonight." "You know 'em. Pondscum." Joe shook his head like he had never heard of them before. "You know, Amy and her girlfriends, they formed a band. Kind of chickish rock, but ok." Joe thought of all the Amy's he met in his life, but only one rang a bell in this town. "Oh yeah, yeah, let's do that. Where are they playing?" "At the hammer." "Oh, ok... what do we do until then?" "This is it" Mike said, sarcastically.
Everyone knows the Hammer. It is the kind of place where the piss overflows from the men's room and runs out the front door. The plywood floors are little improvement over dirt and sawdust. It is a townie dive that features only live music. Twenty years ago when things flowed more freely this place featured many up and coming and national acts. There was always a line to get in and standing room inside only. As the years passed and attitudes got more puritain, the crowds thinned to nothing. Now the door man wondered how he was to get paid. Shaking down the bands to pay to play when they didn't drew worked less and less, as the quality of the musicians went under the floor and many bands, if they showed, could hardly afford decent wheels to get themselves to the show. So Pondscum was a joy. Not only were they pretty, but they drew the fratboy crowd from the University. Nevermind that the band was made up of lesbians. Nevermind that the drummer in the band, Amy, had to teach the other girls to play and that they often weren't very good. The songs were catchy and it drew the guys, who liked to drink and yell vulgarities at the girls. The girls mistook it for rabid fans. They also brought in a core group of their "cool" friends every night -- all of them getting in for free. However, many in this group drank hard too, so the doorman always looked the other way. He just took it out of the bands take at the end of the night. The split was supposed to be fifty fifty, but the band rarely counted anyway. As long as they had a crowd.
The rain before made the night seem steamy. When Joe and Mike walked to the Circle "C" to eat some cheap junk, they ran into Stevo and Lupe. Lupe was driving his car, so they all decided to cruise. Joe liked Lupe a lot. He was a simple kid with a great sense of humor. He had a tendency to laugh at nothing -- to just sit there silently and burst out laughing like he heard the funniest story. And he would keep on laughing and giggling at his own private joke for hours. Most people found it odd in a funny way. Joe enjoyed it. "Too many people in this world are too hard to please. They demand you entertain them with something funny, then they grade you on your wit. It is their own insecurity that makes them sour. And it is their lack of imagination and drive that makes them demand to be entertained." "Who needs 'em." Joe thought. Lupe is like a kid, easy to please, and therefore entertaining to be around in his own right. Joe also liked Stevo. He is a bit uptight ... too worried what people think of him all the time, and as such, he is awkward and often kind of dull to be around. But inside he was deep and philisophical. He loved trains, much more than Joe, spending a lot of time away from others at the tracks, looking mooney eyed at their convergence in the distance, wishing that a distant airhorn would bring some excitement, and would eventually take him away. Many people didn't like Stevo, and thought he was a dork to be around. Joe never had any problem talking to him about things that were interesting to both parties on a much deeper level. "People like Stevo are kind of like divining rods. When you are around them they are always so deep and thoughtful, that when others would try to dis them or ignore them, you can figure out who's a fake and who's not by the way they react to Stevo." "Stevo is just happy to have a friend around since he seemed to have so few of them." Joe always thought this way about his friends .. re-evaluating and sizing them each time he is around them. Joe is usually jovial and affiable, but he has a hard time really trusting people.
