"DECEMBER BOYS" PART SEVEN: A PILGRIMAGE ON A TIMELESS NIGHT (4th section)

  

DECEMBER BOYS

"A PILGRIMAGE ON A
TIMELESS NIGHT" 

(4th section)

     The triumvirate emerged onto the top of Bascom Hill, wrapped in the crisp embrace of a cool Spring Saturday morning as the sunlight splintered through the tress to gently settle itself upon the morning dew graced grass. The invigorating breeze became a source of cleansing to Mariah Esposito as the clear air filled her lungs to give herself measured breaths but it also released the cobwebs of the night before to make way for her determination to find, confront and ultimately throttle Josie Fagen. If there happened to be any interference with the airwaves of her anger, it came from the two boys who flanked her, obviously coasting on the waves of their own fumes and lunacy. At any other time, and definitely in the very near future, Mariah would remember this morning with a gratitude that would sometimes render her completely speechless. That these two boys, one of whom she didn’t even know, cared for her safety so guilelessly to watch over her and ensure she was protected and vindicated, reached her heart in ways to counteract the callousness of Josie’s inconsiderate actions. But for now, Mariah compulsively stroked and brushed her mane towards and away from her ears, as if to bat away an annoying gnat but to actually quiet the increasingly raucous laughter that erupted from Craig and Rhett, seemingly as often as the plants and flowers budded from the earth all along both sides of the hill.

     “Oh my God!” shouted Craig, nearly halfway down the path. “There was this time last year when Jon and I were coming back from State Street. We were heading up the hill and then, there was this girl, who was obviously heading out for the night, all dressed up in hot pants and heels strutting down the hill. When all of a sudden, the gnomes under the earth pushed up the ground and baby girl did the ‘Stop, Drop and Roll’!”

     “Oh shit!” sputtered Rhett.

     “She totally just fell out!”

     “And that was funny to you?” Mariah somehow seemed to appear to give each of the boys a disapprovingly serpentine sideways glance which immediately made Craig re-think the timing of his story. Perhaps it should’ve been something to save during a more private moment with Rhett but hoping to save face, Craig began to backpedal…sort of.

     “Well, you see, this girl was probably from the Virgin Vault.”

     “The what?!” asked Mariah sharply.

     “Ummm…I mean, Liz Waters Hall.”

     “They sometimes call it the Virgin Vault,” interjected Rhett.

     “Why?” challenged Mariah with surprising alacrity.

     “Uh…I dunno,” muttered Craig sensing and fearing her disappointment with him. “It’s just a stupid name.” If Craig were able to force his baseball cap over the fullness of his skull, he would’ve done just so at this moment. Unfortunately, Mariah wasn’t quite finished but fortunately, this was the most he had had the opportunity to hear her low, slow, honeyed voice.

     “OK, so I am to understand that this girl, from the dorm, nicknamed probably by some guy who was thankfully turned away by what I would think would be every girl who lived there, was minding her own business to go out on a Friday night stumbles on this hill and you and your roommate just laughed at her? Didn’t you help her?”

     “Hey Judge Wopner, it’s cool. It’s cool!” quipped Rhett.

     “No, it’s…not quite like that,” Craig addressed Mariah. “I mean—she certainly didn’t appear to be someone who was in any sort of dire need.” Craig imagined a cartoon aeroplane in a determined slow descent with each word he spoke. “I mean, she tripped and fell and rolled and popped back up and walked off to State Street without one look back.”

      “And exactly why was this funny to you?”

      “Mariah, lay off! Haven’t you ever laughed at someone who slipped on the ice or anything?” asked Rhett. “What’s the big deal?”

     Again, Mariah gave each of the boys her disapproving serpentine sideways glance and with utter disappointment, she gravely announced through exhalation, “Boys will be boys, I guess.” With that, the topic was closed and the threesome continued down the hill in complete silence.

     By the time the three set their collective feet upon the soil of Library Mall, it was apparently clear that aside from the stray early morning joggers and the ritual set-up of the famous fruit stand between Memorial Library and University Book Store, the student body of the University of Wisconsin-Madison, was asleep. This observation was echoed by the sights of the nearly stopped tower clock and the dormant fountain, the Mall’s centerpiece and grand communal area for students, tourists and small children. The activity upon State Street was the inverse of the night before. The only sounds were of their soft footsteps upon the pavement and the morning breeze through their ears, which carried the faint stench of spilled beer congealed with piss as they passed by alley ways decorated with crumpled TYME receipts and vomit stains. As they silently approached the Capitol, they could begin to detect sounds that were not of their making and once the Capitol was in full view, they were exposed to a sight heretofore unseen to each of them.

     “God! It looks like the whole city of Madison is here,” uttered Rhett. “What is this?”

     “I wonder if this is the Farmer’s Market,” said Craig. “I’ve heard people talk about it but I’ve never seen it. Look at all of these people! Let’s check it out!”

     After crossing the street to join the stream of their Madisonian bretheren, a new threshold had also been crossed and there was no turning back. Sometimes laugher is best when it is completely exposed and fully relinquished from its holder and shared with the world. A laughter beyond hearty or even a bellowed guffaw. A laughter that is uncontainable, uncontrollable and reduces the person to a puddle of wheezes, clutched sides and a face full of tears. Craig and Rhett’s recent silence in reverence to Mariah’s rage had been lost the moment they spotted a large sign by one of the food carts advertising their cheese curds—“OUR CHEESE CURDS ARE SO FRESH THEY SQUEAK!!”

     That was it.

     The simple thought of something edible squeaking to the touch to determine its ultimate freshness and quality to the consumer was a line that crossed the boys further into their sleep deprived mind state. After that moment, and much to Mariah’s discontent, everything became funny.

     Designs upon balloons, local politicians hawking their latest cause, jewelry and clothing made from hemp all provided a feast for their folly. Passing along the juggling antics by the local children’s performer known only as the Truly Remarkable Loon, Rhett dryly, ironically and predictably uttered to Craig, “Damn! That loon is just…truly…remarkable.”

     By the time they happened along a group of Peruvian musicians (all performing a collection of guitars and pan flutes and backed by a rhythm track infectiously flowing through a boom box), Craig, through choked strains of laughter proclaimed to an equally dilapidated Rhett, “You know John Tesh wants his house band back by 4:00.”

