It started off as a day that wasn't out of the ordinary, not by any stretch of the imagination. It, like most days, found dawn sometime after noon, sitting around, sipping on some concoction of fruit juice and alcohol. Today's was another round of Rum and Pomegranate juice, but the mix was light. I had things to do and couldn't rightly risk tempting the lions so early in the day, there would be plenty of time to step into the arena and prove my merit to the gods later. Now was the time to get down to writing.
I'd just tucked my pen between my teeth to start the thinking process when the phone rang. This kind of thing isn't at all uncommon really, the damnation of technology haunt the creative types at the worst of times, an I really try and chalk it up to penance more than anything. I stared at it for a long moment as it sounded off it's six second intermission of Mad World by Tears for Fears. There was only one person it could have been.
My eyes quickly darted up to the tattered remains of the calendar on my wall - I have a nasty habit of falling out of love with time and setting it on fire - before looking back down at the phone. Jesus. I knew this could only mean one thing.... and it was with great hesitation that I picked up the plastic monstrosity and put it to my ear, ready to hear the bomb drop.
"WHY ARE YOU ANSWERING YOUR PHONE?" The shouting voice was almost deafening and I had to yank the phone away from my ear. It also told me all I needed to know about the filthy pirate on the other end of the line.
Frank had been one of my closest friends and confidants for years. He was a writer like me, and one with enough brass balls to sink a Ship of the Line. He was one of the few, the brave, and the proud. He was the one who'd climb up into the saddle and ride the wildest of horses with no hesitation.
Frank had won his freedom in the Colosseum years ago and now he just liked to step into it for fun. There were many things I knew about Frank, but the main thing I knew at that moment? He was drunk. It was damn early for him too - we kept nearly identical hours these days - and that could only mean one thing: Everything was right with the world.
"Isn't that what you're supposed to do when it -" I couldn't even finish the thought before the voice on the other end cut me off.
"Do you what day it is?!" I could almost smell the whiskey and lemon juice through the phone.
"Saturday?" I asked.
"You're god damned right it's Saturday! Now why are you answering your phone? Spare me and don't give me any of your lip!"
"I have work to do. You know, that whole piece on the Dreaming?" Frank had always been my sounding board for work too, ever since we'd met in 2001. Those were the days I remembered with the fondness of cast iron bars, cold steak, and the loss of sanity and breakneck speeds. "Don't tell me you forgot already you self-righteous Boar." This was our typical round about way of getting things done. It always had been, it always would be, and it was the only real way we could see it.
"And you're sitting on your ass why?" He snapped in reply. "It's the Saturday before the start of the Carnival Season.." The long trail in his voice was punctuated by the sharp hiss of air on the other end of the phone. "Prime season for the freaks and dreamers.." He added in exhale. "If you're really about to try and grab a dream like that one, you've got to get off your ass and do it. Your generations already been fucked into stasis by half-assed attempts at everything else - and that's not a pile you want to throw your name into. Even a backwater berg like yours has to have something going on tonight. I don't care what it is, or where, you go find it..." His voice trailed again.
I waited for a moment, unsure if speaking could be considered safe. Frank had a real knack for unloading both barrels of rocket fuel into my ass and, despite the fact it was appreciated most of the time, I'd found myself growing a bit weary of the same sights and places around me. "You know I'm coming down-"
"Don't make me come up there." He interrupted again in a voice that could have struck fear into an entire cruise liner full of red headed step children. It was that Fatherly tone he often took when he'd spare no quarter for argument and fillet any stupid fool dumb enough to offer one up. Before I could even think to formulate any kind of reply, I heard the heartless thud of plastic on wood and Frank cursing in the background. I smiled to myself just in time to hear him fiddle with the receiver and hang up the telephone.
He had a point. If I really was going to write about seizing a brand new dream I had no business sitting at home writing about it at One O'clock in the afternoon a Saturday before the start Mardi Gras. This was prime season for new beginnings and there wasn't a prayer for any of us if I didn't start now. I pushed myself up off the couch - bringing the drink with me.
By the time I was out of the shower my drink was gone and the phone was ringing again. I could hear it through the thin walls in the bathroom - a truly loathsome thing when you had friends like I did - and was already running after it. It was Shelby, a friend of mine, asking if I was coming out tonight. I informed her I had no plans at the moment, and she made mention of a Drag Show going on at one of the local haunts I'd sometimes visit. I told her to pick me up around Seven. I needed to get myself in order if I was to attend this kind of thing properly.
