The Procedure -- Op

We get to the hospital about 25 minutes early which worked out because my GPS and the real world are not exactly in sync.  After backtracking twice and driving through a quaint little neighborhood, we park and enter the hospital.  We wait, I fill out paperwork, we wait, i answer some questions, we wait, we get invited into a nice little area where they provide me with a hospital gown (someday I want to meet the ALL that this one size is supposed to fit) and socks with a rubberized sole.

A moment about hospital gowns.  We know what they are, we all have the same complaints, but why are they like that.  I mean, is it so ridiculous to have them tie in the front.  Doctors and nurses still have the same necessary access (in most cases more appropriate access as my guess is over 75% of all hospital needs involve the front or the underneath, not the back).  And then you can tie them yourself.  Honestly, I am not shy about my butt popping out in a hospital corridor, it's the ones that actually parade past me that are a bit queasy making (think WalMart shoppers pics).

Thankfully they cover me with a blanket as sitting with my ankles clasped (to avoid a public display -- or should that be pubic) is quite uncomfortable.  Bunch more questions.  Then they put in the IV.  I hate that.  I know it;s just a little prick, but . . .

Then I get the run down.  They'll take me into a room where I will lay down on a table.  The will give me some mild sedation (enough to relax me but not to put me out).  There will be a screen in the room so I can watch the progress of the procedure through my innards (o joy!).  If they go through my wrist (wait, IF?), they will put a pressure bracelet on my wrist to help it heal.  If not, there will be a pressure bandage put on my leg (yeah, my leg).  since I am getting a stint put in I will probably need to stay the night (WHAT!!).

My name's called.  They come over with a wheel chair (only my second time in a wheel chair).  We head to the room.  My doctor stops to say hello and to examine my wrist (blood flow good enough to go through there?).  I introduce him to my sister.  She gets escorted to a waiting room; I get wheeled into the room.  Hop up on the table and make myself comfortable. 

The x-ray lady is kinda cute.  They hook up the IV.  I am assuming they are giving me sedation though it doesn't feel that way.  Blood pressure cuff put on.  Gotta love that thing.  through out the procedure the thing keeps inflating and deflating at random intervals.  Doesn't hurt, just scares me every so often.

Now this guy comes in, lifts up the gown, covers the stuff with a towel and proceeds to shave.  Now what am I gonna post on face book.  Just in case he tells me.  He then shaves my wrist.  Doctor comes in, feels my wrist, covers the other newly shaved area, and tells me he's going to numb my wrist (thank goodness).  He's behind this shield kind of thing because I am being x-rayed constantly.  I feel a prick in my hand.  He's tapping my hand.  Says something to another guy there.  Taps my hand.  says something else.  I start realizing that yes, they have given me something to relax.  Blood pressure cuff pumps up.  He taps my hand again.  Is it ever going to get numb?  This goes on for about 15 minutes and then I realize, the procedure has been underway for awhile now.  No screen for me to see, wrist never felt numb, but he is well on his way.  About 30 minutes later, he's done.  I have a new clear plastic bracelet (and yep, I could feel the pressure) and they wheel me into what seems to be the office for the lab folks.  My sister, having spoken with the doctor, comes and sits next to me.  The doctor joins us, talks a bit about how things went (well) and that I will be under observation for a few hours.  And I will probably be able to leave in 4 to 6 hours.  I get my iPad from my sister and start checking emails and texts.

To be continued . . .

The Procedure -- Pre Op

So I had this procedure and I haven't been talking too much about it.  It really wasn't anything too out there and I've been spending my time getting back into the loop and just, well, living.  Let me take a few minutes though.

Seems after the event of 12/11/2014 it was necessary for me to have stints put into the other two arteries.  The Cardiologist who performed the emergency procedure had indicated that it really needed to happen within two weeks.  Well, that didn't happen.  It took me over a month to get a referral to a new Cardiologist alone.  I swear, the two types of doctors they really need to make the referral process pretty stress free for are Cardiologists and Psychiatrists (for two very different reasons).

Finally I get the appointment and finally I see a cardiologist.  Who, by the way, is a really nice guy (but awfully young!).  We chat about what happened the first time.  He even shows me on a picture of the heart including showing me what a clogged artery looks like.  Thankfully it was an artist's conception and not an actual photo.  He tells me that he plans on going through my wrist (as opposed to my -- well they say leg but it's really my groinal area).  He also tells me I only need one stint put in and he believes the other artery should clear up through the medication I am taking.  The best news is that, unless there are any unforeseen complications, I should be going home the same day.  Very Cool!  The not too cool part?  I am going to be awake through the whole thing.  They'll sedate me a bit to keep me calm and they will numb my wrist (oh, and no nerve endings on the way to the heart, so no worries there).  Well, that didn't seem like too much fun but hey, I'm not a cardiologist and this guy seems to know what he is doing.