     If the circumstances of the situation were any different, Mariah would’ve easily allowed herself to join in the communal spirit of her now nearly useless protectors. Once the passage of time had created a fair share of distance between herself and this moment, Mariah Esposito would exhale breaths of thankfulness concerning Rhett’s friendship and especially, the thoughtfulness and generosity of Craig Hughes, still essentially a complete stranger. But for now, each footstep through the sea of culinary patrons was consumed with venom directed towards Josie Fagen.  As if on the predetermined theatrical cues of actor placement and lighting, the Saturday morning crowd of happy families, artists, and peddlers all seemed to part, like a curtain, to reveal the sight of Josie Fagen, complete with croissant and steaming morning coffee, staring upwards at the figure of Troy Blake.

     Standing at slightly over six feet tall, the first sight of Troy Blake was an admittedly impressive one. He stood as if knowingly and proudly on display for celebratory public viewing with his clear, dark eyes, smooth skin without a hint of stubble, high cheek bones and perfectly slicked and coiffed black hair, with strategically placed strands hanging into his eyes like Bryan Ferry readying himself  to sing “Avalon” --just for you! His expensive clothing also purposefully meant for public viewing, yet rumpled and wrinkled to belie their cost, hung as lovingly on his frame as clothing appeared to on Craig’s idol John Cusack. Even the loafers looked as if they were made to rest specifically on those feet and only those feet. To only perceive of Troy Blake as some glamour boy was corrected by his obvious care of his thin yet firm athletic physique courtesy of exercise regiments five days a week at a Lakeshore gymnasium and vigorous touch football with friends. For a split second, the dither and din of the Farmer’s Market appeared to phase into a momentary hush to allow all the proper silence to witness a sight as attractive at this. Even the unrestrained laughter from Craig and Rhett (despite himself), and Mariah’s swelling fury, held a pause…but not for long.

     “JOSIE!!” shouted Mariah, shocking everyone out of their reverie.

     “Oh, hey Mariah,” began Josie as if the entire events of the night before had never happened. “Surprised seeing you here at the market. Wanna get a croissant? I’m not even remotely finished with this one and I know that I just have to get another. They are just so perfectly flaky and buttery.” And then for a final delectable effect, Josie uttered a satisfied, “Mmmmm! So good!”

     “Where were you last night? What happened last night?” asked Mariah with steady unceremonious brusqueness to match her approaching footsteps and also showing that she was not at all deflected by Josie’s invitation.

     “Um…this is Troy!” Josie smiled as if the introduction explained all Mariah needed to know.

     “Hi Mariah!” greeted a positively beaming Troy as he extended his hand. To Mariah’s surprise, he had a disarming voice that was a little higher in pitch that she had imagined he would sound and definitely warmer sounding than the “unctuousness” of Rhett’s description.      

     Not wanting to be rude, as was her upbringing, she shook Troy’s hand briefly and returned her gaze to Josie. “How could you leave me like that?”

     “Leave you?! You seemed to be just fine and truth be told…I didn’t want to cramp your effortless and obvious show stopping style as there were at least several guys just eyeing you.”

     “I didn’t come here to meet guys. I came here to see you! Where did you even expect me to sleep last night? You didn’t even exactly leave me your room keys.”

     “Oh…,” started Josie with a delighted purr and a wink in her voice, “…well…I thought you’d find your way.”

      “Fuck you!” screamed Mariah as angry tears popped from her eyes and she took a few more determined steps towards Josie.

      “Whoa! Take it easy, sweets,” started Josie with a detached calmness and was that even a hint of irritation? “It’s a safe campus. Nothing would’ve happened to you.”

     “How would you know? Did you know all of those guys there?” shouted Mariah taking another step. “How would you fucking know?!” Another step.  “Did you talk to them?” Two more steps. “Are they all your friends?” One more step. “Did you tell them that despite their alcoholic rave they were specifically instructed to not rape me last night?!” (By this point, Troy Blake had slyly taken about three strategic steps away from Josie. “You left me!” shoved Mariah into Josie’s shoulder. “Why did you do that?!”

     “Mariah,” began Josie in a quietly frustrated tone, like a parent not wanting to show anger to their child but definitely wants to convey that the subject at hand is a closed one. “This is college. Not high school and if you’re gonna make it here, or anywhere else for that matter, you’re just gonna have to get over it and grow up a little.”

     Mariah Esposito’s proverbial last straw had been broken as she quickly and violently upturned Josie’s coffee all over her face and then proceeded to give her one powerful right cross against Josie’s hot, wet check. Mariah then rapidly turned on her heel and headed back towards Rhett and Craig, who were now holding each other upright with laughter at Josie’s momentary comeuppance and Troy’s weak support as he comforted Josie while strategically not getting his clothes stained. The boys eventually pulled themselves together enough to follow Mariah’s mane back to State Street only to see Mariah whip-crack her body once again back in Josie Fagen’s direction.

     “What?! Do you want the other side now?” said Josie angrily as she still dried herself off.

     “Look, I’m sorry about all of this,” Troy inserted. “I didn’t know anything about any of this. Is there anything I can…”

      “Shut up!” hurled Mariah with a voice that surprised herself and even felt sorry for immediately after she spoke. “Give me your keys!” she ordered Josie.

     “What?”

     “Give me your keys!!”

     Josie slowly fished inside of her pockets for hey dorm keys and once slightly in view, Mariah snatched them, headed back towards State Street with Rhett and Craig in tow and leaving a chapter of her life behind with a throbbing left cheek and soaked in hazelnut scented coffee.
Copyright 2015 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

"DECEMBER BOYS" PART SIX: A PILGRIMAGE ON A TIMELESS NIGHT (3rd section)

DECEMBER BOYS

"A PILGRIMAGE ON A TIMELESS NIGHT" 

(3rd section)

Rhett and Craig returned to the vibrating Friday night decadence of Ogg Hall for a brief lavatory pit-stop to find Rhett's aggressively blinking answering machine light awaiting them. Craig descended to Rhett's roommate's bed while Rhett pressed the button to hear the synthetic voice coo, "You have ONE new message." Then, the boys heard the luxurious voice of Mariah Esposito, yet it was cloaked in a mixture of fear and irritation as it fought its' way through the wall of voices and drunken chants of "Red Red Wine.”