They drove around town for about an hour and a half. Joe was drinking, but with his three friends, he didn't need the alcohol to chase the dryness away. The time seemed to go by like minutes. They made it to the Hammer, and found the bar packed and the girls were playing. As usual, when the band finished a song, or even if they didn't, they were greeted with the usual cat calls and blue propositions, which they mistook for appreciation of their song. Their friends, for the most part, clustered in a group in front of the stage. Most of the "fans" hung out in the back in the maze of bar stools and tables that littered the place. The bar is a cavern. The walls are all black and covered with pictures of all the acts taht played there before, along with other memorabilia. No one is sure if the walls are painted black, or if they just appear that way from the dim lighting and layers of soot. Actually, nobody has ever really put much thought to what color the walls really are. They are so covered up with pictures and antlers and road signs and such that if they have any color at all, it would be barely visible were the lights, though non-existant, turned up full blast. The owner is a high school coach. He has long since retired from this place, though it is named after his nickname -- Tony "the Hammer." No one thought much of where he got his name. He has rarely visited his place except to take care of the business of keeping it open. That isn't too tough, as he knows every cop and Judge in town, and drinks coffee every morning with the head of liquor control at the "britchbusters" club at the Second Empire Cafe. Half the cops played on his team or were in his gym class. So if there were ever any trouble at his place, no one ever thought for a second that it would turn out bad for the staff or the boss of the Hammer. Most of the townies knew this, and would try to get on the good side of Tony, or his manager. No matter who started the trouble, if it were someone no body knew, then they would catch the bad end of it. But with the dryness of business lately, the bar has been forced to try new things. This new crowd was allowed to take it over on certain nights. They were dumb kids mostly. Many of the old hands at the bar would try to help the kids in their efforts, only to find themselves brushed off. The kids were too "cool" and didn't seem to care too much for these old guys telling them how to run their scene. Normally that kind of rebuke would get an ass kickin', but lately, it seems the kids were the only ones bringing in people. Most of the old crowd has gotten married off with kids and responsibilities and little time for music or bands. So the few old hands could give a damn weather this new clique listened to them or not, as long as they brought some money into the bar.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Friday 27 April 2007
01:19 -- YJ's Snack Cafe
18th and Wyandotte
Kansas City, Missouri
She's so needy. Her voice, once young and sweet, now bossy and demanding and shrill pulled him out of the confortable warm womb of his slumber. His milky eyes adjusted to the room. All the lights were on. A pile of clothes were at the foot of her side of the King sized bed -- some folded already. He could feel the warmth radiating from the freshly dried pile. The laundry basket was by the half opened closet door. A smell of something that vaguely resembled something edible was coming from somewhere in the house -- most probably the kitchen, where he heard the familiar muffled but shrill sound of her voice blaring out like a siren. He didn't hear what it said, but he knew who it was directed to. He felt that by her tone that he had a few more minutes of sweet escape coming to him. When she appears in the doorway is when it is all over. He let his eyes shut. It was a mere blink before something soft landed by his right ear. He felt the warmth and pride any father feels in the presence of his child. He knew the feeling of his little girls favorite stuffed toy, and knew that she was closeby. He opened his eyes again to see her smiling at him. "Mommy, Daddies waking!" As distant as he felt from the mother of his children, he felt the exact opposite for his two girls. He smiled at his little treasure, and her sibling appeared in the doorway. He would not still be married were it not for the twins. Again, from the kitchen, came the shrill voice. The only word he could make out was "pager." She was yelling quite loud for him to make out even one word, and he knew that his time in the bedroom was over, and that she was bugging him about work again. He sat up just as his two girls joined him on the bed. He hugged them both and gave them each a kiss on the head. He looked down at his legs, he was still wearing his "BDU" pants and black socks. He had on his brown undershirt, which smelled of the workday. He looked at his two children, and felt a bubble of resentment towards his wife. It countered the pride and love he felt for his kids. As needy as she always was, he figured that after the children were born, she would cut back on her selfishness for their sake. He soon found out that her needyness grew tenfold after they were born, and that she also seemed to have a weird sort of jealousy of her own children and took it out on them often. She acted more like their older sister than their mother. Jeff grew quite tired of always having to devote so much attention to his wife. He had little time to himself and had to find clver ways to work out an escape. One was Kaminski -- the polish guy on base who he liked to drink with. His wife allowed that once in a while only because Kaminski was so mild mannered that she felt no need to