christ666's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- cacophony I suppose Mariah had some beauty about her. Standing just short of five feet, she appeared to be a petite, athletic sort regardless of her height. She looked you in the eyes when she spoke, but a lot of the time it had a condescending lifted eyebrow, as if you're language is either too offensive or lacking importance. She was blonde, which fed my continuing prejudice that most bitter women were blondes. Maybe it wasn't the case, but she certainly wasn't helping it. As friend and roommate to Morgan, however, I had to play my cards politely, or else be snuffed of any chances with her. The hobbit-woman looked at me as if for the first time. Does she really not remember who I am? "Who are you?" she asked bluntly. Typical. "We had the same classes together in high school," I replied. "Are you Jeff?" "Uh, close. Michael." I wasn't sure if I was able to mask my seething. "Oh, right. Michael." Her pleasant smile was a bit too pretentious to cover her unpleasant personality. She, like many other humans, found a way to portray themselves as above the petty bullshit of high school drama, but secretly was just as much the immature brat that she was five years ago. I wish I could say that I wasn't the same, but I was actually worse. "So what have you been up to?" I asked. "Right now I'm working my way through school. I work as a teacher's aide for the Meridian school district." "Oh, and you're at school? What are you studying?" I don't remember if I smiled or not. Most likely I was glancing around the room for the chance to get out of this conversation. "Music performance. I guess I never really grew out of singing, so I've been doing that almost twenty-four/seven," she said, and I noticed a tone in her voice and choice of wording that I could tell she was already bored with this conversation herself. "I try to try out for every musical as well as regional competitions. And I sing for my church on Wednesdays and Sundays." Ugh... religious too. Suddenly, I remembered her rants in class during one of our mock legislation assignments. A friend and I came up with a faux bill that legalized gay marriage. To put it delicately, her God didn't allow such things, and she was pretty passionate about it. I never found myself bound to faith and worship, probably because of my assortment of friends and peers. My parents were Christian, though we never went to church, and so I was never exposed to indoctrination in my youth. Though my father surely brought politics home when he discussed liberals and their betrayal to moral values, he never really brought God home to the living room. I feel I benefited from this because it gave me my own mind to make up. I ended up becoming agnostic, probably because I was too lazy to commit myself to faith or atheism. I had encountered a breif period where I sought for spiritual enlightenment. As I had many diverse friends, one was a devout baptist, and invited me several times to his church's youth group. I went a couple times enjoying myself in moderation, until one of the pastors gave a fire and brimstone speech meant to discourage us kids from listening to rock music and dressing in blasphemous clothing. For some reason, I didn't want to believe in a god who didn't like Puma Suede shoes. Being here with Mariah brought me back to that church, and hostility was too great to ignore. Maybe Morgan wouldn't care how I treated this lovely christian. "It's been great so far. I've got lots of offers for different stuff around Boise, so... What do you do now?" She inquired. "I work for an abortion clinic in Caldwell. Business was slow for a little while, but since the high school stopped giving out condoms for safe sex, we've seen a boost in our clientele." I smiled with pride, and I could hear Sven, Anthony, and Leaf laughing next to me. "You're not serious are you??" "Why? You need an appointment? You should really stop by. Right now we're doing two for one. Buy the first abortion, and get the second for free." "That's sick. How could you work for such a place?" "Well I get an employee discount, and I've kind of been needing it." "Oh my god," she said, leaving abruptly. I shouted after her, "Say hi to Jesus for me!" I turned to my friends and grinned at my personal victory at an old rival. Of course, this satisfaction would slowly dissolve into self disgust at my inability to let go of the teenager inside of me. Maybe I'm too cynical, but for the time being, I was not going to let this semi-euphoria escape me. Maybe tonight would turn out to be a good one. "You guys wanna smoke?" I asked the three. They nodded, and followed me out to the spacious backyard which was filled with more victims of debauchery. Some of these people looked barely over seventeen. When did I become the guy who visited teen parties? When did we lose our integrity as adults, only to hide it forever as we try and