     "Rhett, I really hope you hear this message soon. Ummm…Josie…uh…Josie left me. I think she's with some guy and I don't know where she is. Frankly, I really don't know where I am…"

     "YOU'RE IN KRONSHAGE!!!!!" offered a drunken fool.

     "You get that? I'm in Kronshage! Please come find me. I don't know how to get to your dorm."

     "BEEP!" said the answering machine for final emphasis on the situation.

     "Kronshage?" began Craig rising from the bed. "That's Lakeshore. That's my place. Let's go get her!"

     And with that, the two boys immediately left Rhett's dorm room in pursuit of Mariah Esposito.

     Despite the late spring evening chill coming from Lake Mendota through the Kronshage Residence halls windows, Mariah Esposito silently simmered by the stereo, doing her very best to appear unfriendly and avoid contact with a roomful of drunken strangers, pondering just how things went wrong on this night. No, that's not true. Mariah knew exactly how things went wrong on this night. The same way events tended to sway away from Mariah whenever Josie was involved. The true question was why she continued to allow herself to remain on the shallow end of Josie Fagen's constant pursuit of happiness. Like everyone else who came into contact with Josie Fagen, Mariah was not immune to her spell. The two girls met in the fourth grade and became fast friends much to the chagrin of Mariah's fiercely hard-working and cautious parents, Frank and Carmen Esposito. Even at this precise moment, Mariah clearly heard their voices chanting a lifetime's worth of mantras in her brain yet the one which poked through the morass of homilies was, "Always know where you are and always know who you are with!" I guess I screwed that one up on both counts, she cursed to herself.

     It was so much fun in the beginning. Where Mariah's family, while loving, was more serious and at times, exuded an immense sense of over-protectiveness, partially due to the fact that Mariah was an only child, the trajectory of life she was placed onto was dry at best, strikingly rigid at worst and unshakable all of the time. The arrival of Josie Fagen gave Mariah a window into life's possibilities and options. Mariah's entrance into Josie's world was comparable to Dorothy blending into a world of color after living in black and white in "The Wizard Of Oz.” When they first met, Josie Fagen emanated an essence of sophistication coupled with an intense yet world weary curiosity that bordered on the exotic to Mariah Esposito's nine year old eyes and she had felt so fortunate that her interest had been reciprocated. Mariah was also attracted to the subtle differences in their lives, for instance, Josie had two siblings where she herself had none, Mariah lived in a house while Josie lived in a high rise apartment, and then there were Josie's parents, who were no-less hard working but so much more relaxed than her own parents. During one visit to Josie's home, Mariah nearly keeled over to hear a swear word loudly and somewhat proudly emerge from the mouth of Daniel Fagen, Josie's younger brother. He arrived home after racing home from his moments-ago cancelled baseball practice drenched and muddy. He shook himself off and wiped his feet with an exaggerated sense of frustration and for the exclamation point of this moment, Daniel Fagen shouted, "Shit!” in the way pre-pubescent kids utilize profanities when they are more than obviously trying them out for size.

     "Daniel, is there something wrong?” asked his father Walter as he calmly sliced cucumbers for the Fagen family's evening salad.

     "Dad! I just got so damn soaked getting home from practice!” bellowed Daniel petulantly drying himself. "I'm just a damn drowned rat!” he concluded for further emphasis.

     "Just go into the bathroom and clean up. There's no need for dramatics,” instructed his father with a bemused smirk. Daniel stomped his way to the family bathroom and that was that.

     Meanwhile, Mariah and Josie had been quietly going through a round of backgammon upon Daniel's profane entrance. After witnessing the proceedings, Mariah's mouth hung open as if she had been slapped moments ago and was straining for words to form in her brain to travel to her mouth which was waiting to utter them.

     "Josie?" Mariah finally whispered.

     "What?" Josie whispered back.

     "Daniel said 'Shit!'" said Mariah still shocked.

     "And?” asked Josie unmoved.

    "No, he said "Shit!"

    "And?" asked Josie with a hint of irritation of Mariah simply not getting to the point of this discussion.

     "My parents would kill me if I ever said anything like that at home," Mariah finally explained.

     "Oh,” uttered Josie, finally understanding Mariah's tone of disbelief. "My parents let us swear only if we understand what the words mean and if we don't abuse the privilege,” she explained humorlessly and with a flick and flair of her wrists as she rolled the dice and swiftly made her final moves in their game, Josie announced, "I win."

     When Mariah cautiously recounted this tale to her father, Frank Esposito began to laugh violently while looking at his impressionable daughter as a person who had obviously lost whatever God given sense was given to her. "A privilege?!" he roared. "My dear, people that partake in a liberal use of profanity are people who have nothing of value to say and they also have nothing of value for you to listen to," he began. "I truly and deeply question the judgment of Josie's parents but that is their house and it is not my place to judge them. But in this house, you will not ever use such language!" said Frank with rising force in his voice. And then for the coup de grace, "Your Mother and I did not waste our time raising a daughter to utilize unintelligible speech at home or in public. The way you speak to people informs them of what kind of a person you are. Remember that." And another Esposito family homily had been spoken and duly noted by Mariah.

     Mariah Esposito was not a child who was in desperate need to rebel against her parents. On the contrary, her relationship with her parents was a foundation of love and support in her life and one she would willingly and happily continue to draw from even deeply into her adulthood. Yet, at this point in her pre-pubescent and eventual adolescent life, she did want to stretch the confines to a degree and Josie was the perfect outlet to experiment and test the boundaries with, in initially (and relatively) safe formats, like faking illnesses to hang out in the school's nurse's office or returning late to homeroom from gym class due to playing in the snow.

     As their exploits increased in daring (or stupidity, depending upon whom you asked), there was one adventure in which Josie truly crossed the line. While riding the elevator to Josie's apartment, Josie had stopped the elevator between floors and somehow forced the doors open in order to see what would be on the other side. While all they saw was the gleaming silver of the elevator chamber, Josie did not have the foresight to figure out how to get the elevator doors closed, let alone how to get it started again. Obviously, the two girls were caught, their parents were notified and Mariah was of course destined to make a return trip to the Esposito family pulpit in which she was presented with a lengthy sermon passionately delivered by her Mother with fire and brimstone raging in her incredulous eyes.