compete with him. When Jeff came home smelling of drink and cigarrettes, she assumed that what he was saying was true. It usually went along the lines of work paging him to go fix something on base. And afterwards, he and Kaminski went to his house on base where they had some beers in his basement and talked about music. Kaminski is a smoker so she was told, so she never worried that Jeff was out cavorting in some bar somewhere drinking and smoking. When Jeff heard the word "pager" he thought that maybe it was Kaminski calling him for his weekly escape. They had it worked out. Kaminski would page him, and he would go to the base and they would hang out in his basement smoking and drinking beers and listening to records. At least, that's the way it was for the first month. Kaminski still pages his friend, but Jeff will go there maybe one out of 4 times. The other times Kaminski might meet him, and they would go to the city -- Jeff would drive to Kaminski's, and Kaminski would drive them both to the city. They would go to a show, or go to a bar for a few hours. Jeff might meet his friend in the city, and usually after a while, Kaminski and Jeff would come back to the base where Jeff would call his wife with the convenient cover story that he had to work a tough job in one of the base buildings. The other two times, Jeff would just drive to the city, to go to his friends apartment. She is a little older than Jeff, and isn't as needy or demanding as his wife. He managed to have his visits timed out just perfectly so that he could come home without raising suspicion. Lately, however, he has found that his friend was pushing a little harder for him to stay the whole night. He would tell her that he'd love to, but he has to figure out how to divorce his wife without losing his children. He would be crushed if his children were taken away. In the fog of his mind, he remembered staying a little later than usual last night. He went to work today, and was 5 minutes late, just as his supervisor, the chief, was waiting on him at the readyness area where he worked by himself generally. His boss was already ticked at him about the fact that he had not gotten the inventory done when he should have. So when he was late and gave a sheepish excuse about traffic to the base, to which the chief told him he needed to leave earlier, he knew he was cutting things close. He was tired all day, and the boring work of inventorying and pushing paper generally all day without a visitor pushed him over. He snuck a half hour nap after lunch, but quickly awoke when he thought he heard the door open. Working in this state makes you more tired than if you worked hard all day. He didn't remember driving home or even laying down on the bed. He just remembered the sweet escape of his sleep, and his dreams. He remembered as he was drifting off the sound of the train whistle in the distance. It reminded him of his wish for escape. If he could only get into one of those open boxcar doors. Maybe he could make it past everything and find himself back in the big city -- young and unencumbered. Escaping his father then was much easier than the schemes he has to work out now. Don't you answer your pager anymore?" she screamed as she stood in the doorway. "That thing has been going off for the past hour!" "Kaminski" he thought, "not tonight." Somehow he left the pager in the living room. She intercepted it this time. He realized that if she looked at the number on it, she would realize it was not the base calling. He felt a little unconfortable. Maybe she knew what was going on and the gig was up. He felt some panic at the idea of having to explain, then having to come up with a new scheme to escape. Why is she so damn needy? She refuses to learn how to drive, so he has to take her everywhere. She refuses to leave the house without him, so he has to be there for her. Since the kids were born, leaving the house has become an ordeal, but she always wants him there to take her somewhere. She refuses to make friends, and when she does finally find someone to be friends with, she will find a way to spoil it. Usually Jeff will meet somebody who has a wife, and will bring them over for dinner. This will last generally about three months before the falling out happens. Jeff is thankful for Kaminski, someone who his wife allows him to be with. The work cover story helps. She tossed the pager on the bed. He looked at it in amazement. It WAS work calling him. "You know, last night, when you were gone so long, I called Kaminski." "I got the number from you pager." "Where were you?" Jeff felt the panic begin again. "I was at work." "LIAR!" Jeff could feel the kids both jump at the sudden outburst. "Don't yell in front of the children!" Jeff said curtly. He got up. He looked around for his boots and jacket in the living room. She came in behind him. "You didn't leave it lying in here this time." "Your jacket and shoes are in the laundry room." "Where were you last night?" "I was working." "You are a lying piece of work, you know?" "You weren't on base last night." "Know how I know that?" "Your base called you you liar." "They needed you to do a plumbing job." "They had been calling and paging you." "You stupid ass, you left your pager here." "The fire department even called you wanting to know where you were." Jeff thougt back, so that's why my boss was really mad at me today. He hated his job more and more. He hated it slightly less than he hated his wife, but only because it gave him an escape from her. His job used to be a joy. He was the boss of his own department, and everything was simple then. His specialty was working with metal. He could do anything with metal -- bend it