So I'm ready to go.  My sister from New Jersey is arranging to come out to help me through the procedure and recuperation period.  My sister in San Fransisco was really hoping to come down too but the procedure is scheduled during one of the few weeks impossible for her to leave home.  Definitely understandable.  But, wait, they need to get approval from the insurance company.  and that takes all of a week.  Geez.

Let me stop for a minute and say that yes, I am complaining about the waiting for a referral and waiting for the approval but I am grateful that I have insurance.  It's unfortunate about the bureaucracy but the alternative?  Something I am happy I don't have to be burdened with.

I get the approval.  My sister gets the airplane tickets.  I take the time off from work.  I just can't wait to get this taken care of.

Now, for those of you who pay attention to me on Face Book, you know that I was complaining about being shaved.  I understood the reason just do not find the look attractive.  I believe my best description is comparing it to a Moray Eel.  Think about it.  So about a week before the procedure I decide that the day after I'm in the hospital I'm going to post something like "I was really happy the went through the wrist this time.  Not sure why they still shaved me."  Why, cause that's the kind of thing that I would post.

Sis gets in on Tuesday night (slightly different plans than originally scheduled as the record snow and cold on the East Coast has changes some flight plans).  We take the kids to school together on Wednesday.  I needed her to know where they needed to be picked up on Thursday as my hospital stay will probably out last their school day and on the off chance I needed to stay overnight, she needed to know where to take them Friday morning.  I go to work..  We have dinner with the kids and the Ex at a Pizza Restaurant (or what we East Coasters call a Pizzeria)  as they are doing a fund raising for the school.  I hug my kids goodbye, we head to the house and I attempt to sleep a few hours before the alarm wakes me up at 4 AM so we can be at the hospital by 6.

To be continued . . .

Kingsman

About a year ago, I saw the first preview for this movie. Seemed okay, nothing too exciting. But my son, recently turned 11, was grabbed.  Then nothing. He'd mention it every few months, couldn't remember the name, just wanted to see that movie "with the spies".  In the middle of the summer we saw the poster for it. No mention of release date, but he couldn't wait.  As the year wound to an end, we started seeing the previews a bit more.  January, a new preview. This one grabbed me.  Then, not 2 weeks before release, we found out that it was rated R. He was devastated. When it finally came out, I through the " is it really that bad" question out to FaceBook.  General consensus was it was pretty violent, but more comic book violence then anything to worry about.   Those responding knew me pretty well as did I know them. So I took the chance, and took my son to see it.

Let me get this part out of the way.  If the f word bothers you, be prepared to be bothered. It is quite violent and gory but the best way to describe it IS comic book violence.  If you are thinking about bringing a kid but want to make sure, go see it first.  It is definitely worth seeing at least twice.

This movie is tremendous fun and honestly, if it weren't for the fact that my son wanted to see it so badly, I may have missed out. Thanks for your perseverance, George.

The best way for me to describe it is if Marvel decided to make a James Bond movie, this would be the result.   It had the quality and character development we are learning to expect from Marvel, with the class we remember from the Connery and Brosnan Bonds.  It is a parody of spy movies that takes itself seriously, yet doesn't.

The casting is great. The concept makes one yearn for more.  And there are just the right amount of surprises.  I was concerned that Samuel L Jackson's speech impediment was going to get really annoying, really quickly. But it didn't; it just worked.   He is the embodiment of a Bond style villain, yet different.


I am not one to quote scenes or give spoilers, so I won't. I just want to say I really liked this movie, plan to see it at least one more time, and highly recommend it.


I do have a concern I'm concerned this will do so well that a sequel will be considered.  This movie needs no sequel.  It would make a great franchise, but please tell new stories about Kingsman, no need to continue what we've seen. I know there is a thin line between sequel and franchise. This is one case where I think the difference is important to realize.

In case I didn't make this one point clear -- go see this movie. Soon, on the big screen, and often.