     "This Josie Fagen is a narcissistic infant! I honestly do not know what her parents do with her, if anything at all. She's selfish, she carries no impulse control and worst of all, she claims to be your friend when she profoundly cares little to nothing about you. And before you even begin to protest and tell me about how close you are and what a great friend she is, think about what just happened to you in that elevator. What would posses her to stop an elevator between floors?! What would even then further posses her to open the elevator doors?! What if she also decided to push you out to see how quickly it would take for you to hit the bottom?! Like your Father has always expressed to you, you need to always be aware of where you are and who you are with. You have to look out for yourself, Mariah because you cannot depend upon someone else to do it for you especially if you get into trouble. It's simple human nature. People will protect themselves before they protect you and Josie strikes me as someone who will always follow her own path at your expense. I trust you will show much better judgment next time and simply leave. You are smart so be smart and listen to whatever it is inside of you—preferably  my voice in your brain--that tells you when something is wrong and follow accordingly!" Herendeth the lesson.

    

     In Mariah's senior year English class this year, the students had been assigned the classic, Peter Pan. If there was anything about the book that struck Mariah as notable was its' sadness and the somewhat desperate attitude, recklessness and ultimate loneliness of Peter. In fact, this book touched her so much that it was one of very few books she ever re-read. Sitting in Kronshage, being pummeled by the sound of screaming students forcing its way through the music and alcoholic haze and waiting for Rhett's rescue, she wished she could just curl up with that very book at this moment. It would be something to take her away from Josie's inconsiderateness but as she pondered the story, something became glaringly clear in her mind: Josie was her own personal Peter Pan. Maybe Josie wasn't as desperate as Peter and she definitely didn't seem lonely but she was shockingly inconsiderate. Mariah thought of a passage in which Peter, Wendy, Michael and John were flying in the night sky towards Never Never Land and Peter quickly flew onwards, forgetfully leaving his companions behind. As she thought of this sequence, her Mother's sermon from the elevator incident echoed in her brain and finally made complete sense to her. Even so, she decided that she wouldn't tell her parents about this. There was no need to add fuel to their fire against Josie Fagen. She would just have to handle this one herself.

     "Mariah!” shouted Rhett over the slinky chicken scratch guitar and rim shots of "Need You Tonight.” "Are you OK?"

     Mariah nodded in the affirmative yet said nothing as she slowly rose from her seated position, navigated through the room and out into the clear, cool night. Once outside, she noticed Craig from earlier that evening, standing by a tree looking out towards the lake. She surveyed his contemplative nature and decided right then and there to approach him.

     "Hi."

     Startled by her luxurious voice, Craig quickly turned to face Mariah and took a moment to find simple, introductory words to respond back to her greeting. "Uh…Hi." And then to ensure that whatever connection was made didn't immediately fade, he asked, "What happened to you?"

     "Well, we came to check out this party and Josie took it upon herself to ingratiate herself with some really tall, pretty guy. Before I knew it, I couldn't find a trace of her."

"That just sucks!” said Rhett angrily coming upon the scene and not noticing Craig's grimace at his interruption of this moment. "Sometimes I just don’t know why you two are friends because she's always fuckin' with you somehow."

     "It's really beginning to dawn on me too," said Mariah with a newfound knowledge she hadn't completely absorbed. "I'm really tired. Can we go back now? Where is your dorm anyway? What was it called again? Egg Hall?"

     "No. It's Ogg Hall,” Rhett gently corrected.

     "Well…,” began Craig jointly offering his assistance and not wanting to bid farewell to Mariah just yet, "…we could go to my dorm for a while. It's really close and my roommate is away for the weekend anyway. We could get a pizza or something."

     "Lead the way," said Mariah as she began walking away and for a split second, Craig could have sworn that he saw Mariah flash him the swiftest of a thankful smile before she slowly flipped her mane of black hair back over her shoulders.       

     As Craig suspected, third floor Botkin House remained in a mellow state with low lighting, the intense scent of pot in the air and the scene was all set to Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" album as constant soundtrack. "This album is on an endless loop here,” began Craig to his guests. "I highly doubt I will ever listen to this album again after this year is over."

     "I'll go ahead and order some pizza,” said Rhett, making himself useful as he retrieved Craig's room keys and began to make his way into the dorm room.  

     "May I use your bathroom?" yawned Mariah.

     "Of course,” said Craig, motioning to the swing door. "Go ahead. I'll keep watch."

     Gliding past Craig towards the bathroom, Mariah peeked at him briefly through her thick, dark hair and slyly asked, "Now you aren't going to listen are you?"

     "Uh…huh?" Craig stuttered.
     "I was kidding,” teased Mariah, letting him off of the hook. "Thank you."

    Was she just flirting with me? Craig questioned himself. While he thought of himself as being highly perceptive, matters involving the opposite sex always confounded him due to not wanting to presume anything concerning a girl's affections (or lack thereof) but mostly, it was due to his own minimal self-confidence, truthfully feeling that no one like Mariah Esposito would be interested in him anyway. He couldn't put his finger on it but Mariah was very different from most girls he knew. Aside from her glorious voice, he found an element of mystery to her due to her prolonged silences. And then, there was the matter of her wardrobe. It intrigued Craig to see a seventeen year old girl wearing something that was not part of the high school fashions of the day, college thrift store attire (that was much more attune to what Stephanie wore), and she wasn't deliberately trying to stand out in a crowd, begging people to notice her either. In fact, Mariah's style almost had a timeless quality from her long beige skirt, to her smart black boots underneath, to her subtle yet noticeable hoop earrings and oh so comfy looking and slightly oversized sweater. And, Craig noticed, Mariah didn't even really walk. She sauntered with a most attractive stride. Whatever it was and despite his attraction, Craig quickly dismissed the idea that Rhett's high school friend pondered him for even a fraction of a second more than a complete stranger on the street.

