posted April 07, 2015 11:59 PM
quote:
Originally posted by Randall:
How so?
It all began stopped in traffic at a red light.
Just turned seventeen and pregnant, I was arguing with my boyfriend, begging him not to smoke his 'hand-rolled cigarette' in the car with me in it. Stopping at the next red light a block down, I checked out the car stopping along side of us, worried the driver might see my boyfriend's 'hand-rolled cigarette'. The driver of the car had a 'hand-rolled cigarette' of his own in hand. "Halleluiah! The answer to my prayers!", I thought.
I frantically waved my hands at the driver. Getting his attention, I pointed at my boyfriend's 'hand-rolled cigarette', then motioned for him to pullover and park.
(For the sake of brevity, I'm skipping the brief three-block street race scene when the light turned green. Not to mention, I was pregnant and became upset at my boyfriend for street racing with me and our unborn child in the car!)
We pulled over. They smoked their 'cigarettes' in his car. My boyfriend got back in our car, told me the guy I flagged down was named Mike, and that he was going to stop by our place later that night. My boyfriend at that time was from New York and we had been living on the road for the past year, so I thought it was great he made a new guy friend where we permanently moved, especially since his last new guy friendship ended so tragically.
I had introduced him to my best friend's boyfriend, Daryl. Shortly thereafter, we ended up moving next door to them. Since we often hung out together as couples, my boyfriend and Daryl became friendly and started hanging out together after work. Exactly two months after we moved next door to them, in the early morning of April Fools Day, a gunshot rang out from their apartment. In an instant, Daryl was dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to head. No joke.
Mike would hang out at our house in fits and spurts. Frequently at our house for a few days and then gone for a week or two, sometimes longer. I think he would say he was going to Arizona, or L.A., or somewhere by the west coast when he would be gone. I was very busy with school, first high school, then college, often taking 18-21 credits at a time, so I didn't have time to pay much attention to his whereabouts.
For all I knew, he could have really been doing time in a county jail somewhere. I hate to admit it, but quite often I thought the worst. And in general, I was usually irritated with my boyfriend and Mike because of their nefarious ways. I'm not sure if I would go as far to say they were 'besties'; I think 'partner's in crime' would be a more accurate description. It was hard to figure out who was a worse influence on whom.
As time went on, however, I had grown to speculate he might just be maintaining a friendship with my boyfriend, as an excuse to hang out at our house, so he could watch me. Maybe he was even studying me I thought a few times, which I also thought was a little creepy, but creepy in a sweet way. He was good-looking and charming despite the fact he seldom spoke, but that made for a quiet and polite house guest, leaving me with no ground for complaint. He did make me feel a little nervous, but maybe I made him a little nervous too. Quietly he'd sit, in the corner of the living room, like a fly on the wall, perhaps sometimes even hoping I wouldn't accuse him of being a drug-addicted, street-urchin and throw him out of the house. Strangely, I felt this peaceful sense of serenity when he was around, so I didn't. (Well...maybe once or twice I did.)
Anyway, a couple years down the road, Mike was over at our house and asked if I had heard about an outdoor concert called Lallapalooza. I said, I had heard about Lallapalooza, but I also heard Ice-T or Ice Cube would be playing, so I wasn't sure it would be my cup of tea and hadn't planned on going. (I was really into the Grateful Dead at that time...or any band that played at Woodstock.)
He said he really wanted me to go and see this band called the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I was very reluctant. He reassuringly said he thought I would really like this band if I would just listen to this one song. Besides that, he added, he looks just like one of the guys in the band. He played a music video, a song called Under The Bridge, on the television and I was pretty amazed.
I did really like this "City of Angels" song and one of the guys in the video did look exactly like our friend Mike. Intrigued, perhaps even confused, by the uncanny likeness, I thought he's good-looking enough perhaps he got a job modeling, but not wanting to let it overly-inflate his ego, I coolly said, “Yeah, I guess he does kind of look like you.” Turning my attention from the television to him, I thought I caught him, if just for a split-moment, surprised by my reply. Still, we hated each other very gently, and being very careful not to hurt his feelings by turning down what seemed to me a sort of peace offering, likely with the intention of healing the pain of past hurt and drama, I said, “Okay. I'll go to your concert.”
