Off the Road - 33

a jazz novel on a typewriter

2

My aunt once said the world would never find peace until men fell at their women’s feet and asked for forgiveness. Thus, I prayed to add my little consciousness to this and hope that this would make some sort of difference to the promised land. It was also because the room would not open up until later and we had two hours to kill before we could go dead asleep. So we went to the seediest bar that we could find because a more pointed joint would embarrass Dean because there was something that he was ashamed of. We went into the brown-bricked blasted bar to ease our legs from the standing we had done in the poetry, rest are arms from the clapping, and wrap our brains around the very cheapest beer that we could afford. And that meant that nothing we ordered was on tap: the spirits had not brought me before them with money in my drunken stupor.

Before I took my first draft, I sent my Timex right in front of them so that I could look to the instant when we were supposed to go. It did not occur to me that I might be too tipsy to drive. And now it was time for pontificating which meant Dean held the floor because I was in nowhere close to a Catholic. Even a lapsed Catholic has the tenor that rises to the ceiling.

And in that dark tenor he proclaimed: “You know when you told me you were moving out and would drive around the country, I had an idea to get some bags from a distant acquaintance and deliver them here to San Francisco and start over again. I am sorry that it has not worked out quite the way I thought it would at the time, but that is because I did not expect so many difficulties to pile up in front of us so quickly.”

My amply lubricated brain cells were trying to piece together what he was trying to say. But the problem was that every brain cell proceeded to dilute the situation, and the totality was that the brain was even more diluted than diluted. And yet the brain kept worrying and it was talking to me as fairly as it could and then it was gone. Instead, I saw everyone as they were with the markers of how tipsy they were and how much more tipsy they would become when their money read out.

“Please forgive me for my transgressions on your part I perhaps should never have dragged you into this, but you were the only way I could connect all the dots to get everything I needed in the bag and delivered to the man in San Francisco on time and under budget.” Dean’s lips were moving out of sync, and it took me a moment to realize that it was my fault because of the foam in the glass. My left eye was rotating rightward, and my right eye was rotating leftward, and I could not sit down to make them come to some agreement as to which way was better.

“It is sacrosanct that I tell you this because in the morning we are going to have to make the exchange on whatever faces we can.”

I still was not processing this and could barely hold the glass upright even though there were little suds left in the container. Even so, it called to me to quaff the remainder and dribble back towards inebriation and unconsciousness.

“So, what I am trying to tell you is that I am staying in San Francisco, but you should leave without delay because there are going to be consequences and you should not have to pay them, because you have already paid a most heavy penalty.”

I looked at him with reverence and went to the bathroom to upchuck my last two drinks and then went back and stared at Dean. His face was in a mood of contrition but at that point, Dean swatted my nose and pointed at the watch and said it was time to go.

Outside I grabbed the car and made it out without incident. Mostly. And anyway, if you park in front of a tavern, you get what you deserve if it is only a bump on the fender and a crush on the door.

Then taking two things when one was not enough, I puttered my way to the stop where there was for us rest. And then we tracked upwards to the assigned room and knocked. A big tall heavyset man named Kyle Hollingsworth answered the door. What came next was him talking obsessively about the whatness of wherefore and it was clear he was on something not registered for human consumption, but I don’t know if it was natural or artificial and it might be both. Then someone named Matt Stoller, he was also tall but very thin, came in and was talking about how his wife should get back to the airport the next day so he should rest. This meant he continued to talk for an hour and then some. It is the way and so it goes.

Finally, we were left to sleep on the futon with two then blankets as cover. I dreamed but I do not know what I dreamt of. Perhaps it was going down Geary to catch a bus and finding all sorts of animals and people mixed together with beer and wine to keep them company. For me, it was not such an odd dream particularly when I was someplace unusual.

Then a car erupted into the alarm sound which said that someone was trying to break in. I felt faint but did not rouse myself from the dream within the dream.

And the morning we found that it was my car that had been messed with but only the back passenger’s side door was dented and I suspect it was one of the people whose banger I had messed up when I unparked my vehicle. C’est la vie. Or is it guerre? Plus ça change plus ça la main choice.