     Did I just flirt with Rhett's friend? Mariah wondered to herself as she stepped into the boys' bathroom and momentarily gazed at herself in the mirror. While it was not in her nature to flirt with boys, she had to admit that while she had not been in Craig's presence for much more than an hour since the moment of their meeting, there was something almost inexplicable about him and furthermore, she liked what she saw. He was so different from the boys she knew in school, and that included Rhett, whom she considered to be a good friend but was somehow just another "boy" to her. Through his own silence during their dinner at Pop's Club and his almost meditative stance by the lake a few minutes earlier, she sensed a certain maturity that was lacking in the boys she knew. His silence was attractive to her, at least it was enough for her to wonder just what he was thinking about this evening anyway. He wasn't the most handsome fellow she had ever seen but there was something cute about his collegiate sweatshirt, his glasses and baseball cap and how all of the parts didn't quite fit together on him. It was as if he was still trying to figure out what his "look" would be and that was adorable to her. Maybe I could be the one to help him find it, she mused to herself. Or maybe I'm just tired, she concluded, remembering Josie's slight and cruel forgetfulness. Mariah washed her hands and then looked towards the door to see Craig's watchful silhouette on the other side. After a sweet sight to herself, Mariah Esposito dried her hands, exited the bathroom and decided to show some politeness and officially introduce herself to Craig Hughes.

     "God, she must've been wiped out,” said Rhett.

     "It's gotta be more than a little tiring coming all the way from Minneapolis to see your best friend and subsequently being dumped by said friend for some guy!" offered Craig.

     Within ten minutes of arriving into Craig's room, Mariah descended onto Craig's bunk and quickly fell asleep with the sounds of the radio and Rhett's voice ordering pizza fading into her sub-consciousness.

     "Good idea coming to your room, man,” said Rhett. "She wouldn't have been up to trekking all the way back to Ogg as mad and obviously, as tired as she is. I'll keep checking my messages to see if Josie had the good sense enough to call and even find out what happened."

     "You know, I am still trying to figure out who Josie went off with and I can't come up with a thing. I can't think of guys that fit the description of 'tall' and 'pretty'. Those were her words, by the way."

     After a few moments of thought, Rhett stifled a disgusted snort and as if he just swallowed something unpleasant, he choked out, "Please don't let it be Troy Blake."

     "What is up with him? You really don't like this guy."
     "It's just guys like that make it hard for guys like me,” said Rhett with cocktail of bitter sadness dipped in a vat of truth.

Several hours, a whole pizza and many Dr. Peppers later, with still no contact from Josie Fagen and a sleeping Mariah Esposito on Craig's bunk, Rhett and Craig, on a mixed high of fatigue and caffeine, decided to play a musical game. It involved noting more than vast musical knowledge and a Muzak radio station, the kind of anomaly that broadcasts the popular songs of the past and present but in a soothing-by-way-of-a-frontal-lobotomy instrumental style. The rules of the game were simple: the boys would each take turns guessing the identity of each song within thirty seconds and once someone was not able to determine the song's name and artist, they would then go to sleep and start the search for Josie Fagen in the morning. By 4:00 a.m., Craig and Rhett were still at their game, convulsing heartedly with each increasingly ridiculous musical selection from Ratt's glam-metal offering "Round and Round", as arranged for syrupy strings with a mournful bassoon taking the lead vocal melody to Neil Young's "Like A Hurricane", reconfigured as an organ driven bossa-nova with an archaic drum machine as time keeper (Rhett envisioned a blue-haired octogenarian entertaining her pained grandchildren with this selection). Pandemonium hit around 6:30 a.m. when Lionel Richie's ballad, "Hello" hit the airwaves in the original vocal recording, completely unmolested! "Damn!" spluttered Craig through aching sides and laugh provoked tears. "It's like the Muzak people said, 'There ain't nothing more we can do with this!'"

     "How are they gonna do that to Lionel?" asked Rhett also etching closer to the edge of delirium.

     As a surprise to both of them, there was a soft yet intense sounding knock on Craig's door. Craig and Rhett fitfully attempted to silence themselves to no avail as Craig answered the door.

     The bean-pole, seemingly underfed frame of Mason Gripweed (the proprietor of the endlessly audible "Wish You Were Here") peeked into room with a hint of the rising sun's glow shimmering off of his shoulder length hair.

     "Dude, what's goin' on in here?" he asked with an amiable yet lethargic growl.

     "Sorry man," responded Craig. "Have we been keeping you up?"

     "Not really, man. I've been up all night. It's just we've been hearin' you guys falling all over yourselves and we thought that you decided to cross over to 'The Bakery'."

      "Oh no. I'm still not planning to take that trip. Everything's fine. We'll keep it down though."

     "It's cool." Then noticing Mariah stirring on Craig's bunk, Mason added an embarrassed, "Oh, sorry dude."

     "No man. It's not like that. She visiting the school and her friend ditched her at a Kronshage party last night for...who was that again, Rhett?"

     "Troy Blake," answered Rhett with solemnity.

     "Aw, that guy's a tool!" Mason stated.

     "You know him?" asked Craig.

     "I met him back when I did S.O.A.R. He was an oily little shit, trying to get any kind of brownie points he could scrape up for himself and it's like, 'Dude! It's just a campus orientation. You're not getting graded on this!'"

     "You see?" interjected Rhett. "That is exactly what I am talkin' about with that guy!"

     "So, in a little while," started Craig returning to the subject of the sleeping Mariah. "We're gonna wake her up and look for her friend. But, we'll try to keep it down now."

     "Cool. See ya," exited Mason.

     "What's 'The Bakery'?" asked Rhett.

     "Oh, that's just Mason and the guys' code word for drugs—mostly pot," began Craig. Then, affecting his best Spicoli, "Hey bud! Wanna get baked tonight?" Returning to his normal voice, Craig continued. "It amazes me about that guy. I've known him for two years and he has been high everyday and night and somehow, he is on the Dean's List every semester and in Physics for chrissakes. Sometimes, I'm just strugglin' to get a C and he's over the rainbow getting A after A after A. He's cool though."

     "Uh oh," said Rhett.

     "What?"

     "Listen."

     Rhett and Craig began to once again listen to the radio to notice that a tuba was forcing out a painfully hysterical imitation of the synthetic beat to Run-DMC's "You Be Illin'" and once again, their laughter exploded. But this time, Mariah finally began to wake from her slumber.

     "God! Has that been you guys all night?!" asked a grouchy Mariah. "I felt like I was in a goddamn funhouse! Jesus!"

