I stopped by Parkers with a twelve pack of PBR. Hopefully to make up for all the times I had coned him into bringing beers to Uncle Don’s basement. I put the case in my backpack and walked Carter over. Parker said his apartment manager doesn't like it when I bring the dog over but Mrs. Janikowski can just suck it.
I asked her if Sebastian Janikowski was her son about a year back and she’s had it out for me ever since.
So he buzzes us in and we sit around for a minute talking about The Stand, which Parker has read but I haven't, either way he insists on talking about it for twenty minutes while I nod along.
I begrudgingly ask him how his parents are doing with their divorce. He says they are doing better. Which is good to hear. Even though they are usually pretty mean to each other and rude to me. Which may have something to do with the time I left a bunch of blow at their house on accident.
We drink a couple of beers and smoke schwag out of a shitty metal pipe. I also brought a Pepsi and a bag of Funyuns to share. I also brought a small bag of the newer BBQ Cheetos and pretzel M&M’s. I give Parker a couple.
Parker used to be allergic to peanuts, then one day he just wasn’t. Crazy world we live in.
We watch Twin Peaks, cause he got the show box set for his birthday a month ago, which I forgot.
Damn that show is amazing. Makes me feel better about my quest to find the man in Ashland. Mystery is a good thing, evidently, it leads you to Sherilyn Fenn, Madchen Amick and Lara Flynn Boyle. Maybe I’ll find my own Laura Palmer in Ashland.
That is the before-possessed-and-raped-by-demon-father version. You know what I mean
We drink the beers that I brought and we go down to the bar pretty loaded.
And for a long while we don’t speak and some soul song hits the speakers and I rub my hand over my head and through my hair and to my side Parker does the same. And it’s just then that I see that two people rubbing their faces, exhausted by their lot in life, together in an introspective moment...That may be the only time that two people can have any kind of understanding.
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because talking doesn't mean anything, nobody listens, we’re all just waiting for our turn to speak, thinking about how smart we’ll sound and how honorable we’ll look. Talk about a joke: communication is a joke.
Sure, some people can do it but it takes work. You have to be honest with yourself and I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to do that. I’ll also be goddamned if I’m going to go to marriage counseling with every fucking person in my life. Fuck that.
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And before I know it Parker is trying to drag me out of the bar because I’m calling the bartender a cock-sucker and that he’s a fat bald excuse for a human and that he’s too old to be wearing vests. I do this sometimes, turn as dark on the outside than I am on the inside.
And then I start in on the rest of the bar and it turns out I’m the joke. They are all laughing.
“And your hat is stupid!” I say
“Nice fucking tie” I say
They are losing it. I’m the best thing to happen to this joint in twenty years. And even though I won’t ever go back I will be a legend.
And like most other days I feel myself using my 15 minutes of fame on little moments of insignificance. Always the comedy, never the comedian. Always a bus boy, never a bus.