I was pregnant again though, and despite still being early in the pregnancy I was experiencing pain in my sacroiliac. Many days I could barely walk, or sit up, or sit down without severe pain. I was a little concerned about how appropriate or comfortable it would be for me to go to Lallapalooza in my delicate condition, but he told me a limousine driver would be taking us to the concert and there would be a place to park it on a hill by the stage where I would still be able to see and hear if I was having difficulty walking. I was very excited to hear this and began looking forward to going. Not only did I spend the majority of my time attending class or studying for the next exam, I was not yet twenty-one and most of my friends were older, and unable to attend over-21 venues with them, I usually ended staying home studying.
Finally the day came and a limousine arrived at our house to take us to Lallapalooza. Our limousine driver parked on the hill near the stage as I was told. I was excited to be there and it was pretty chaotic with a lot simultaneous events, so I'm not sure if I have the specifics of the details correct, but I'm 99.9% sure of the gist of it.
If I recall correctly, Mike greeted us shortly after we arrived in limousine, telling us there was an amazing circus sideshow at another stage on the other side of the venue, recommending we go over to see the sideshow as we wouldn't want to miss it. I was actually having a pretty good day in terms of moving about and walking, so we walked over to the side stage. It was called "Jim Rose Circus Sideshow" and there were a variety of strangely amazing performers.
One performer, The Amazing Mister Lifto, was of particular interest, as he acquired the ability to hang heavy weights and large objects from piercings in his nipples and genitals. I think his most impressive feat may have been lifting household appliances, such as a large, heavy television (not today's flat-screen) with his...um, Scorpiohood.
It was another circus performer with whom I was most impressed, however. Matt "The Tube" Crowley. His specialized talent was to swallow a long 7-foot section of tubing. With assistance, Matt “The Tube” Crowley would pour all kinds of liquids such as vodka, Worcester sauce, tomato juice, and Pepto-Bismol down the tube he had swallowed, only to suck the liquid back up with a comically large syringe plunger, then pour it into cups, and give the cups to the audience to drink, which they happily did.
I was quite struck by Matt "The Tube" Crowley's announcement that he used to work as a pharmacist, but decided to quit because he was making a better living working at a circus sideshow. I found this particularly fascinating because my mother is not only a registered nurse, but also a Doctor of Pharmacy (Pharm. D.) specializing in psychiatry, employed by the U.S. Government. A legal drug-dealer, you could say.
Day turned into night, and I was a little upset Mike talked me into going to this concert and was nowhere to be found the entire time. I expected he would be hanging out with us, especially since he was so passionate about me going. The vast majority of the crowd cleared out, leaving a nearly shin-deep sea of garbage where the crowd of people had been. Before they left, many members of the audience had set aflame garbage they had arranged in piles. I remember thinking that when we arrived the venue looked like a green oasis in the city, and with the concert over I was saddened it now looked more like a vast burning wasteland in the bowels of hell. Assuming Mike had already left, I was tired and wanted to go back to the limo, but my boyfriend insisted that we wait for Mike there and he would find us. Surely we wouldn't be hard to find. I was certain by now even the stragglers in the crowd had gone, leaving only a scattering of venue employees. As my boyfriend predicted, Mike hadn't left and seemed to suddenly appear out of nowhere amidst the smoke and fire.
My boyfriend had been talking to a couple people he knew while we were waiting. A few steps away, Mike greeted me and asked how I liked the show. I told him I was so glad he had talked me into going, then I started rambling on about how amazed I was by the pharmacist who swallowed the tube. Or at least I think I was rambling on, because that's when he started to get this blank look on his face.
Changing the subject, I thanked him profusely, and then asked him where he was during the show. He motioned over towards the stage with his eyes and head. Confused, I asked, "What's going on? How did you do this? Did you get a job as a body double for a famous musician or something?"
He never really had the chance to answer. The conversation ended right there because the full cup he was holding suddenly slid out of his hand and fell right on my shoes. I became instantly upset—I was pregnant, it had been a very long day, and these were my only pair of shoes. I demanded to be returned to the limousine and taken back home. On the way back though, in my soggy shoes, it did occur to me that he probably saved me from burning my feet while walking through the cindering trash...
Lindaland
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