snow music is always jazz. blue jazz

I employ each and every synapse, from pre frontal to parietal in search of something witty and clever and charming and mysteriously thought provoking to say to her to make her fall in love with me. The words always seem to find their way from Broca to the tip of my tongue and just before the curtain rises, stage fright sinks in. The carefully auditioned words meant to enter stage right to play the role of a well constructed, charming and sensual sentence to entrance her into some universal way of thought, dragging her from cerebral Earth to spiritual Jupiter, decide to slip and slide through the back entrance, right at the last second, down my esophagus, trip out on the acid of my stomach, strain like thin noodles through my exhausted liver, wiggle like an overly motivated stripper through my intestines and eventually, I find myself talking out of my ass.
There I go again thinking about her. That’s what i do when I think about her: I write anecdotes (if you will) that I fully intend on sending to her. As if I even know her address. I beef myself up, with booze mostly, to write these exorbitant self deprecations because something, somewhere deep inside me really thinks, yes truly believes, I can change her mind. Believes I can turn this van full of heartbreak around and life will pitch harmoniously back on key. Sophistry. Moronic delusion. No anecdotal circle jerk in the world could replenish the energy I’ve spent wearing thin the tread of my mind’s tires inwardly cogitating what I could have done differently.
After the writing usually comes Bobby Braddock’s best and a profusion of phone calls. Invitations to come over or drink out. My apartment stays a wreck so preferably the latter.
“You know I’m trying not to drink for a month or two, man.” a friend says to me. “I just want to test myself, you know. See if I can do it.”
“Why is it we’re still friends again?” I say. We laugh and catch up on recent events but I’m looking for a drinking partner. A partner in crime.
There are lots of good decisions made in this world. Dedicating one’s life to the arduous fight against disease or hunger is a good decision. A taxing one, but for the greater good of humankind, seemingly, a good decision. Men decide to be upstanding cops, honest lawyers, trustworthy politicians and even saviors of the most innocent creatures: veterinarians. Some decide to donate their wealth to charity or nature preserves or funding for new schools and technology in the third world.
Just as good decisions are made, as are bad decisions. I just made a bad decision. We hadn’t spoken in a while, Lewis and I, but everyone else was busy or lying. Lewis and I used to take Xanax and fish isolated spots on Cherokee lake and often enjoyed week long acid trips in big cities we’d never been to. Used to. We hadn’t spoken in going on two years. Lewis had, ostensibly, been playing with young adulthood, bouncing from side gig to side gig. I’d heard he was back in town from one of my earlier phone conversations so I figured we could at least catch up.
“Lewis? Lewis it’s Lee.”
He sounded the the same as I’d remembered him, aflame and apt. A sting of adventure all but struck me through the receiver. He knew there was a reason I was calling.
“No Lewis, I don’t need any mushrooms.”
A vacation or maybe just a night out. A night out was cheaper. We decided to meet up at Marie’s Jazz Room at 9 o’clock. I drank a beer in the shower and took a shot and a bump on my way out the door to ease the anxiety naturally felt before planned meet ups with old friends. My hair was a fucking mess but I thought it looked natural, organic, cool. I popped the filtered side of a Camel cigarette out of the open slot in the paper that constituted the soft-pack and wrapped my bourbon stained lips around it. I lit the cigarette as I stepped on to the snowed over concrete, my feet crunching at the snow like candy wrappers. Marie’s was only a fifteen minute walk, or two and a half smokes; I could finish the third at the bar. I walked down Fourth St. glancing down at my feet, snow and sleet disgorging from the soles of my shoes parting like the Red Sea, then up ahead again, every so often passing someone asking if I could spare some change or reciting their “Hey, can I ask you a question?” bit. I used to try my best to be polite, to sympathize. I used to give a buck or two if I had it and if I didn’t have it, apologize like I really should’ve. I used to let them ask me their question, which more often than not resulted in me checking my pockets for change. Not anymore though. Even with temperatures cold enough to freeze the most warm hearted man, I felt lassitude, nothing for beggars and street cons. They were on their own in this world, just like me.