This was perfect. There were few better places to embrace such an idea of excess and high living that at a bar filled with miscreants dressed up as wholesome members of society - never mind the booze, beads, and revelry that was sure to be around. I accepted without hesitation, and threw on a pair of pinstripe pants and some silk shirt. It was a ceremony to be sure but tonight was not the night I intended to participate. Tonight was a night to watch. I wanted to see just how far the world would be willing to go if you fueled them with a mask, a strong drink, and bribed them with something shiny.
That left time to kill. It was barely a quarter to three. I cursed myself for telling her seven and glanced down at the empty drink in glass in my hand. It was still dripping with water from the shower and I suddenly became aware that I was too. This is one of many reasons I don't advocate drinking in the shower to many people - you ruin perfectly good carpets. Still, there was no point in crying over spilled milk. I grabbed a T-shirt from the pile by my bedroom door and tossed it underfoot before opening the miniature fridge nearby to make another drink. Frank was right, this was no time to half-ass it.
I filled the next few hours with as many drinks as I could but ran out before Shelby even showed up. There was a moment where I thought this might be some bitter omen but decided not to let it get the better of me. There would be more waiting for me at the bar an I understood I was probably going to need it before the night was over. That left only the matter of dressing my feet and making my way outside for a cigarette.
The night was crisp and wet. Maine was rather notorious for March snowstorms but lately we'd been slapped with some bizarre warm front that had coated everything in a deadly sheet of ice. I sighed at the ground as my faded boots set down on the concrete outside my door. I looked up at the sky, peering daringly into the storm, looking to see if there was some kind of break on the horizon, and finding nothing. "Lord.." I called out, the cigarette jammed between shivering teeth. "..Don't play games. Not tonight. You're not stopping me, not now."
A harsh wind kicked up and knocked my footing loose from under me and I crashed back into the door in a violent stream of curses and vulgarities in every tongue I knew - only offering up the small blessing my drink hand had been empty at the time. By the time I blinked the fresh sleet from my eyes I could already see the blinking hazard lights at the head of the driveway.
I tucked my hands into my pockets and jogged up the treacherous slope feeling much like a hiker on his first Everest ascent. My lungs, scorched by the cigarette between my lips, were burning for oxygen. It was a loud enough protest but these kind of things had been all over the news lately. I knew that the only way to properly guarantee a revolution was to ignore the threat of a coup and revolution was something I absolutely wanted on the menu tonight.
"Quiet you!" I spat furiously at the thumping organs in my chest. I dropped into the passenger seat of the car with a heavy exhale before shutting. Turning my gaze toward Shelby - who looked dreadfully confused - I gave a firm thump of my fist on the dashboard. "Onward! Mush! Macht schnell!" I commanded the car with a firm smattering of various tongues and as we lurched forward I rolled the window down. The cold air was a welcome touch to an inflamed respiratory system and it gobbled at it like a starved miner set loose on a ham sandwich.
"You all right?" She asked after a moment, a bright shade of purple hair batting her upside the face. I stared at her for a long moment, offering a nod of approval. Already the signs were there. Those who were bold enough to find their own drum, a rarity in these frozen woods, were going to be out in force. I was now positive going out had been the right choice and made a note to thank Frank for it later. The unruly cur would just slander me for it but I believed in giving credit where credit was due.
"Of course I am." I replied flatly, jamming the cigarette in my mouth. "It's the beginning of the end of something new, a fresh coat of paint on an otherwise bullshit Saturday night.." I tapped my ashes out the window. "Thanks for the ride, I got you some gas money." The rest of the car ride was filled with menial conversations and I found my mind preoccupied with rum and the thoughts of just how to best capture the evening.
I felt a bit like Lon Chaney Jr in 'The Wolf Man'. The world was coming at me in shades of gray only finding color when the spotlights from the car found them. I laid my hand against my head for a moment as we pulled into the parking lot across the street and jammed a fresh cigarette into my lips. I lit it, finding heavily on the sense of stability I hoped to find wrapped up inside it's cotton. It was my first full moon in too long and my skin was already crawling. I made a note to never forget that hibernation and hermitage were the cobblestones to damnation.
Pushing in through the front door of the bar, after pitching my half smoked cigarette in lieu of rushing for the sanctuary of something much more potent, I swore I heard the howl of the four legged beast. My head jerked up dropping crooked sunglasses off my brow. I was completely unprepared for what I was about to see.