into any shape. He even went to school extra to get better at his specialty. However, in the past 3 years, all specialties were combined, and people were expected to be jacks of all trades. The training was a joke. They were just handed manuals and told to study them. So now, when Jeff is called to work on base, he is perpetually lost. One day he might be a carpenter, the next a plumber. He was even put in charge of his own shop, but was demoted when a more qulified staff seargent came in. Jeff was one of the last of the regular seargents -- people who were promoted without having to test their way up. Gone were the days when you could achieve NCO status with just time in grade. Jeff had been in that rank for a long time. His time was short. He needed to test up or get out of the service. He does bad in tests, and now that all the specialties have been merged, he found it impossible to see himself with that extra stripe. He got demoted to readiness when a new staff seargent came in who was smarter and better at running a shop. Readiness is a forgotten desert. It is not even in the same building as the rest of the squadron. The tasks are menial and the job is boring. Jeff usually spends his days entertaining himself by making stencils and drawing posters for imaginary punk rock bands. He finds that he is often put on call for night duty. He doesn't mind because they usually don't call him, and it gives him a ready excuse for escape. However, last night, apparently, they did call him. He did the one stupid thing that he shouldn't have done, he left his pager at home. "I've got to go to work." "We will talk about this later." He was hoping to buy time to think up a clever excuse. "What? How do I know you are going to work? Maybe you are going to drink with your friend again." "So help me, if I find you are there again, I will kick your ass!" He knew she meant it and she could do it. "You can forget about hanging out with him. You will come straight home after you are done. I thought I could give you a little leeway with him, but you abused it, like you abuse everthing around here." "You get done there and you come home and take care of the things I need here." " You know the faucet here leaks in the kitchen and hearing that drip drip drip is about to drive me crazy." "I am here day after day taking care of your kids and fixing you dinner and the least you could do is come home once in a while and not play around with your crap or disappear off into the basement!" Jeff found his boots and jacket, slipped them on quickly and went out the door into the garage. She was right behind him. "And another thing, you sell that piece of crap before I have the junker come haul it. It has been sitting here in piles for ever. We need the garage for other things." She of course was talking about the Starliner, which was sad and forelorn sitting under a tarp. It was a project he started on, but just enought to fill the garage with parts and little else. He headed out to the little Ford. It was a stale little econobox commuter. He wishes he could hop behind the wheel of something sexier, but this car is paid off. His wife went back into the house and slammed the basement door. He slammed the door of the car behind him, and the hallow metalic sound had a shrill ring to it. It kind of reminded him of her voice.
01:19 -- YJ's Snack Cafe
18th and Wyandotte
Kansas City, Missouri
She's so needy. Her voice, once young and sweet, now bossy and demanding and shrill pulled him out of the confortable warm womb of his slumber. His milky eyes adjusted to the room. All the lights were on. A pile of clothes were at the foot of her side of the King sized bed -- some folded already. He could feel the warmth radiating from the freshly dried pile. The laundry basket was by the half opened closet door. A smell of something that vaguely resembled something edible was coming from somewhere in the house -- most probably the kitchen, where he heard the familiar muffled but shrill sound of her voice blaring out like a siren. He didn't hear what it said, but he knew who it was directed to. He felt that by her tone that he had a few more minutes of sweet escape coming to him. When she appears in the doorway is when it is all over. He let his eyes shut. It was a mere blink before something soft landed by his right ear. He felt the warmth and pride any father feels in the presence of his child. He knew the feeling of his little girls favorite stuffed toy, and knew that she was closeby. He opened his eyes again to see her smiling at him. "Mommy, Daddies waking!" As distant as he felt from the mother of his children, he felt the exact opposite for his two girls. He smiled at his little treasure, and her sibling appeared in the doorway. He would not still be married were it not for the twins. Again, from the kitchen, came the shrill voice. The only word he could make out was "pager." She was yelling quite loud for him to make out even one word, and he knew that his time in the bedroom was over, and that she was bugging him about work again. He sat up just as his two girls joined him on the bed. He hugged them both and gave them each a kiss on the head. He looked down at his legs, he was still wearing his "BDU" pants and black socks. He had on his brown undershirt, which smelled of the workday. He looked at his two children, and felt a bubble of resentment towards his wife. It countered the pride and love he felt for his kids. As needy as she always was, he figured that after the children were born, she would cut back on her selfishness for their sake. He soon found out that her needyness grew tenfold after they were born, and that she also seemed to have a weird sort of