As I walked through the front door of Marie’s, canary yellow lights shined down upon me and I could feel their heat on the top of my head. I half way considered standing under the warmth of the lights for the residuum of the night. I took a quick glance around the dark, smoke filled room. It was illuminated chiefly by the flash of neon trim on the jukebox, a light up sign advertising the 1982 World’s Fair and the cherries burning at the ends of cigarettes. I recognized a figure at the bar as Lewis, two shot glasses full of brown liquid and a half drunk beer in front of him. My feet almost stuck to the floor as I walked through the room. I tapped his shoulder and he turned to face me, aberrantly, as if on guard and nervy. A wicked smile crossed his face as soon as he realized it was just me.
“Ah, a site for these sore eyes!” Lewis got up from his barstool to give me a hug. “It sure is good to see you my friend. It’s been too long.”
“Yeah, I guess it has. Sorry to startle you like that. I never know how to approach people anymore. Everyone seems so on edge these days.”
“Ah, that’s alright man. you didn’t mean it. Hell, you really could have gotten me going, though. Here, first one’s on me. To old friends.” Lewis handed me one of the shots and with an ominous look to him, we drank.
“Jesus, man. What kind of poison did we just drink?”
“You like it? Part strychnine, part arsenic; a real party starter. I’ve been thinking about getting my ABC.” I poked at a courtesy laugh but realized I’d probably end up losing the contents of my stomach which was primarily alcohol, so I just looked at the floor.
At the end of the bar closest to the entrance was a man reading a book entitled The Proper Way to Imbibe while all but shotgunning Old Style beers and behind us, a few old men sitting at a round table with folding chairs plotted around it like blips on a radar. I took in the atmosphere like I took in the alcohol, with a grimace. This wasn’t a place I usually came but it was close and there were no judgments like in the trendier bars downtown. It also offered a quiet place to talk, as there wasn’t much patronage.
We spoke about nothing important for a while: the weather, political climate, movies we’d seen, books we’d read, sports and then silence fell on us. It was always going to be Lewis that broke the silence.
“So, what’s the occasion?” Lewis asked. He was holding a bottle of beer against the side of his forehead like an ice pack and leaning on both elbows atop the bar. I sat and wondered for a moment what he was talking about. The two of us being together in a bar felt ordinary, so familiar that I had forgotten it had been almost two years since I’d seen him. “Lee?” I snapped to attention. “Why’d you call me?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Do I really need a reason? It’s been rough this year. You heard about what happened? With Samantha. Thought I was going to lose it there for a little while, but I am doing a little better.”
“So, I guess you want to talk about it?” Lewis asked, but apathetically, almost snottily. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t usually like talking about personal feelings or grief with anyone, but I thought Lewis, of anyone, would at least show understanding and listen; while we were drinking together at that. His lack of absorption infuriated me.
“What’s your problem. You don’t have to be an asshole. I’d listen to you talk about this shit with me. Why do you have to act so fucking cool all the time?” My voice was raised now. “I guess you’ll never change, huh? Another whisky, please.” I wasn’t in a please mood, but it was habit.
“Jesus. We haven’t talked in how many years? And you finally call me to cry? I just didn’t think you were like that is all. This happens to everyone, all the time. Learn from it, I guess. Is that what you want me to say?” Lewis wouldn’t face me, just stared into the dark, massless abyss inside the mirror behind the bar. He motioned for another drink, too.
“I just thought you’d be willing to talk about it I guess. I didn’t think it would be such a headache for you.”
“Can we drop it? Maybe catch up on other things? How are your parents? What the hell are you doing these days?”
“They’re fantastic. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Why are you avoiding talking about this with me?
“I gotta take a piss. You don’t mind if I bum one from you?” I handed Lewis a cigarette and watched him saunter off to the back of the building, smoke rising from his head like steam engine.
I needed some fresh air. I went outside, around the corner into a caliginous alley to relieve myself. My shadow danced from wall to wall as headlights from passing cars exposed me. I was careful to look over my shoulder, for one of the lights could have been the ray from a flashlight of an on-duty officer. I was a good drunk like that. Always aware.
