I've never given life a chance to let me float along the raft of others couches, so I'd have to admit that he is living (or, sorry, past-tense, 'lived') one of my previous and still somewhat viable ideals of reckless abandon.
Tim's futon was hard and stiff, crushing into my back like ancient Egyptian stonework and either torture or therapy depending on the angle-- everyone at the house-- Brian, Gary, both also high-school best friends who have known me for years-- seemed distant, exhausted, and Gary even seemed measurably annoyed by my presence and even more ticked about my attempts to lighten the mood with so-not-funny-their-funny homoerotic jokes of the nature everyone had come to expect from me during our formative teen years. It became so apparent, that I contemplated a bus home but realized it was now 10 after midnight and there were no more buses that would get me as far as Esquimalt until later in the morning. I decided to assume it was half an overreaction on my part and half a correct interpretation, but not to the intensity I felt in which I needed to desperately escape. This reminds me of the previous night in which a 4 hour THC freak-out brought me to many sobering conclusions about my life, but here, let's start from the beginning because this is a story in itself deserving of a background and a build-up and a climax and a denouement---
2 of my best friends from Powell River-- Chip, a soulmate in a way who I once forged and battled beats to make amateur yet still half-decent hip-hop with, and Chris, my sobering yet still-quite-beatnik life contrast and character foil (always with the rational arguments that pierce my debate and cause it to shatter into millions of little shards I'm left to weld back together whilst gazing at him in admiration for such profound and sensible pokes of sanity)-- came to visit me and our friend Allen, a short kid with a boyish arrogance and uncanny sense of style and knowledge-in-enough-schools-of-thought to make him at least somewhat intellectually competent in all regards (and he can play guitar like no one else I know-- I feel like a step in the right direction could lead him into potential fame should his cards be dealt properly).
Chip and Chris and I have this unspoken sort of eternal bond between us where it's almost as if we can read each others minds in some respect yet always find it rude to actually do so in the sense of asking whatsup tho I can always tell when any of us are feeling existentially lost or socially anxious which happens more often than you'd think but not all the time. Both of them, I find, are more charismatic than I am-- or, at least, more charismatic than I can seem to be when I'm around them because for some reason I always hold back in fear of judgement even tho we're soul-mates of a sort and even if we get annoyed at each-other it's never an issue for long because we have this hidden and shared unconditional love that always perforates outwards if we spend a long enough time with one another. Actually-- I've got a profound story regarding Chris and I that I would like to share as a side-note before I continue onward with our adventure here in the city.. I'll italicize it so you know I'm off topic and can skip forward to the next relevant part, if you'd like.
- - -
It was a week before I left for Victoria-- August 1st or 2nd-- and we were having a going-away party for me at Chip's house that became overrun with guests that really had nothing to do with me and were only there because one of their roommates at the time was a former high-school socialite who simply enjoyed the company of whoever, whenever, I didn't really mind-- and Chris and I were doing lines of K, introducing our notoriously anarchist friend Kaz to the designer psychedelic which he was at first reluctant to try but soon found himself enthralled with in confused and dizzying detail. For at least an hour or 2, all three of us sat on Chip's porch after Chip and his girlfriend Niko had decided to go to bed and my girlfriend of the time, Anya, had opted-out of the offered K experience as she had done it a few times before and it wasn't her thing, so she was out-cold on the couch almost purring in her sleep, God she was adorable-- and the three of us began quoting Monty Python skits and describing how we felt like those 3 crows in the Disney Cinderella or whatever, firing back irrelevant insanity's yet somehow understanding one another in a shared parallel universe. This continued for what felt like hours but could just as easily have been moments until Kaz decided he was going to bed, leaving Chris and I alone on the porch to continue our nonsensical spew of blah. Both of us eventually just STOPPED and stared at the grass, until I looked him in the eye and said, 'I'm really going to miss you, man.' he nodded, almost taken-aback yet flattered by my emotional forwardness and admitted in a shy undertone, 'yeah, I'm gonna miss you too.' we continued to stare, glassy eyed, at the grass in front of us, everything so vividly and un-problematically confusing that it seemed as close to zen as death.