jealousy of her own children and took it out on them often. She acted more like their older sister than their mother. Jeff grew quite tired of always having to devote so much attention to his wife. He had little time to himself and had to find clver ways to work out an escape. One was Kaminski -- the polish guy on base who he liked to drink with. His wife allowed that once in a while only because Kaminski was so mild mannered that she felt no need to compete with him. When Jeff came home smelling of drink and cigarrettes, she assumed that what he was saying was true. It usually went along the lines of work paging him to go fix something on base. And afterwards, he and Kaminski went to his house on base where they had some beers in his basement and talked about music. Kaminski is a smoker so she was told, so she never worried that Jeff was out cavorting in some bar somewhere drinking and smoking. When Jeff heard the word "pager" he thought that maybe it was Kaminski calling him for his weekly escape. They had it worked out. Kaminski would page him, and he would go to the base and they would hang out in his basement smoking and drinking beers and listening to records. At least, that's the way it was for the first month. Kaminski still pages his friend, but Jeff will go there maybe one out of 4 times. The other times Kaminski might meet him, and they would go to the city -- Jeff would drive to Kaminski's, and Kaminski would drive them both to the city. They would go to a show, or go to a bar for a few hours. Jeff might meet his friend in the city, and usually after a while, Kaminski and Jeff would come back to the base where Jeff would call his wife with the convenient cover story that he had to work a tough job in one of the base buildings. The other two times, Jeff would just drive to the city, to go to his friends apartment. She is a little older than Jeff, and isn't as needy or demanding as his wife. He managed to have his visits timed out just perfectly so that he could come home without raising suspicion. Lately, however, he has found that his friend was pushing a little harder for him to stay the whole night. He would tell her that he'd love to, but he has to figure out how to divorce his wife without losing his children. He would be crushed if his children were taken away. In the fog of his mind, he remembered staying a little later than usual last night. He went to work today, and was 5 minutes late, just as his supervisor, the chief, was waiting on him at the readyness area where he worked by himself generally. His boss was already ticked at him about the fact that he had not gotten the inventory done when he should have. So when he was late and gave a sheepish excuse about traffic to the base, to which the chief told him he needed to leave earlier, he knew he was cutting things close. He was tired all day, and the boring work of inventorying and pushing paper generally all day without a visitor pushed him over. He snuck a half hour nap after lunch, but quickly awoke when he thought he heard the door open. Working in this state makes you more tired than if you worked hard all day. He didn't remember driving home or even laying down on the bed. He just remembered the sweet escape of his sleep, and his dreams. He remembered as he was drifting off the sound of the train whistle in the distance. It reminded him of his wish for escape. If he could only get into one of those open boxcar doors. Maybe he could make it past everything and find himself back in the big city -- young and unencumbered. Escaping his father then was much easier than the schemes he has to work out now. Don't you answer your pager anymore?" she screamed as she stood in the doorway. "That thing has been going off for the past hour!" "Kaminski" he thought, "not tonight." Somehow he left the pager in the living room. She intercepted it this time. He realized that if she looked at the number on it, she would realize it was not the base calling. He felt a little unconfortable. Maybe she knew what was going on and the gig was up. He felt some panic at the idea of having to explain, then having to come up with a new scheme to escape. Why is she so damn needy? She refuses to learn how to drive, so he has to take her everywhere. She refuses to leave the house without him, so he has to be there for her. Since the kids were born, leaving the house has become an ordeal, but she always wants him there to take her somewhere. She refuses to make friends, and when she does finally find someone to be friends with, she will find a way to spoil it. Usually Jeff will meet somebody who has a wife, and will bring them over for dinner. This will last generally about three months before the falling out happens. Jeff is thankful for Kaminski, someone who his wife allows him to be with. The work cover story helps. She tossed the pager on the bed. He looked at it in amazement. It WAS work calling him. "You know, last night, when you were gone so long, I called Kaminski." "I got the number from you pager." "Where were you?" Jeff felt the panic begin again. "I was at work." "LIAR!" Jeff could feel the kids both jump at the sudden outburst. "Don't yell in front of the children!" Jeff said curtly. He got up. He looked around for his boots and jacket in the living room. She came in behind him. "You didn't leave it lying in here this time." "Your jacket and shoes are in the laundry room." "Where were you last night?" "I was working." "You are a lying piece of work, you know?" "You weren't on base last night." "Know how I know that?" "Your base called you you liar." "They needed you to do a plumbing job." "They had been calling and paging you." "You stupid ass, you left your pager