The algid air bit at my nose and ears and within seconds I was having trouble conducting my fingers. I lit up a cigarette but tossed it to the ground and stomped it out after two drags. The whole conversation with Lewis had left me feeling nauseous. The freezing temperature began to soak through my coat and nip at the skin of my chest and abdomen so I returned to the bar, elongating my re-entrance in order to defrost under the warmth of the golden lights.
“I thought you’d left there for a second. I would have believed it, too. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you so upset. Look, I didn’t mean to piss you off so much. I was interested in listening, I don’t know why it came out that way in my voice. Guess I’m just not used to talking about this stuff.”
I suddenly felt the weight of my drunkenness, gratingly establishing pressure between my eyes and in the depths of my belly, as if there were rocks there. I was conscious enough, though. I’d had enough, no, too much, to drink and of Lewis. He didn’t care to be there so neither should I.
“I think I’m gonna head out, actually. It was good to catch up.” I finished my drink, warm bourbon. My back was already turned to Lewis by the time he’d realized what was happening, I think.
“Hey, come on man. You don’t have to be like that. I know it’s tough to hear but maybe she just didn’t love you. You really are being selfish about this. What about her? What about how she felt, huh? I know how you’ve been. You think I don’t still have friends?”
“You think I don’t hear things either? You think I haven’t heard the rumors about you two?”
“Grow up. Rumors are rumors, nothing more. You know me better than that. Besides, if it isn’t me it’s someone else. It’s always someone else, always.
I couldn’t control myself. I hurled a fist and landed it on Lewis’ right cheek. A seemingly licentious act, but not in my mind. I was piqued and ready to fight. Lewis’ riposte was quick and severe, blurring my vision, momentarily. He’d caught me just as I had him. We lunged at each other, arms flailing frenetically. An outsider looking on could easily surmise that neither of us was used to a fight. No quicker than it took us to topple each other over onto the viscid floor were we being wrenched apart. The bartender, a stocky bald man wearing flannel, and three suit wearing old geezers were tearing at our waists and clothes, desperately trying to separate us. It took all five men to get us apart, and even then we were plying like magnets inside our own magnetic field to furiously reunite.
“Here, you sons of bitches!” said the bartender, out of breath and fuming angrily. “Here!” he shouted again and slammed two beers down on the bar. A peace offering? Have a beer and talk about it? No, it was past that. I sat down, dejected. Lewis mirrored me. The men holding us back loosened their grips. The bald man, who’d had a hold of me fell over on his side and started laughing. His laughter grew and grew until it reached an uncontrollable hilarity. He composed himself slightly, enough to mutter a few words.
“Sometimes you’re the garden, sometimes you’re the hoe, eh?” he said and then continued uproariously laughing.
The other men stood up and went back to minding their own business, almost as if what had just happened was a familiar scene, just with different players.
I picked myself up, too, and started for the door. Jazz was playing through the jukebox; a certain blue jazz. Lewis motioned with his mouth like maybe he had something to say, but nothing came out. The warmth of the overhead lights in the doorway didn’t prepare me for the freezing temperature outside. Halfway down the block, I could still hear the hum of a melancholy saxophone through the swing of the front door. A brown paper bag danced across the sleet covered road like some tumbleweed and a traffic light flashed red. The jazz, though out of earshot, still oscillated in my head as I moped down the deserted sidewalk, head down, hands in my pockets, dried blood on my upper lip.
I turned the corner onto my street and nearly tripped over a hunk of blankets and cardboard strewn across the sidewalk. Under the blankets lay a man with a sleet covered face looking up at me. He said nothing, but we held gaze awhile. I sat down next to the man, immediately feeling the sleet melt underneath me, soaking the seat of my pants. A trendy couple wearing pea coats and holding hands walked past us, laughing about something.
“Excuse me. Can I ask you something?” I said, sincerely, unequivocally. They both looked at me, disinterested, almost disgusted and passed on by, into the dark background of the city on a terribly frost swept night. I looked at the man I was sitting beside and a smile wrenched itself across his frostbitten face. I smiled, too. There is something so satisfying about sadness, but every time I’ve come close to putting my finger on what it is, I brighten up.
I stood up, gave the man all the money I had and walked, in sync with the jazz in my head, back in the direction I had come from.