After a few more slurred sentiments, we walked back inside and took a seat on the couch where Anya was curled and purring away yet slowly stirred awake as Chris and I continued our surreal correspondence over a cup of nothing but beautiful psychosis.
'you're an old soul. I can tell by the way you carry yourself,' Chris said.
'and I can tell because I know I'm an old soul too.'
Rarely had I seen this kind of spiritual warmth and frankness flow from Chris, except as a perception of his general essence at root-- so it was always a treat when he opened up and told everyone how much he truly loved them.
'I sense that in you as well.. I feel an almost metaphysical pull to your soul like I do with Anya and Chip and Niko.. in a way I think I love all of you about the same, and that love is an unmeasurable something I can only hand out in small doses that will never properly express how deep and how wide and how endless it is.. but that's okay, because I think that's life and we will never be able to fully express that boundless love yet it's what life is made of probably, yes' I spout back in endless direct monologue.
Anya is awake now and sitting next to me, having silently grabbed my hand as I lost myself in speech-adoration-- she witnesses the encounter and seems enamoured with the vibe. Chris and I's conversation continues until the early hours of the morning and I have never felt so connected to him in my life. Eventually, Anya and I decide it's time to leave for her place, and Chris and I depart like this:
Me: "I'll see you around, man. I love you."
Chris (with that mischievous-yet-affectionate grin): "Happy travels, mate."
and we hug each other tightly, letting go with an awkward nod of acceptance and final repeated 'goodbyes.'
On the drive home, I mutter a few things about the beauty of life even in sadness and Anya looks at me and says, 'that encounter.. you and Chris.. that was beautiful. So beautiful.'
We get back to her place and she passes out once again like a soft cat hanging on my waist as I sit-up and let the K high wear off, contemplating my future in the city and the friends I'd leave behind.
(and as a parting sentiment to Chris himself.. here is the song he sent me on the day I left):
- - -
Prior to meeting with them upon their arrival, I am lying in bed attempting a nap (as I have been sordidly plagued with partial insomnia for the past couple months, probably largely due to the antidepressant I'm on), yet instead of sleep, I am smacked in the face with a sudden courage and inspiration to grab my notebook and practice what I preach by approaching people on the street and asking them if they'd like me to write them a poem-- which they can have for free (altho I clearly mention I am accepting tips as I am in dire financial straits as of late). First-off, I ask my roommate if I can test my skills out on him to see if I'm truly ready for this. He has no objections, so I lie on his bedroom floor with my legs dangling in the air like a Japanese schoolgirl asking him for context on his day so I know what to write about. He had a fight with his girlfriend, but otherwise his day was fine.. so I incorporate all this as best I can and begin scribbling madly in all caps (as my printing is terrible and quite unreadable otherwise). After about 10 minutes, I'm done, and I read it out to him. He stops for a moment in awe, still swallowing it, and says, "I actually really, really like that. Wow."
This is what I needed to hear.. and with the quickening momentum, I dress myself appropriately, obsessively fit my toque as properly as I can upon my head, and bottleneck myself to the nearest bus-stop where there is a girl with a brunette ponytail (obviously intoxicated) chatting loudly on her cellphone and saying things like 'why does life only seem good when I'm fucked up? Isn't that weird? God, I wish I could just be fucked-up all the time, HAH!' and I want to approach her, consider it might brighten her life a little if someone offers to write her a poem, but I am afraid I'd interrupt her phone-call so I stand in silence, awkwardly kicking the bottom of a garbage can in some sort of sentimental hipster-move where I'm trying to seem casual but am actually just nervous, narcissistically admiring my own shoes to remind myself that I'm capable of being perceived as suave, sexy, mysterious--
eventually, a blonde girl wearing a loose-beany exits the apartment behind the bus-stop and sits next to the brunette girl. They are obviously friends, as the brunette girl clicks her cell with a 'I've gotta go, text ya later, sweetheart!' and picks-up a conversation with the blonde girl that was obviously started someplace else where I wasn't present. My heart begins to pound inside my chest as I thumb through my notebook and glance sideways at them and think, 'if you don't have the courage to talk to these two, what makes you think you're gonna have the courage to talk to anyone else? now of never, man!' and so I take two steps to the left and say, 'do either of you happen to know when the bus will arrive?'
