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Hello Muddah, Hello Fuddah.

2007-06-16

Originally I was going to title this ‘Breaking up in the Twilight Zone', for reasons that I hope will be obvious, but seeing as the camping motif backdrop, I thought I'd give a shoutout to my man Allan Sherman. Coincidentally, and this has no relation to everything, but I knew a guy at Choate called Alan Spivey; whose parents had either been incredibly humorous, or never heard the song. This I know is wholly irrelevant, and obscure to boot, so I'll drop it.

 

As I'm typing this I'm in a car driving towards Boston, however in the context of this entry this hasn't happened yet. This either blows my mind in a postmodern way, or I'm really hungover.

 

Kate and I were constant game of tug-of-war over what kind of couple we should be. She was of the opinion that we should be in a mature phase of our lives, while I was of a different opinion and thought that there wasn't a problem here. I mean it's not like I was still hanging at frat parties like some retarded Wooderson type character. But if ‘maturing' meant hanging out at B&B's and listening to opera and soft records, then in the words of Joey Ramone I don't want to grow up.

Besides I've always been of the opinion that when you compromise on what you really enjoy doing because society deems something right, you will be miserable. I've seen it. There are people I know who used to tap keg's every Friday in college, and can now be found in wine bars listening to soft jazz on a Friday.

 

Against this backdrop it was with some trepidation that I agreed to go on a camping trip in Connecticut, with some of the yuppie couplings from the magazine she worked at.

I wasn't feeling overly optimistic even before we got there.

 

Firstly I'm indifferent towards camping, and I have difficulty understanding grown people who really dig it.  See, to me camping is one of those things that should fall into the same category as trick or treating. An activity that's fun when you're a kid; but when you're over the age of fifteen and still doing it you should really reconsider doing.

Maybe I'm biased. There's not much about camping I like. Sure I enjoy sitting around a campfire and stuff, but sleeping in a tent bewilders me. I find sleeping on the ground uncomfortable, and I always get claustrophobic inside a tent.

Mosquitoes bother me too; there's always too many damn mosquitoes in the outdoors, and no matter how much repellant I rub on they still manage to bite you.

Still I made a promise to Kate that I'd at least try and enjoy myself. I'd even brought a pocket of tobacco to roll my own cigarettes to get in the mood. I was going to try, I swear.

 

It was worse than I could ever have imagined. Everyone else knew each other intricately, and I stuck out like the metaphorical 800 pound gorilla in the room. O.K in fairness it wasn't like I wasn't like everyone else went out of their way to ignore, exactly the opposite.  It was more like they had these shared work experiences and background that was difficult to break through; and after a couple of hours of asking; ‘sorry who are we talking about,' you just stop trying.

I did end up talking to this guy ,Richard, a charming hipster with a Lincoln beard who reviews CD's and underground music gigs. He knew where I was coming from at least.

‘Oh I totally know where you're coming from. I was in the same situation. I mean these people have known each other for years, and you feel like a total outsider. It does get better though. The more you hang with them the easier it gets.'

There was the rub. Did I actually want to know these people any better?

Richard passed a joint to me. Everyone here seemed to be toking. When exactly did this happen. I remember very clearly the days when smoking reefer was perfectly acceptable when you were in college, but after that it was a definite no go. Maybe that's the secret behind all these camping trips. It's just a way to get high in the woods.

So there I was, drinking continually warming domestic beer and toking away. It was hot, I don't do shorts, so I was wearing jeans, sweating and getting high; not in the mellow pleasant way, but in the bored depressive way. I felt like Harry Osborn in ‘Amazing Spider-Man # 97.'

I discovered that Richard performed double duty as both the world's biggest Tom Waits fan and the biggest Neil young fan. For chrissakes he even liked that god-awful song Young did in the mid-nineties with Pearl Jam. Strangely enough none of this surprised me in the least.

There was also this eight year old girl around, whose parents had brought her here.

Gen X'ers should need a license to have kids.

This little girl kept sitting next to me, and staring with a perplexed expression. Eventually she'd ask my name, at which point I'd say something like George McFly or Hannibal Smith. She'd go back to her parents relay this information to them, they'd tell her I was lying, and she'd come back and stare again. I began to suspect that were giving her hash brownies. If she began staring too long, and her parents noticed, they'd come over, apologize and drag her away. She always wound up coming back, and as I got more stoned, I started to pull faces at her.

I hate kids.

Eventually I went back to our tent to lie down, but I couldn't sleep (he claustrophobia thing again). Instead I took the acid tab Richard had offered me, and eventually fell asleep.

I had this incredibly vivid dream where I was J.R Ewing on top Dallas clock tower taking potshots at people with an automatic rifle. After I'd gunned down a few people, Pat Duffy turned up and tried to reason with me. I shot him in the face. The police sharpshooters started firing at me, and I dived out f the tower. Just before I hit the ground I was transported into the General Lee. It was just like I was on a TV Land version of Quantum Leap. It kept happening over and over (I was the other guy in CHiP's , Charles in Charge, at one stage I even turned into Keith Partridge) until I finally seemingly woke up in a normal domestic scene, laying in a bed I wasn't familiar with. I got up and explored and found myself in a house in rural Connecticut, and I was married to my old high school girlfriend Sarah Lewiston with two kids. I'd woken up in ‘The Ice Storm' or the song ‘Once In A Lifetime.'

Then I woke up in reality.

Katie was laying beside me, looking beautiful.