     "Sorry, Mariah," said Rhett, trying to feebly settle down. It was not common to ever hear Mariah utilize any swear words, so he knew she was in an unusually foul mood. But the aforementioned fatigue, caffeine, and a night long game of "Name That Tune: The Muzak Edition" had made respecting her needs more than a little futile. 
Copyright 2015 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

"DECEMBER BOYS" PART FIVE: A PILGRIMAGE ON A TIMELESS NIGHT (2nd section)

DECEMBER BOYS

"A PILGRIMAGE ON A TIMELESS NIGHT" 

(2nd section)

     On this springtime night, there was no more inviting place to be than Memorial Union. As far as Rhett was concerned, Troy Blake’s party was sloppy seconds compared to the energy and good feelings surrounding Der Rathskeller and the outdoor Terrace tonight. Josie was missing out and depriving Mariah of her first taste this jubilant time. Rhett and Craig sat outside on this evening for an hour or so, listening to the melodic power-pop songs of some band. To Craig, as he sat alternately indulging his inner guitar spirit through finger gestures and tapping his thighs, the music was the perfect soundtrack for a spring night—it completely represented the emotions he had at this time of year. For Rhett, it was more profound. Rhett found himself happily lost in an epiphany. He gazed warmly at the sights of his fellow student body who filled every square inch of the Terrace including the Crayola colored metal chairs that were often claimed as the bounty of late night drunken thefts. Everyone was burning off some much needed pre-Finals Week tension and as Rhett took in this moment, he couldn’t help but to think the students who had been in this very physical and mental spot before him and how many will take his place after him. It was a magical thought filling what he believed to be a magical time and place, not exclusively for himself, but for every person who had ever set foot in the Union during their time in Madison. With that, he laughed as he couldn’t believe that just one year ago, he had graduated from high school. That time was worlds away from this moment. Each year of high school concluded with an event, be it an end-of-the-year dance, a class trip to an amusement park or the prom. It was something that was presented to the students as something to wrap up the turbulence of the completed year in a pretty pink bow (or was is a tourniquet?). Rhett always felt it trivial and false to assume that these experiences felt the same to everyone and the ramifications of not being a part of those events would be filled with life-long regrets. For some, the end of a year in college was anti-climactic. There was no end-of-the-year dance. No set event to tie it all together and apply a false sense of meaning. There was no sameness to any of it. What made Rhett appreciate this moment on the Terrace, peppered with uncertain futures looming closely, was that it felt like a celebratory moment of the unknown. And all of these people chose to be here on this night. It could be argued that high schoolers also chose to be a part of their respective end-of-the-year events but when presented with one opportunity crossed with the societal pressures of not following along, what would you choose? The end of a year in college felt more like life itself, flowing onwards from one situation to the next. This felt more truthful to Rhett. Everyone was deeply intertwined in this moment together. This night felt like the perfect moment of communal spirit and freedom to Rhett, with unknown joys and tragedies awaiting all, and everyone embraced it.

     While Rhett reveled in this moment, the stars began to appear in the night sky over the students and the boats on Lake Mendota and suddenly, a new song began with words that spoke to Rhett’s heart.

                      “We are yesterday

                        We are today

                        We are tomorrow

                        We are timeless

                        We are then

                        We are now

                        We are the future

                        We are timeless

                        We the sorrow

                        We are the pain

                        We are the sunshine

                        We are rain

                        We are love

                        We are hate       

                        We are the future

                        We are timeless…”

     “Woo! Points for obscurity!” exclaimed Craig. “This is a Badfinger song.”

     Rhett nodded and gave Craig a goofy grin that he couldn’t place. This wasn’t just a song originated by some early ‘70’s English band. This was a perfect song for a perfect moment and it belonged to all and it was encapsulated in the shared desires and anxieties of every student, past, present and future.

     A while later, after playing a few futile rounds of “Spy Hunter” in the arcade, Craig sat on a nearby bench and read the Isthmus, grumbling at the self-important so-called reviews of its’ film critic, while Rhett bought a soda. If Craig didn’t already know that Rhett didn’t partake in drugs, he would’ve assumed that Rhett was high. Rhett returned to the benches, drank and grinned to himself. Craig grinned back and resumed his reading as they silently pondered their next move for the night. As Craig finished with the Isthmus and decided to grab the latest Daily Cardinal to see the current installment of the student comic strip, “Badgers and other Animals,” he emitted a subtle double-take at the sight before him.  

     Suddenly sitting next to Rhett was a street prophet of an undeterminable age. And it just about made Craig burst out into laughter to see this member from the seedier corners of Madison, of which characters like the impossibly tiny, hunched over and slow walking bag lady and the infamous Scanner Dan inhabited, cheerfully nodding his head and grinning (the best way anyone can grin with few teeth) at Rhett, who was nodding his head and grinning in response. Craig humorously imagined a new postcard for the Wisconsin Office of Tourism. A framed shot to capture this priceless image. There was, on screen left, Rhett Brazelton, the eager 18 year old college freshman of average height and build, with fair (some would say Aryan due to his German heritage) and slightly feminine features, kissible lips, and shaggy blond hair currently slicked backwards from being tossed by springtime wind. On screen right, the street prophet of undeterminable age. A black man in the truest sense of color. Craig felt that this was the darkest man he had ever seen and he had the roughness of worn leather, as if the skin on his face had been dragged down an endless dirt road in the mythical Mississippi Delta. He wore a beat up leather jacket with ripped army fatigues and on his feet, appeared to be house shoes with the big toes peeking through. Finally, to make the postcard image complete, Craig mentally added the words “Welcome To Madison” and arched them over the two grinning faces. To stop himself from laughing in the presence of this man, he non-chalantly picked up The Daily Cardinal and began to “read.” Too add to the humor of this scene, the street prophet began to speak to Rhett. His voice contained the deep phlegm drenched growl of the down and out. It almost sounded as if his tongue was too large for his mouth.

     “Say man,” the street prophet began. “I’ve had this really bad cold. Been sneezin’ so much I’m ‘bout to blow muh own head off muh shoulders. Sneezin’!” And then for emphasis, he proclaimed, “’Choo! ‘Choo! ‘Choo!!” while rotating his head from left to right for each “’Choo!”. 