here." "The fire department even called you wanting to know where you were." Jeff thougt back, so that's why my boss was really mad at me today. He hated his job more and more. He hated it slightly less than he hated his wife, but only because it gave him an escape from her. His job used to be a joy. He was the boss of his own department, and everything was simple then. His specialty was working with metal. He could do anything with metal -- bend it into any shape. He even went to school extra to get better at his specialty. However, in the past 3 years, all specialties were combined, and people were expected to be jacks of all trades. The training was a joke. They were just handed manuals and told to study them. So now, when Jeff is called to work on base, he is perpetually lost. One day he might be a carpenter, the next a plumber. He was even put in charge of his own shop, but was demoted when a more qulified staff seargent came in. Jeff was one of the last of the regular seargents -- people who were promoted without having to test their way up. Gone were the days when you could achieve NCO status with just time in grade. Jeff had been in that rank for a long time. His time was short. He needed to test up or get out of the service. He does bad in tests, and now that all the specialties have been merged, he found it impossible to see himself with that extra stripe. He got demoted to readiness when a new staff seargent came in who was smarter and better at running a shop. Readiness is a forgotten desert. It is not even in the same building as the rest of the squadron. The tasks are menial and the job is boring. Jeff usually spends his days entertaining himself by making stencils and drawing posters for imaginary punk rock bands. He finds that he is often put on call for night duty. He doesn't mind because they usually don't call him, and it gives him a ready excuse for escape. However, last night, apparently, they did call him. He did the one stupid thing that he shouldn't have done, he left his pager at home. "I've got to go to work." "We will talk about this later." He was hoping to buy time to think up a clever excuse. "What? How do I know you are going to work? Maybe you are going to drink with your friend again." "So help me, if I find you are there again, I will kick your ass!" He knew she meant it and she could do it. "You can forget about hanging out with him. You will come straight home after you are done. I thought I could give you a little leeway with him, but you abused it, like you abuse everthing around here." "You get done there and you come home and take care of the things I need here." " You know the faucet here leaks in the kitchen and hearing that drip drip drip is about to drive me crazy." "I am here day after day taking care of your kids and fixing you dinner and the least you could do is come home once in a while and not play around with your crap or disappear off into the basement!" Jeff found his boots and jacket, slipped them on quickly and went out the door into the garage. She was right behind him. "And another thing, you sell that piece of crap before I have the junker come haul it. It has been sitting here in piles for ever. We need the garage for other things." She of course was talking about the Starliner, which was sad and forelorn sitting under a tarp. It was a project he started on, but just enought to fill the garage with parts and little else. He headed out to the little Ford. It was a stale little econobox commuter. He wishes he could hop behind the wheel of something sexier, but this car is paid off. His wife went back into the house and slammed the basement door. He slammed the door of the car behind him, and the hallow metalic sound had a shrill ring to it. It kind of reminded him of her voice.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Thursday 19 April 2007
YJ's Snack Cafe
18th and Wyandotte
Kansas City Missouri
The sainted preacher looked down upon them from the wall. His image had been frozen in a piece of artwork. With a tear running down his cheek in one expression, in another, a look of concern, then in a third he was posed in an expression of anger. He was shot down in that time when the world seemed turned upside down. There were many saints then, and many villians in the shadows. It falls to the shadows of imagination to picture these people. Maybe they don't exist, except in the imagination. Maybe everything was some ugly random coincidence. The imagination staggers to make that leap. It is easier to picture villains and conspiracies, than it is to picture loner nuts running around randomly exploding, and taking innocent people with them.
The winter relapse has done it's worst. Spring has returned with summer close on it's heels.
YJ's Snack Cafe
18th and Wyandotte
Kansas City Missouri
The sainted preacher looked down upon them from the wall. His image had been frozen in a piece of artwork. With a tear running down his cheek in one expression, in another, a look of concern, then in a third he was posed in an expression of anger. He was shot down in that time when the world seemed turned upside down. There were many saints then, and many villians in the shadows. It falls to the shadows of imagination to picture these people. Maybe they don't exist, except in the imagination. Maybe everything was some ugly random coincidence. The imagination staggers to make that leap. It is easier to picture villains and conspiracies, than it is to picture loner nuts running around randomly exploding, and taking innocent people with them.
The winter relapse has done it's worst. Spring has returned with summer close on it's heels.
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