fit in with the younger crowd? Younger crowd, I thought to myself. These fuckers were us once. And I suppose in a way, we still are. This only exacerbated my need for a cigarette. Anthony and Leaf pulled out their vices casually, Lucky strikes and Camel Reds respectively. Steve asked me for a smoke, but I only had one. We struck a deal to share it so long as we split some vanilla tobacco with his pipe later in the evening. I ignited my zippo lighter and held the flame against the cigarette. The yellow enveloped the paper, turning it to black while the strands and leaves of tobacco illuminated into a peach like glow. I took a drag, sucking the smoke into my mouth, only to let it glide up into my nostrils. The heaviness of the smoke filled my lungs, and I passed the cancer stick to Sven. He enjoyed the bad habit as much as I did. Smoking was more than just habit, you see. It was a culture, state of mind. Maybe even a religion, if you will. I've heard the stories of emphysema, and obstructive pulmonary disease. We all know the health risks, and we acknowledge the severity of them all. But myself, I advocate smoking not just as a way to set yourself apart from others, but also welcome the thought of a gruesome death. Some smokers agree on the bad smell, or disgusting sickness that comes with it. They're all cowards and traitors to the addiction. Smoking was grand. It was nirvana. It gave you something to do, relaxed you after sex, suppressed your appetite, as well as cause blindess, lung cancer, and many serious diseases. All worth it. "Still working at the hospital?" Leaf asked me. "Yeah. Except now I've tried to make an effort to actually work full time, as opposed to being a full time employee who worked once or twice a week." "What are your hours like?" "Seven p.m. to seven a.m. Four days a week." "Christ," Anthony exclaimed, "I work ten hours a week at the restaurant and even I feel like I'm wasting away in capitalism." "You get used to the shift after a while," I shrugged. "Although, plenty of people are more qualified for healthcare than me, based on patience alone." "What have you been doing there lately?" "Right now I'm sitting for a schizophrenic on the mental health floor." "Well that shouldn't test your patience at all," Sven said sarcastically. He handed the cigarette back to me. I felt depressed having to limit my smoke to such a finite amount. "When we gonna do another show?" Leaf asked Sven and me. "As soon as you guys are up for it," Sven said. "It's hard having to work out decent jams between Caldwell and Boise." This was true. Four a few years, Anthony, Leaf, Sven, and myself have been performing every so often as a jazz group with influences from gypsy swing, bebop, and various composers like Mose Allison, Django Reinhardt, and the great Tom Waits. Getting to create music with these gentlemen was behind only the experience of playing these compositions in front of a crowd. The effect is invigorating, similar to smoking... minus the ash smell. Leaf finished his cigarette, putting it out in the grass. "Well, I'll be on a break from school for a bit, we might try and get together then." "Any ideas?" I asked. "A smooth version of Iron Maiden comes to mind." "Brilliant." "Where would we play this time?" Sven asked. "I thought about taking a road trip next month. Maybe we could play in Seattle." Anthony mentioned. "I don't know if I can get time off work," I said morosely. "Fuck you and your fucking job, Michael. You needn't put so much effort into a career that you hate. You're only twenty-three you know!" He shouted humorously. "Our census has been running high at the hospital. I don't even know if I can request any time off." "This job of yours is affecting all of our friendships. You know when the best times of my life were? When you were unemployed. Why do you have to ruin the good times with your job, huh Jobsy?" I laughed at his hilarious outburst. Thinking of playing in public and writing new material did spark a longing for escape from this strange depression I was going through. Maybe it would do me some good. Hell, it would probably do marvelous things. The plucking of the coiled guitar strings and the smell of fresh rosin on the bow of my viola. "All right, I'll make it work," I smiled. "Damn right you will," Anthony replied. But my attention was carried elsewhere. Through the glass of the sliding door that led back into the house, I saw the familiar visage of perfection, creating the warmth and fluttering sensation in my stomach. I felt like a school girl, bewitched by the charms of the quarterback. How did she have this affect on me? By the mere sight of her, I'm reduced to the inadequate shell of a man, pleading for a chance, and opportunity to prove myself enjoyable. Morgan was pouring herself a drink in the house. 3:30 a.m. - 2009-08-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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