Eyeliner, Celery and Honey Nut Scooters

She had a sad face, the sagging skin a victim of her permanent frown. She smiled momentarily--alright, a grimace really--but the effort seemed to be too much, the frown promptly returning. I noticed the shopping list sticking out of her purse. Everything had a line through it with the exception of "eyeliner" and "celery". These had squares around them instead and had clearly not been picked up. I guess she decided to forgo beauty and regularity for the six-pack of Diet Coke. I knew the feeling; for the past hour I’d found myself passing over items I otherwise would have picked up so that I could afford the necessities. Or, instead of the $4 cereal, I opted for the generic bag of Honey Nut Scooters. I could handle it, though. In fact, I probably smiled to myself as I lowered the bag of O’s into my cart, knowing that I was screwing the system...somewhat. I almost bought generic feminine products, but I decided some things are worth the 17 extra cents. The bleu cheese, though, didn't get anywhere near my cart: such a luxury would have to wait. But despite the corners cut, I managed to spend $55.39 for another week’s worth of pb&j’s and canned chicken...all before I got to Aldi’s for the eggs, Romaine and cottage cheese. I felt like I was shopping for my little family, but there were no little redheads at my feet, no wedding band on my finger. Just me (*said with a shrug*).

When it was my turn in line, I watched the checker ringing up the sweet potatoes, the bananas and the kiwi, hoping it wouldn’t put me over too much.

A Momentary Lapse of Reason

Standing over the countertop, gripping the sides like a jumper grips the rail before takeoff, I try to collect myself.  My heart races as my mind ticks off everything that has to be done.  My breath staggers, and I wait for the tears to come.  Nothing.  I try so hard to make them come--even just one solitary tear--but nothing happens.  I stop.  I relax.  Then I laugh: I can't even remember the last time I actually cried.  I chuckle some more.  After muttering a string of profanities under my breath, I stand upright, put on my armor, unsheathe my sword and take to the street.

(Shadow)boxer

You followed me home one night.  A dog you were: white, with an eye of blue and one of black.  You ran around my feet, every once in a while looking up at me as if to ask, “where are we going?”  I just smiled and kept walking.  You didn’t always keep up with me, but sometimes you ran ahead, always looking back to make sure I was following. And before long you were back, trotting along at my side.  Other times you ran off to the side, distracted by the scent of another dog perhaps.  I wondered when you would turn off and go home yourself, but you stayed by my side: around the corner, up the hill, down the hill, under the tree and onto my driveway.  I went inside to get you water, but when my father appeared at the door and the light revealed you as you were, your eyes shone blood red and fearful.  He was scared of you; I said you were sweet.  You ran off.

Madness and the Life of a Wallflower

     Most people seem to think that Dean Moriarty was the hero of On the Road, but I don't really buy that.  Dean may have had all the fun, but he was no Sal Paradise.  Sal could appreciate the beauty of insanity, but in the end he just wanted something a little simpler and more genuine.

  When I was 15 years old, my brother lived in an old run-down house with one other guy and a few permanent guests.  I was only there a few times--once before going to a show and another time for my first real jam session--but one night I stayed over.  There had been snow that day, and Andy and I had been out in it.  I spent that night shivering on the futon in the spare room with wet socks on and a ceiling fan blowing down on me.  I hadn't wanted to bother anyone for dry socks or a pull on the fan to make it stop.

  While I tried to fall asleep, I stared at the Pink Floyd poster up on the wall, the one with the naked girls on it.  I debated over which girl I would want to be.  Dark Side chick looked pretty intense, but Wish You Were Here girl had red hair.  I couldn't part with that.  But I think in the end I was most fascinated by The Wall girl: she was the most naked looking, but in essence, she was still a wall.

  Eventually I fell asleep, but I was startled awake by a pounding on the front door.  Fortunately, one of the permanent temps opened it.  It took me a second, but I recognized Drew's voice.  He stumbled through the living room to the middle room where I was and stopped.  I pretended to be asleep.

  "Who's that?" I heard from above me.

"AP's sister."

"Really."  Drew said it in that way, the one that seems surprised while having known the truth the entire time.  And that was it.  I was in, and I knew it.  Whatever my staying the night implied, whether anything had really gone on, made me cool.  Drew went on to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.  I watched him through squinty eyes until I fell asleep.

Most days I feel like Sal Paradise, watching all the mad people around me.  Sometimes I stand in the doorway and watch people walk through.  Other times I'll watch the show from the back of the room, taking in everything.  It's in my nature I guess.  That or I'm just too scared.  Of what, I don't know.

I love to watch people move--you can tell so much about a person by the way he walks.  And I love being at concerts and watching the audience members, their faces, any shared secret glances, or a lean in and whisper.  I do a lot of watching, and I notice the small nuances of people I've never met and others I might be seeing for the first time.  So when someone else notices me, I'm not really sure how to react.  I get confused and tongue-tied.  I have trouble saying and showing what I mean, whether or not I'm trying to hide something.

I felt like Dean once.  Not in a sex-crazed, booze-hounding speed-junkie kind of way, but I did.  The tour was over, and we were ready to go home.  There at 2 a.m. we had no intention of staying in Minnesota, and I was behind the wheel.  I was the only one who hadn't been drinking, but there was something more powerful than speed coursing through my veins.  I kept my foot down on the pedal as if I were running for my life.  I didn't really realize how fast I had been going until it came time to stop (after driving 85 for four hours, 55 felt like the normal pace to take through a country town).  With my brother as co-pilot, I felt like I could drive 'til two the next afternoon.  On our way out of the city we sang as loud as we could to our favorite Blind Melon record.  By 3:30, we were the only travelers on the highway, with no nearby towns to light our way.  Andy fell asleep on the clock somewhere around five in the morning after asking for biscuits and gravy...

I drove south until six.  By that time the sun had risen on my left and was already stretching its arms above its head.  I didn't feel tired at all until I got out of the driver's seat to let Jeff take over.  I didn't open my eyes again until late in the afternoon when in Iowa Dan and Jeff were saving a turtle in the road from a certain and untimely death.

There's something about the road.  It has this weird effect on me.  Sitting in the silence on long trips puts all kinds of ideas in my head; I see things more clearly.  Maybe it's that isolating feeling of being surrounded by darkness save for some distant lights.  And the stars.  I feel more like myself the farther out I go, where the stars are brighter and aren't clouded over.  I like to see my reflection in the car window as I stare at the stars, hoping I can be among them someday.  But for now I can only run from one falling star to the next, laughing at the madness of it all and loving every weird moment.