6.22.2007

Buzz Buzz

"Where is my mind?" -The Pixies, Where Is My Mind?

The four pints of ale began to manifest themselves as Ben took eight steps, turned 90 degrees clockwise, took another eight steps, turned another 90 degrees, and slowly ascended. As any good natured metropolitan would do, he drastically overinflated the situation to one of pinnacle pivotal magnitude.
This is it.
Eight more steps.
She is the one.
Turn 90 degrees.
Nothing will ever be the same.
Take the door out into the hallway.
I'm the one in every million they keep talking about.
Room 224. Home sweet home.
He tried to peer into the lookout, was amazed that he could live in so small an apartment, and tried the knocker. He waited patiently after three good Whaps.
No answer.
Whap.Whap.Whap.
He tapped his left food. God, he should drum for Journey!
Whap.Whap.Whap.
How was he going to change everything if he couldn't get into his tiny apartment! It couldn't end like this, he wouldn't let it! No, couldn't let it, because he...he...
"Lub," fell out of his mouth. "Lubbed errrrrrr."
Standing impeccably straight, Ben feel forward producing a deeper Whap against the green wood. Somewhere, in another universe, he heard a door open.
"White Debil!"
If that door would open why not his!
"You lib alone white debil! Open door with key," he heard a jingling, "Key!"
He began to slant forward. No, he was sinking! Oh cruel fate! Oh for lub!
Ben felt two arms encircle him from behind, lifting him up. They were a deep brown, more than just a beach tan, and thing. Then one was in his pocket, then out, then more jingling.
The door opened!
His apartment was HUGE!
He felt the magical hands fade away behind him as he stumbled inside. Now he could find her! The phone book was the new key, and right here past the couch under the end table. Ben fell onto the burgundy couch and reached for the book, which stayed put a good three feet out of his reach.
There is no accurate English translation of the arguments employed by Ben against himself to get off the couch. What is accurate is that they were short lived and fantastically unsuccessful.

---

Sunlight.
The menace of new sobriety.
Ben squinted at the window and recollected the night before. O'Mally's. The gang. The usual. The he remembered how he got inside, and edited his memory to read that his apartment had never changed size during his occupation, and that the magic hands must in fact have been normal, human hands.
The omnipresent voice chanting 'White Debil' was Mrs. Abidia, who really had more of a cackle. It had to be her, as she was the only resident on his floor who pronounced all her v's as b's. But the hands he couldn't place. They were too new and soft to be Mrs. Abidia's, and all the other women had the same wrinkles, spots, and veins that signify age and experience. Ben's brain wasn't setting any records this morning, so he shrugged it off. Kind Stranger.
To keep with the analogy, at this point Ben's brain realized it was missing one kid in the car, and that one was a very important, the most important, fragment from last night that had not been picked up.
Ellie!
He reached, lunged for the phone book, remembered that Ellie was not the right identifier just yet, and flipped back to-
To who?
He never got her last name. Was this punishment for drinking the night before? And the Thursday before that? And the Thursday before that?
He slid the phone book back under the table and went for the shower. For thirty minutes he stood motionless, trying to feel every drop and knowing he couldn't possibly feel more than a 100th of them. He was so human it was disgusting. So out of tune with all of existence and yet fooled into thinking he actually had a grasp of even the edges of it. Audacious!
If he ever cried, it was in the shower, mixed in with the drain water so he could never be sure.

---

He dressed, ate a short breakfast, and decided to go back to the library. He wasn't giving up on this thing yet, just not holding out all hope. Passing her door in the hallway, Ben stopped and felt he should at least let Mrs. Abidia know things were better.
Whap.Whap.Whap.
The woman who opened the door Ben immediately identified as the owner of the magical hands. Middle Eastern by his guess, she had a uniform olive complexion and dark eyes. She wore a plain white t shirt and black cargo pants, and stood with educated authority. Her whole body screamed 'I am in my element. Always.'
"White Debil!"
"Yeah Mrs. A. I just wanted to let you know I'm okay now."
"Oh, yes White Debil, you bery okay. You drink yourself stupid, hab good time! So lucky to hab such a stupid Debil!"
"You know I'm not the actual devil, right?"
"Pah!"
Nothing more would be heard on the topic.
"Who's this?"
"I'm Zoe," she answered for herself.
"You no touch debil!"
Zoe smiled. Ben smiled back. Mrs. Abidia continued her unknown business deeper into the apartment.
"What are you doing here?" He asked, immediately regretting the tone that question evokes.
Zoe tossed her head back behind her for a flash. "She's my aunt. I'm living here and going to the University."
"Oh yea? What're you taking?"
"Philosophy and Philanthropy."
"Sounds intense."
"It's not too bad so far."
Ben could feel his small-talk meter draining with every passing second. Surprising, Mrs. Abidia pulled him out.
"Well debil? You okay, we bery happy! Now you go, leab Zoe alone, she hab class!"
Uncomfortable lingering aside, Ben was back in an empty hallway. He remembered the library. He remembered Ellie and hurried down the stairs. IF he saw her, he would have to be careful to leave out he was the Debil.

2 comments:

Fran said...

and everytime, you kick my ass with one of these amazing pieces...

appletrain said...

Haha, I liked the last part. A few points of business to attend to:
1. He tapped his left food? I believe he was tapping a foot but I can never be too sure.
2. The dark arms were thin, not thing :)
and 3. Unless you did this on purpose, the "To who?" should be a "To whom?" But you could have done it on purpose to make it like the guy himself talking and most people with average grammatical sense do not say to whom, they say to who.
But I'm still not up for this story, sorry. But can I tell you how excited I was to see this page updated? Ridiculously excited. lurve.