Sharknado and Sharknado II

Tonight I had the pleasure of watching both the Sharknado movies back to back. I had only seen the first about a year and a half ago. I got a notice that there was a signing in Burbank celebrating the DVD release, and immediately arranged to drag my, then 10 year old, son with me. I got the casts' signatures, a few pictures with the stars I knew, and went home, feeling good about the experience and wondering what the heck Sharknado was. So, with little else to do that day, George and I sat down to watch it. And I loved it. It had everything all the best bad movies have. People you've seen a few places before, outrageous storyline, that one point that no matter how credible they attempt to make the story, truly stretches the limits of your already stretched imagination, overreaching drama (family strife, relationship deconstructing and reconstructing to name a couple). Hot chicks (and blokes) and usually nudity (alas, this was made for TV, so lacked that essential element).

A quick note on bad movies. Bad movies are not bad, as in poorly made or crappy.  They are bad as in they don't fit the norm and have many things I've mentioned above. Gator Bait is a bad movie.  Meteor is a crappy movie. Check them out, you'll see.  And as I am always prepared to point out, bad and crappy are in the minds of the beholder. To each his own.

So here was this just delightful movie unfolding before our eyes. I laughed throughout quite a bit. I was glad we discovered it. And then I packed the disc back in the autographed covered case and moved on with my life.

For some reason, George and I were ready to see it again. This time, sharing it with my stepson, Alex and my sister, Elyce (my 10 year old daughter was at a birthday party and staying with her Mom tonight, which worked out well as, even though she thought she wanted to see this a few months ago, she barely made it through the trailer).

This second viewing was great. I picked up on so many more of the Jaws references (having seen it, I could now spend a tad more time watching it -- if that makes any sense). It was also fun watching two newbies discovering its unique charms for the first time.  Sure the logic breach caught me again. Not to reveal anything but there is a scene where a shark pops out of a run off pipe on the side of a mountain. At this point in the film there was no way the sharks had made it to that elevation. So it bothered me. I was cool with the shark swimming down Wilshire Blvd., but this point bothered me. Go figure.

The movie ends. I am happy we watched it. I check out the time and discover there is time enough still for Sharknado II.  And happily, it was available on Netflix.

This sequel was most reminiscent of Gremlins 2. It is basically a parody of itself, but made as a straight film. The references and cameos to other films and TV shows are nonstop (gotta love seeing Judd Hirsch as a taxi driver in Manhattan). There were a couple of times where we stopped to discuss or rewound to catch a comment, or scene, or to identify an actor.  And we took the end credits fairly slow (oh wow, that was Kelly Osbourne). Though it never takes itself too seriously, it expects us to, and that is the beauty of it.  And the way it works The Today Show and weather broadcasts into the fold is priceless. I only wish they had found a way  to work Robbie Rist into the sequel.

A quick word on Ian Zierling, the hero of both movies. I was previously not very familiar with his work.  Only ever caught a few episodes of 90210. He is perfect for the role of surfing champ and low key hero.  Don't know why he's been hiding but hope he stays out, now that he is.  And by the way, I was pulling for him from the beginning on Celebrity Apprentice.


I hear they are making a third Sharknado. I, for one, can not wait.  George and Alex want it set in Miami. Me, I would love to see the Sharknado transport Ian to Oz.  Imagine the sharks swimming down the yellow brick road.

Gone Girl

No, I haven't read the book, yet.

It's taken me this long to see Gone Girl because, honestly, I had heard not great stuff about it. Though the trailers were intriguing, I was under the impression that it would be one of those twist ending movie where the hype has you figuring out the twist very early on (this happened to me with Sixth Sense, there were so many commercials for it and people claiming the ending was so surprising, it took about 15 minutes to figure it out).

So I started watching assuming what the solution was.  And lo and behold, I was right. Though the movie doesn't end there. The movie started out a bit slow. I will admit I am a fan of the flashback/present day format of telling the story. So that helped me warm to it.  And I did get caught up in the intrigue. As usual, I don't want to say too much about the story of reveal anything.

Though the movie presents itself as a mystery, thriller type I ultimately saw that as the background story. To me this movie was a statement on the media.  How they make and break individuals and how they manipulate the emotions and views of their audience.

The thriller "sub story" was at times reminiscent of Hitchcock and there was even a very nice, yet not so subtle, tip of the hat to Vertigo.

And then the movie needed to end. In the last 20 minutes (or so, I wasn't watching the clock) the film fell apart. Up to this point, the attention to plot and character kept things flowing logically. Not always expectedly, but logically. But this last piece dismissed the logic. It isn't that I didn't get the ending or didn't like the ending.  I didn't appreciate how dismissive it was of the rest of the film. It just didn't fit. Perhaps this was, once again, media manipulating the audience but honestly, it wasn't as intelligent has the majority of the movie.

