I used to go out with that boy. With that man. The sheriff. In high school. They day of the prom, his father got drunk and stole his car. Stole his own son’s car and went somewhere. Mexico. Dean showed up at the door, wearing this awful tuxedo. He’d been crying, I could tell. And he confessed he didn’t have a way to take me to prom. I just felt awful for him, so I told him we’d walk. About three miles. I busted a heel and we both got so sweaty and dirty. We gave up… got a six – pack and broke into the chapel, stayed up all night talking and kissing. And now he’s telling me… oh, it’s just surreal. Thank God we can’t tell the future. We’d never get out of bed. Listen to me: Die after me, all right? I don’t care what else you do, where you go, how you screw up your life, just… survive. Outlive me, please.
My wife. She takes pills, sometimes a good many. And they affect… among other
things, her equilibrium. Fortunately, the pills she takes eliminate her need
for equilibrium. So she falls when she rambles… but she doesn’t ramble much.
takes pills and I drink. That’s the bargain we’ve struck… one of the bargains,
just one paragraph of our marriage contract… cruel covenant. She takes pills
and I drink. As to whether she takes pills because I drink… I learned long ago
not to speak for my wife. The reasons why we take anymore are inconsequential.
The facts are: my wife take pills and I drink. And these facts have over time
made burdensome the maintenance of traditional American routine: paying of
bills, purchase of goods, cleaning of clothes or carpets or crappers. Rather
than once more assume the mantle of guilt… vow abstinence with my fingers
crossed in the queasy hope of righting our ship, I’ve chosen to turn my life
over to a higher power… and join the ranks of the Hiring Class.
a decision with which I’m entirely comfortable. I know how to launder my dirty
undies… done it all my life, me or my wife, but I’m finding it’s getting in the
way of my drinking. “Something has been said for sobriety but very little.” And
now you are here.
place isn’t in such bad shape, not yet. I’ve done all right. I’ve managed. And
just last night, I burned an awful lot of…debris…Y’know… a simple utility bill
can mean so much to a living person. Once they’ve passed, though… after they’ve
passed, the words and numbers just seem like… otherworldly symbols. It’s only
paper. Worse. Worse than blank paper. This is clean.
He’s fucking one of his students which is pretty uncool,
if you ask me. Some people would think that’s cool, like those dicks who teach
with him in the Humanities Department because they’re all fucking their
students or wish they were fucking their students. “Lo – liii – ta.” I mean, I
don’t care and all, he can fuck whoever he wants and he’s a teacher and that’s
who teachers meet, students. He was just a turd the way he went about it and
didn’t give mom a chance to respond or anything. What sucks now is that mom’s
watching me like a hawk, like, she’s afraid I’ll have some post – divorce freak
– out and become and heroin addict or shoot everybody at school. Or God forbid,
lose my virginity. I don’t know what it is about Dad splitting that put mom on