My eyes staggered to adjust to the bright colors and over abundance of skin that was all around me. The normal drab decor, to which I had become accustomed, had been washed away in a sea of sparkles, glitter, and shades of reflective rainbow tinsel. I blinked, rubbing at my eyes, and pushed forward through the crowd of fake breasts and deceptively attractive women.
I knew better than to bite on the hook after I'd been drinking - I valued my arms far too much. I was only lucky that the more carnal parts of my brain were already preoccupied with feasting on dreams or I could have been in serious trouble. Still, this was no time for serious panic. Now was the time for strong and relentless drinks. If I was to capture the proper spirit of the thing I'd need to start hammering drinks so fast that any religious context could be summed up in the drunken slur of an Iron Butterfly classic.
I thumped my hand flatly on the bar, the heavy jangle of my studded, Wilsons, leather jacket sounding off as a warning bell to anyone within earshot. Someone had let the beast loose and I wasn't about to be trifled with now. Now was a time to get the medicine down and get it down fast. I'd grease the wheels of momentum and shoot straight for the moon - which should have been remarkably easy considering how close it was to the floor in some parts of the bar.
"You don't look like you belong here.." A quiet voice chirped in a tone that sounded as if it might have been shy once upon a, prohibition era, time.
I squinted at her for a moment, before kicking my foot back to drag my sunglasses toward me from their position on the floor. I bent down to pick them up and put them on my face. "Is that better?" I asked plainly.
She stared at me for a moment, her features mostly hidden by a do-it-yourself mask. I could respect that kind of display. It made far more sense, to me, to dawn a mask of your own creation rather than to pick up some dollar store knock off and curse yourself when all your feathers were gone well before midnight.
"You're not wearing a mask.." She finally replied.
"Sure I am." I replied with enthusiasm, raising my voice over the music, and circling one finger around my face. "Can't you see it? I'm the new modern Emperor of small town Mardi Gras - don't you like my new mask?" It was a bold story, but I'd already committed to the drive and it was too late to back out now. It was clutch time in the big game an I'd play big. I'd always found the white flag of surrender a far heavier flag and I was packing light for this particular trip. There would be no backing down.
She reached out after a moment and tugged at the belt of my jacket. I summarized she might have been drunk, but that didn't matter, half the damn town was drunk - and rightly so. Giving her a moment of consideration I noticed I wasn't the only one who might have been mistaken for out of sorts. Despite her DIY mask and drunken demeanor she had little else that seemed to lend her to this atmosphere. Drab blue jeans and natural hair color were the first giveaways, not to mention the lack of styling product or flare below the neckline. I suddenly felt skeptical.
"What's with the leather and spikes?" She spoke, half slurring the words in my direction. "That's not very festive at all!" Her hands waved around dramatically like drunken doves trying to accent world peace in the middle of the apocalypse and I was forced to duck out of the way. Fortunately my Mai Tai had arrived - one of the many advantages of being a regular patron at a bar meant they could usually guess what your first drink would be and open up a tab for you in waiting.
"That all depends on what you're celebrating.." I replied, taking a heavy pull of the drink into my mouth and swallowing. They'd gone heavy on the rum and light on the ice. This was not normally the way I'd have taken the drink at all but, lucky for me, bartenders have a knack for empathy. I pulled up a stool at the bar and sat down. "I'm a man, with a very colorful drink, at a bar. I'd say I'm about as festive as a bar ever gets."
She laughed at me for a moment in a way that implied she saw no humor in what I'd said, but was trying to be polite. I was more content to ignore it and began hungrily slugging away at my drink like it was the first bits of water I'd seen in months. It was just the fuel I'd needed to get my ship off the ground and tonight was going to be a night where I'd need all the loud music and raw fuel I could get my hands on for sure.
"So what do you do?" The girl asked, tugging at the cuff of my jacket in a way that made me believe she had asked more than once, when I wasn't paying attention. I gave her a questionable look as I turned on my bar stool and peered down at my drink. It was already half empty. I shook my glass at a wandering bartender who nodded, and the cleared my throat.
"I do film-making, movies and stuff." It was one of a dozen lines I'd feed people for a reaction - half of how I'd made most of the 'friends' I had up here - and see just how far they'd run with it. I, luckily, have practice in hiding my amusement at people's responses or this one would have gotten me in serious trouble and blown the whole dame story to a confetti parade, an I doubt there would have been anyone cheering for me this time.