     “Well, I’ve kinda had a bit of a cold myself lately,” Rhett politely offered.

     “I can give yuh a little summin’ for that,” said the street prophet as if he had been waiting eternally to unload implied pharmaceuticals on unsuspecting college students. There was nothing sinister in is delivery. He was surprisingly good natured, as if he and Rhett Brazelton had been life long friends and his offer was comparable to say, the offering of a throat lozenge or Kleenex.

     “Uh…no thank you,” answered Rhett. “I’ll be fine.”

     Craig could barely contain himself. Desperately he tried to not be noticed laughing behind his newspaper for fear of offending the generous, narcotic dealing vagrant. 

     “Well, how about ‘cho buddy over there? The one gigglin’ behind that newspaper!”

     Craig gulped and gasped. Did this character also possess X-ray vision or was he a particularly astute judge of character? Craig chose the latter. When one is so visibly ignored, it must be easy to become highly aware of human foibles, Craig pondered. He grinned and almost hearing the cartoon stroke of a violin as he peeked around his newspaper to face the street prophet, Craig choked out a feeble, “Um…no thank you. I’m fine,” to which the prophet responded with a disgustedly knowing, “Uh…huh!” And with a quick lock of their eyes, Craig and the street prophet engaged in a silent acknowledgement that they would each continue their façade; Craig’s ignorance of the exchange through the “reading” of his newspaper and the prophet’s ignorance of being simultaneously watched and unnoticed by Craig.

     Turning back to Rhett with a more conspiratorial gaze over both of his shoulders, the street prophet asked, “Say bruh, do you cook?”

     Rhett, still in his utopian reverie, had to admit to himself that he was unsure of how to answer this question. Did he literally mean cook, as in the culinary act of preparing a meal for oneself or others? Or was this some previously unknown euphemism for an illicit act…oh, say…freebasing? After a momentary pause, Rhett decided that he would try out the former. “Uh no…I pretty much just eat the dorm food.”

     “Well, I was doin’ a little cookin’ muhself. A little bitta summin’ summin’, you know…I like to cook. I like to eat too. My palate is kinda delicate and nuthin’ goes down better than the stuff I prepares for muhself. Anything else usually just runs right through me!” And then for emphasis, the street prophet added an exclamatory, “Oh!” as he tossed his head to and fro visually depicting his occasional indigestion. Then, he continued. “So you see, son. I was doin’a little cookin’ and I realized that I was missing a key ingredient. I needed a taste of summin’ special. Unique to the meal. What I needed…(he looked over his shoulder as if to guard the contents of his secret recipe)…was…(he looked again)…some…okra!”

     “I see.”

     “A brotha can’t have a meal without okra, son!” said the prophet, as if proclaiming and eternal truth unknown to Rhett, with glazed over eyes combined with the cavernous wrinkles in his furrowed brow. “So, can you help a brotha out? Help a man get his okra for his meal?”

     Sometimes the best laughter is one that is unexposed. A clandestine laughter that remains hidden due to the inappropriateness of the time, situation or place; for example,  a funny moment during a church service or class lecture, where the containment of such laughter only becomes more difficult which then makes the humor at the time much funnier. It is a situation that ultimately feeds itself. Craig was experiencing this peculiar sensation at this very moment, listening to the street prophet hustle Rhett while not wanting to disturb the silent truce between the prophet and himself. Each time he tried to ignore the situation, it became funnier and much more difficult to control and extinguish. Craig recalled a time during a middle school Social Studies class in which two friends had shared a private joke between themselves which left the receiver of the joke in a fit a barely contained laughter, which was obvious by his flushed face, painfully trying to hold the laughter inside combined with his silent physical vibrations which were rapidly becoming spasms. When their teacher could not take it anymore and finally asked if there was a problem, the student who shared the joke plainly explained, “Oh there’s no problem, Mrs. Shankman. He’s just masturbating.”  The orgasmic eruption of classroom laughter that followed this remark was not only a release, it was further punctuated by the joke recipient’s fall from his chair to the floor and finally the two student’s subsequent exile towards the Principal’s Office by a forcefully curt, “Out!” by the otherwise pleasant Mrs. Shankman. Craig felt a similar eruption waiting to take place at the moment he saw Rhett give the street prophet three dollars for the presumed missing dinner ingredient of okra.

     “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!” the prophet graciously replied once he was handed the currency.

     Rhett continued to sit with a bemused grin plastered onto his face and he proceeded to elicit a simple, “My pleasure.”

     The street prophet immediately grabbed Rhett’s hand and began to vigorously shake it in gratitude while also uttering a series of hurried and surprisingly breathless remarks of “Thank you.” Admittedly, Rhett was curiously fascinated and unfazed by the coarseness of the prophet’s skin, which he imagined sun-baked parchment from the Middle Ages to feel like, and it was this piece of sensory information that only added to the solidarity and connection of the moment. After the handshake, the street prophet swiftly rose to his feet and granted Craig one more X-Ray vision stare through The Daily Cardinal and as mysteriously as he appeared, he vanished. Finally, Craig was able to release the humorous pressure that had built inside of him through a shriek of laughter which produced severely watered eyes that drenched his glasses and cheeks and also ached his sides. Rhett on the other hand was still in a serene state, honestly wondering just what Craig was falling all over himself about.

     “What’s so funny?” asked Rhett, honestly.

     “Are you kidding?!” Craig somehow managed to croak out between squawks of laughter.

     “No,” Rhett said, with a tinge of confused hurt in his voice that made Craig, who was highly in tune to these things, pause, “I’m not kidding.”

     “Well…Rhett, it was just so…” began Craig choosing his words carefully. “…you know, ridiculous! I mean—with all of the people that ask for spare change and stuff, this guy is making some sort of plea for okra?! It’s just absurd! Look, I just didn’t realize that okra had an alcohol content.”

     “Craig, why does everything have to have an ulterior motive?” Rhett countered. “It could’ve been legit. Where’s the harm? What’s he hurting?”

     “His liver. His pancreas, perhaps.”

     “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe his intentions were pure and if they weren’t, so what? He’s happy. I certainly don’t feel as if I’ve been had. We just connected for a minute. That’s all. And…what’s wrong with that?” concluded Rhett.