‘You OK,' she asked.

‘Yeah...Hey, what time is it?'

‘Quarter after midnight. Have a bad dream?'

‘Kind of.'

‘Want to talk about it?'

"Not really. Listen I need to talk to you.'

‘Only after you tell me what your dream was about,' she said propping herself on her elbow.                                                                                                                                                                              

I recounted to her the jist of the dream.   

She laughed softly after I'd finished.  ‘Wow what've you been smoking?'

‘Took some acid.'

‘And it all becomes clear. So, what'd you want to talk about?'

I mustered up all my nerve and blurted out quickly; ‘I think we should break up.'

‘Fine,' she shrugged, ‘we're broken up.'

That was disconcertingly easy. For all the fights we have and all the half-serious threats we've made over the years, she was strangely calm. I didn't even have to invent some lie to spare her feelings or rationalize it to her. I felt weird. The next thing she said hardly improved matters.

‘So do you want to have sex?'

‘We've just broken up. I've heard of pot messing with your short term memory, but this is a record.'

‘So it'll be breakup sex. Does that make you feel any better about it?'

‘I guess. But why exactly?'

‘Because I'm really horny, and you're here.'

I've had plenty of makeup sex over the years (mostly with her), but I've never had proper breakup sex. And like most things there's a reason for this. And here it is: just about every relationship I've ever had end, has done so in such a spectacular fireball of mutual hatred they make Mt. St Helen's look like a Roman Candle. Breakup sex was never an option. I must take credit for these explosions because, well, it'd be impossible not to.

Katie laid back on her sleeping bag as I moved on top of her and slowly unbuttoned her cargo shorts, and slid them down hers silky thighs taking her panties with them. Then I pulled up my Bayside High t-shirt she was wearing just enough to expose her bare breasts. I blew on them gently, causing her to make a kind of soft pleasurable warbling sound, like a sleeping cat. I kissed her on the side of the mouth, and started rubbing her nipples.  Then after that I started to gently make farewell love to her.

She gripped my back hard as I slid inside her, and kissed my chest as I held her tightly, before pinning her arms to the ground as I approached orgasm.

I laid down next to her for about ten minutes before I left the tent. She was asleep by then, and I headed beyond the campsite to get some air and cool down.

I suddenly felt empty and hollow. I lit a cigarette and smoked it, and then another. I was considering lighting a third when she approached me and sat down cross-legged beside me.

‘Hi,' the little girl said. ‘What're you doing?'

‘Nothing,' I replied, ‘I couldn't sleep.'

‘Me too,' she bubbled. ‘Mommy said it was because I drank too much Coca-Cola. What's your real name?'

I laughed slightly under my breath.

‘What's yours?'

‘Nah-ah, I asked you first.'

‘Dom,' I replied lighting the cigarette.

‘I'm Charlotte. Hi.'

‘Hi. Isn't it kind of late for you to be up?'

‘Yeah I was already awake. I watched you get out of your tent. Who are you?'

‘I'm a friend of your Mom and Dad.'

‘How come I never saw you before?'

‘You ask a lot of questions, you know that.'

‘Yeah my teacher Miss Jenkins says that. That I ask more questions than anyone else in class...Do you know Miss Jenkins?'

‘No,' I said half-laughing under my breath again. ‘Where do you go to school Charlotte?'

‘At Dalton.'

‘Wow, I know a guy who went to Dalton.'

He face lit up. ‘Oh maybe I know him.'

‘I don't think so. He went there a long time ago. He's my age.'

‘Oh,' she sounded disappointed. ‘What do you do?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘What job do you do? My daddy works at a magazine; do you work at a magazine?'

‘No. I'm a writer.'

‘Writer...writer...like book. Do you write books?'

‘Sometimes.'

‘I like to read. Sometimes mommy reads to me.'

‘What does she read to you,' I asked rubbing my eyes.

‘Lemony Snicket, sometimes she reads Ronald Dahl. Do you know him?'

‘Sure.'

‘Right now she's reading me Alice In Wonderland.'

‘Wow those are good books, do you like them?'

‘I like Alice In Wonderland most. It's funny, I like the Mad Hatter.'

‘Yeah I like that one too.'

I laid back and stretched out with a tired groan.

‘Are you ok?'

‘Sure.'

‘You look sad, are you sad,' she said laying on her belly next to me and looking straight into my face.

‘I broke up with my girlfriend.'

‘You have a girlfriend?'

‘Well not anymore obviously.'

She laughed girlishly.

‘Is she here?'

‘sure.'

‘What's her name?'

‘Katie.'

Her eyes widened in excited recognition.

‘She's beautiful.'

‘Yeah,' I said wistfully.

‘I think she's really pretty. Why did you break up with her? Don't you love her?'

‘It's not that.'

‘So why?'

‘it's kind of hard to explain.'

‘I think you should go back with her if you love her,' she nodded decisively.

‘Cute kid,' I said and rubbed her head messing up her hair.

After that she made a purposeful deal out of straightening her hair back up.

After she finished that she got up and said; ‘I'm sleepy. I think I'll go back to bed.'

‘O.K then.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘About what?'

‘You breaking up.'

‘Me too.'

‘O.K goodnight then.'

‘Night Charlotte.

She ran away into the darkness and back into her tent, and I started to feel sleepy too.

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Elvenbeads (2007-06-17)
It's nice the way that you almost feel as if you're right there with you the whole time. I'll read through the rest later. ~Blessed Be

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