catfish 30

 Just something to chew on a bit over the weekend along with the latest chapter of Catfish.  I was writing a letter to an old friend and I wanted to express something and this is the way it came out.

When I paint in the morning and I am listening to my music, I get this feeling like the way I felt way back when, I've targeted it to between 66 and 71, the draft was tailing me, I was working shitass jobs if at all, often broke, was drunk a whole lot, not much to recommend it, but there was that feeling.  I'm not a spiritual guy by any means, but back then I still felt there was Something, the secret of life, falling in love, maybe just hanging with really cool people. I don't know, Something that would explain everything and put me on the right track. 

Not that I am unhappy with the way my life has gone since that time.  I have had more good times than bad times, things have always been interesting enough, it's been okay.  But I have been having this fantasy of late where I finish my beer, brush my teeth, say goodnight to the kitties, and lie down on the futon and drift off, and the next thing I know Somebody is shaking my arm and I am in my bed at 501 E Healey in Champaign, and when I sputter, but, but, the mysterious stranger, laughs and says, "Oh forget all that shit, that was just a long strange dream, now get up and get dressed, the Wigwam bar will not tend itself."  

I'd go for it.  

Back in that those days, I often had that feeling like I was missing something, I couldn't say what it was but I'd know it when I found it.  But I never found it of course.  I gradually thought about it less and less, and now I am pretty sure it never existed, though the illusion comes back to my when I am painting and listening to the music of my youth.  I'm pretty sure that life is meaningless and it seems to me that the goal of the artist is to create the illusion that it isn't.

Well you can make of that what you will.  You can, in a phrase I have become fond of of late, like it or lump it.

“So what did you think?” Gina wanted to know that Sunday night when I slid into the stool next to her.

Kind of a strange thing for her to ask.  I had no idea that she was keeping up with the softball team.  “Tell you the truth, I thought that Tiger was just some wino, but damn he sure can pitch, and those Tinkers and Evers, kind of odd guys if you ask me, but they sure can play ball, I think we might have a great team.”

“That’s great,” she answered, but not very enthusiastic, “But I’m wondering what you thought of the apartment.”

“Oh that, I thought it was great, just great.”

“So you had a good look at it then,” she purred. 

“Uh?”

“Like you said you would Tuesday night,” and here her fingers which had interlaced with mine when I had slid in tightened.  Tuesday night, had I said something like that?  Seemed like I might have.  Damn.

“Sure, sure, I had a look at it, looked good, looked great.”

“So when can you move in?”

“Well actually, I just walked by it.”  Actually I hadn’t even done that.  There was all that Tiger stuff back at the bunkhouse, and then practice and then Friday and Saturday night at the Great Wall, a couple pretty good nights with the guys who’d been kicked off the team not pissed off at all, but kind of celebrating never having to go to practice again and buying rounds.

And what the hell had I been thinking because here was Gina, just a signature on a lousy piece of paper away from our big first night after all those doors closed in my face, already untangling her soft pink fingers from mine and turning away.

“Gina it’s just-“

“Just what?”

And she is angry, but anger is good, it’s something, and I reach back, words don’t fail me now, and I say, “I just didn’t want to rent a place without you seeing it first.”

Sounded good, maybe just a little bit hokey.  But hokey can work in your favor sometimes.

She turned back to me slowly, “Really?” she wanted to know, and I could hear a little skepticism in her tone.

 Really, really,” I assured her, “absolutely.”

 We’ll look at it tomorrow then,” she said.

 Absolutely,” I answered.

 That Monday after work I was urging Ron to drive faster, even though his driving always scared me a bit, “C’mon let’s pass these slowpokes, already.”

 "Damn, what’s your hurry?”

 “Well, I gotta see this guy about an apartment.”

 “You’re getting an apartment?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Well good for you.  So you’re moving out on your buddies at that bunkhouse?  It’s about time, those losers.”

 “They’re not losers, they’re good guys.”

 “Have it your way.  Who’s this we then?”

 “Well Gina, me and Gina.”

 “Gina, that cocktease?” he snorted, “I thought she had the hots for your buddy Itch.”

 Okay I’d talked to him about Gina a little, long ride to and from the big job every day, got to talk about something, so maybe I’d left myself open for that crack.  Didn’t like it though.  Didn’t grace his comment with an answer.

 “Hey little buddy, didn’t mean anything.  Not my kind of broad, but she does have some good tits on her, it’s about time you were getting into, uh –“  and he held himself back here, “Into making sweet love to her.”

 The way he said it he might as well have said, “her pants.” But still he had shown a little restraint, and we were both men, and working the big job, so I responded, “That’s my plan.”

 And here he pulled out from behind that slow pickup truck and went past it and the minivan in front of that at which point he should have pulled in, but held on to pass another couple vehicles.  “Just be careful,” he said.

 “Careful?” I asked as we slid into the right lane just before the honking semi came around the bend.

 “Well next thing you know she’ll be wanting to buy furniture, and then she’ll decide it’s more economical to for the two of you, and you’ll be two of you by then, if she just moves in, and then as long as you’re living together you might as well tie the knot.  Know what I mean?”

 That buying furniture thing didn’t sound too good, that moving in part didn’t seem so bad, but that tying the knot thing, kind of like that semi coming around the bend.