     Craig stopped laughing to take in the words of his friend. Perhaps he had something there. Rhett was no fool and he jumped into the depths of innocence during his exchange with the street prophet and came out better for it. And there was nothing wrong with that.

     State Street was boldly alive on this glorious late-Springtime night. It was as if the residents of Madison jointly decided to rub its’ collective shoulders with their collegiate brethren. Young adult couples in love and families with small children skittered past the scowling teenage refuges of Peace Park towards the haven of the Chocolate Shoppe. The Girls Of New York, who inhabited the student housing of The Towers, made their grand entrance onto State Street for their nightly command performance to a completely unimpressed Madison audience. This small militia with identical appearances of thick black hair and heavily made-up faces and uniforms of black tops, tight denim jeans and black high heeled boots, slowly clompity-clomped with purpose to the more expensive clothing stores. Afterwards, they would have a self-consciously calorie counted evening meal complete with diet sodas and finally head out for a night of bar-hopping. The sounds of State Street collided into a pleasant cacophony; a saxophone squonk on one block, a passionate acoustic guitar driven howl on the next. Even local street musician Art Paul Schlosser gained a small and appreciative audience in an alcove near the Red Shed. Craig and Rhett wandered and weaved the street for hours, in and out of the used record stores and thrift shops with throwback names like Sugar Shack, The Pipefitter and Marmalade Skies.

     Before either of them knew it, they had walked past the busy Johnson street intersection, the Civic Center, and the Orpheum (which was shockingly presenting “Police Academy 6” to Craig’s horror), the pornography emporium of the State Street Arcade and completely around the centerpiece of the city, the state capitol building. So involved they were in mobile conversation, they only realized how far they had walked because the surrounding city noises had been left behind on State Street. The sounds of the night were almost tranquil by the Dane County Courthouse and police station. For a while, Rhett and Craig stood silently, letting the waves of Lake Monona provide the only commentary. Walking further still and closer to the lake, there was a small park of sorts with a bench and the two friends sat down to rest their feet. It was then that Rhett finally broke their silence.

     “Where did Otis Redding’s plane go down?”

     “You know,” Craig began thoughtfully. “Otis died on December 10^th, 1967 and…I think it was here. I mean—maybe not right at this very spot but his plane went down in Lake Monona and this is Lake Monona!” he concluded, spreading his arms widely for the presentation of Mr. Redding’s watery grave.

     “Damn Craig! You just know it all don’t you?” said Rhett, very impressed with Craig’s endless musical knowledge.

     “According to my parents, it’s all useless,” responded Craig slowly, as if hearing his parents’ voices in his head at that very second.

     Sensing this sliver of bitterness elbowing itself into their evening, Rhett quickly steered the conversation back to Otis Redding. 

     “Did they get the body out of there?”

     “I have no idea but I would think so. I would hope so,” Craig exhaled. “Really, how morbid would that be? He’s not sitting at the dock of the bay anymore. He’s sitting at the bottom of the lake!” he concluded sardonically.   

      Their last two exchanges, it seemed to Rhett, steered towards gloomier subject matter than he would’ve preferred. Where Craig was highly intuitive and introverted, Rhett was decidedly more philosophical and this evening had placed him into a highly meditative plane where life’s connections were blazingly obvious. Wanting to interject a different and more positive spin onto the death of Otis Redding, Rhett offered the following concept.

     “Maybe we’re meant to be here.”

     “Hmmm?”

     “Maybe we’re meant to be here tonight,” Rhett offered again. “We didn’t plan on being here or even coming here. We just ended up here and look at what we immediately started talking about.”

     “What’s with you tonight?” Craig asked, with eyebrows joining together in a quizzical expression. “You’re so…metaphysical.”

     “No,” denied Rhett with a faint twinge of hurt.

     Instantly picking up on the change in Rhett’s voice, Craig honesty interjected, “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

     “It’s Ok,” answered Rhett, immediately feeling better. “All I was going to say was that since we are here for inexplicable reasons it is because of those reasons that we should honor this moment and this man’s memory.”

     “How so? Like with a prayer or something?”

     “Something like that.”

     “Hey!” Craig began, picking up on the moment Rhett initiated. “A few years ago, I was at a funeral and this one person—some aunt I don’t know—came up and began this thing called a libation. She said that what you basically do is invoke the name of a person who has passed away that is important to you and that signifies that their spirit is still with us.”

     “That’s perfect!!” shouted Rhett, appreciating that Craig was finally getting into the spirit of this night.  "Look, I believe that we should get down on our knees for this to show the proper reverence."

     "This is Otis we're talking about."

     As they lowered themselves onto the moist grass, Rhett and Craig individually clasped their fingers together and bowed their heads solemnly. After a dramatic pause of sorts, Rhett began to speak.

     "Otis, we kneel at the site of your tragic passing to let you know that you will never be forgotten. And in your name, we pray to you and ask you for guidance in our young lives. We ask that you make us as funky as you were and please help us get all of the women that we know you had back then."

     "Praise Otis!!" interjected Craig as an additional exclamation point to the libation.

     The boys remained silent for a few moments lost in whatever thoughts they had, quietly daring the other to begin laughing first at the silliness of it all. Strangely, a strong chill emitted from Lake Monona during their stifled laughter, dropping the temperature several degrees. While this temporal occurrence is not unusual in the later hours of an early Spring night, it struck Rhett and Craig as slightly paranormal due to nature of their visit. Feeling as if the spirit of Otis Redding himself had been disrespected and was about to take vengeance, Rhett suddenly began to utter the famous whistle that concluded "Sittin' On the Dock Of The Bay.” Not wanting to leave his friend symbolically alone in the wind, Craig joined in and once they ceased, the chill in the air subsided. Rhett and Craig raised their heads and faced each other slowly, almost afraid that the other would sprout limbs from their chins and nostrils. As they opened their eyes, they immediately burst into a series of guffaws and hoots.

     "Oh God, that was some wrong shit there!" choked Craig.

     "You're not kidding," began Rhett. "I think we've tested the fates enough for one night."

     Their laughter continued until they both rotated towards the path that led them to this spot to see the landing lights of State Street beckoning to them, reminding them of their late night reunion with Josie Fagen and Mariah Esposito. And what a long walk back it was.

Copyright 2015 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.