'No, I don't think-- actually, wait! we have a bus-schedule, so yes! Just a second.'
they playfully rummage through their purses in quest for the schedule, but before they can find it I interrupt with--
'Actually, that's not really what I wanted to ask. I'm just really nervous and kinda freaking out because I've never done this before, but I'm going downtown with my notebook and a pen and I'm going to ask people if they'd like me to write them a poem for free, altho I am accepting tips because I'm not really in the best of financial situations.. so I was wondering, if you guys wanted me to write you a poem? Each? or, together? I dunno.'
The girls start giggling and say, 'what, yes! we'd absolutely love you to write us a poem' and before I can even seat myself to start, the brunette girl (who introduces herself as Carla) reaches into her purse and grabs me a tooney. 'aw, well, you don't have to tip me before I wrote you the poem.. wait till I'm done!' but she insists I take it and mentions that she also writes poetry.. asks me if I like William Blake, to which I reply, 'yes! I love William Blake.'
'And Oscar Wilde?'
'Very much so. His essays are really good.' and it's nice, because I don't have to pretend.
The blonde girl introduces herself as Francine. She seems to make obvious advances on me, and starts her introduction with, 'writing a poem for us.. God, I wish my ex had started with that.'
I ask them if they go to school.. what do they do in life, all the obligatory what's and when's you'd expect from all introductions.. as I slowly add text to paper in all caps yet slower this time, not like a mad-man because I am distracted by a conversation with 2 pretty girls while trying to keep up appearances + dolce cabana sex appeal (that is a joke-- I'm not even sure what dolce cabana actually implies in terms of clothes or sex appeal). The bus arrives, and we all get on-board, Francine takes a seat next to me and I pull the page away with an 'I'm not done yet, don't look!' and she giggles, they're quiet to let me finish.
Finally, without a word, I fold and tear the page and extend it towards the two of them. 'I dunno how good it is.. it might actually be kinda bad.. but either way, here it is, and I hope you enjoy it.'
Before even reading it, both Francine and Carla giggle again and say, 'I don't think it matters.. I mean, come on! We just got poetry written for us by a model!' flattered and shocked, I laugh and say 'a model? I'm definitely not a model, but I appreciate that.'
'but that jaw line!' one of them laughs. I laugh as well, still flattered but half-wondering if it's a joke yet knowing they actually mean it and being reminded that I am capable of keeping up appearances and really shouldn't worry about it as much as I do. I really am flattered and always find myself surprised when I realize I am a likeable person, as much as my anxious feedback can make me think otherwise.
They finally read the poem, and seem to genuinely like it.. Carla grabs my notebook and pen and opens it up to a blank page where she begins scribbling like mad while Francine and I make conversation in the background and I can sense Carla is writing a poem of her own, suspicion confirmed a moment later when she tears that particular page out, tucks it in like a bookmark, and hands the notebook back to me.. I'm quiet for a moment as I open it up and slowly interpret it in my head (drunk-writing in a mix of cursive and printing can be a little bit of a tough read, but I don't mind-- I'm just flattered they gave me a looney, stayed to chat, flatter me, and now write me a poem, this is a hobby I should definitely continue as the connection is a soulful one bursting at the seams!)
As the bus stops, they ask for my number which I give them, and they depart upon their evening adventure in search of.. who knooooowwwssss what. I get a call from Allen that Chip and Chris have finally made it into town and tell him I'll be there in about an hour after I test this form of busking for just a little while longer. The first connection was the most profound, but I did manage to get a kiss on the cheek from another girl, and a few happy nods from older folks who thought my cause a noble one, indeed. I eventually make my way to a bus-stop and head towards Allen's place (next to Tillicum Mall) to start an inevitable night of lovely insanity.
This doesn't even reach the beginning of my THC freak-out but the train is running out of steam, so I'm declaring a lay-over at this station until next time.
(to be continued in part 2)
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