"That's so cool!" She fired back with a star struck sense of jubilation and R.S.S.S. - 'Rock-Star Sighting Syndrome'. People from small towns and closed scenes don't really understand the word 'cool' anymore. Once upon it might have been in the same ballpark of 'hip', 'rad' or even 'groovy', but these days? These days cool is the second rate, half retarded, cousin of 'awesome' and 'neat'. I'd have rather been told something was 'keen'. "What kind of movies do you do? Anything I might have seen? Are you working on anything right now?" She continued with hardly a breath in between.
"Oh I'm always working on something." I replied, finishing my drink and collecting the second. "I normally do wildlife documentaries, the kind of thing you see on PBS and Discovery channel. Lately I've been thinking about branching out.." I tucked the straw between my lips and sipped at the second drink. It was stronger than the first - I'd be tipping well tonight. Waving my hand around to the people and patrons to emphasize the point, I added "I figure I have plenty enough experience shooting wildlife to handle something like this.."
I considered, for a moment, that perhaps I was going about this all wrong. Here I was, destined to chase some dream nobody I knew had ever grabbed, and I was already starting off the journey swindling a good time out of someone like a second rate con man fresh out of prison. The first thing that occurred to me on the matter was that I was in a room full of masquerade liars.
The whole damn room was full of men who'd make a straight man cry himself to sleep questioning his sexuality after a slow dance. It was the embodiment that June 1970, rock classic, 'Lola' by The Kinks. This whole room was a powder keg of drunkards and ignorance just waiting for someone to light a match. This being considered, what was the real wrong of wearing my own mask in less-than-literal way? I couldn't see one. I was fitting right in with everyone else, I was just the only one who knew it.
Then again, wasn't that the idea? So few people had the ability to really grab a moment and make it something real. The youthful masses were herded willingly into the slaughterhouses of retirement homes always looking back all the things they could have had - if only the crossed the room to get them. Even if I was to lie and cheat my way through it, I was bringing someone else an experience they might never have had otherwise. I could rationalize I was doing this girl a favor - even if it was in the sense of my personal quest. Still, it was a moment an I intend to pluck it from the ether and turn it something like a surrealist painting.
"What are you doing here?" I asked her at once. "You hardly look like the kind of person who'd willing attend a gathering of freaks and degenerates.." I gave a thump to my chest, as if to indicate just who the degenerate in the room most likely was.."Never mind the transvestites."
"It's Mardi Gras!" She hooted at me, an I really had no argument. Even if the town was starting it a few days early - a nice gesture to the working stiffs who were too far away from any real epicenter of culture to properly experience it - it was the only real reason I could think anyone would need to wander into a room full of men dressed like women. It didn't hurt most of them were far more attractive than the average woman in these parts. Lumberjack blood didn't make for the most beautiful of women and it took a special kind of man to appreciate a good bit of chin fuzz on his bride.
I'd never been one of these men and hadn't ever really fit, but that didn't change the fact I was more at home among those who could swindle the eyes of a man who'd had just enough drinks to test the waters than she this girl had a prayer to ever become. "You're going about this all wrong!" I exclaimed loudly, shaking my drink in her general direction before reaching for her wrist and clutching it in a bear-trap grip.
I led her through the crowd like a drunken piper begging for the first in a long series of rats to follow me blindly into the fray of chaos. This was my livelihood after all and these were my kind of people. The stage might have been small, but all the right values were here: Excess, indulgence, pretending, and free range dreaming. Pushing through the gathering crowd and found us a table somewhere near the front. I gave the chair closest to her a kick with my foot and dropped in beside it - just in time to see the burlesque bits of the final performer.
She was stunned, though I couldn't have tightly said if this was a result of the surprise from having some leather clad hellion lead her through a crowd of drunken baboons, or rather from the jello mold of an ass that was being decadently waved in her direction like the wife of a sailor seeing her man off from port. It didn't much matter, once the initial shock wore off she was laughing and cheering along with the rest of the crowd. I was content to sit back and sip my drink.
"This is so much fun!" She exclaimed as the next performer hit the floor. This one was a real, genuine, woman. It wasn't another of the pretenders in pearls and fancy wigs. She was dressed like something straight out of Japan - the kind you saw portrayed in second rate, American, pornographic knock-offs. She was dancing to some manner of electronic J-pop, a far cry from the traditional Diana Ross and Cher classics I had expected at this thing, and doing it rather well. It was a very real moment - almost too much so - to see the pretender pretend amongst the pretending. It was a real moment, the kind of thing you see mocked in Dramas all the time.
"Now, you've got the feeling." I explained, leaning over to speak directly into her ear to make sure I was being heard. "This is no time to be sitting on the sidelines. It's crunch time and you're in the Superbowl. Make yourself a legend, you're long overdue."
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