Will I see it again?  Not really sure. Will I read the book?  Very possibly. But that begs a bigger question. One I have considered with previous films such as Hunger Games and 50 Shades. If I need to read the book to appreciate or enjoy the movie, aren't the movie writers and directors failing to do their jobs?  

50 Shades of Gray

Two important notes before going into my review:

1.  I did not like the book at all.  as a matter of fact, I found it excruciating to finish.  Took me months to finally get through it.

2.  I am not a woman!!

I debated seeing this movie.  as mentioned, I really didn't like the book but I knew at some point I would see it.  I was sans kids on Monday, so off I went.  And I was hoping with an open mind.  Bottom line, I did not enjoy it.  As a matter of fact I dozed off a couple of times (and I will see it again to see if what I missed makes up for my initial response). 

For those of you who are familiar with the way I review movies, you know I tend to stay away from revealing too much but instead relay my feelings about the experience.  As the experience was not great I am actually going to touch upon some pieces that negatively impacted the experience.  Though I don't believe anything I will say could be considered a spoiler, stop now if you think you may find out too much.

I found the movie plodding.  It's the only word I can think of.  It just kind of droned on.  There didn't seem to be any ups or downs just very straight story telling.  and unfortunately, there is not much of a story to tell.

The opening shot was a mistake.  First off the scene was very dreary, very (yes) gray.  And we meet our hero as he is jogging through the streets.  This is not, in my opinion, the way to introduce this character.  if I remember the book, the first time we see him is in his office, his true environment.  Dressed impeccably. Beautiful office, great city view.  This is where we should meet him.  He is an icon, not a man.  I think the opening shot took away from the potential impact the office meeting would have had on the audience.  Here is this stunning man.  In Superman we first see Christopher Reeve in full Superman costume, flying off the screen, not as Clark Kent.  Save that until we've gotten that first impression.

And speaking of the office visit.  This is where our main characters meet for the first time.  The lack of chemistry flew off the screen.  There was nothing that led me to believe that these two characters would or should get together.  No desire, no steam, no future passion.  For this flick that seemed to be okay because the lack of chemistry remained throughout the film.  And the pencil chewing looked really forced.  Not a natural move but a scripted one.

Though I didn't like the book (why, poor writing and a subject matter was nowhere near as taboo as it considered itself) the driving force was Ms. Steele's inner dialogue.  This is difficult, at best, to represent in a visual medium, but no attempt was made to even show that such a thing existed.  No, voice over would have been a ridiculous device but I have to imagine there are writers out there in the world who can visually depict an inner dialogue.  Or actors who can portray it.

So that's it.  I didn't go to see it for the "wow" factor (i.e. the subject matter), I went to be entertained.  Didn't do either.

And yes, quite astonished at myself that a movie that was packed with nudity (and the promise of more) actually had me dozing off.

I will revisit this after a second, full viewing.  Maybe my thoughts will be altered.

The Slap

[Warning -- This could very easily fall into a category of "Ethnically Insensitive" which I have been accused of on some occasions.  I never mean to be offensive, just if I find something funny I'm not sure why I have to limit myself to being a male Jew.  The world is an open book to me.]

So I am refusing to watch this new show The Slap.  This is rare for me as I believe that if I am going to dislike or mock something I should be familiar with it (one of the reasons I have sat through so many Spielberg films -- don't get me started).   The commercials alone have driven my decision.  Here's what I am seeing.  A bratty kid is swinging a bat around other, not so bratty kids.  A parent (Spock) tells the kid not to and grabs the bat from his hand.  Kid kicks adult. Adult slaps kid.  Music changes, everything goes to slow motion.  Lots of scenes of anger and rage (and a brief sound clip of the grandmother -- I'm guessing -- saying the kid deserved it).  This is a mini series?

To set the record straight, I was spanked as a kid.  I have never spanked (or laid a hand on) my kids.  Felt I learned my lesson but not sure it's the way I want to teach the lesson.  But, a miniseries?

Here's my idea.  Set this up in an urban environment.  Same preview up until just after the slap.  That's the end of the miniseries.  Call it "Up Side the Head" and move on.

I'm throwing this out there for you SNL writers or Late Night folks.  It's all yours (like any of them read this).

One man's opinion.

OOOOOOPS!

So last night I took my staff out for our department's end of year dinner.  We needed to postpone it because of health issues in December.

Geez, drank a tad too much (and given my diet, ate a tad too much as well).  We had a great time and other than repeating the same two stories to the newest member of the staff (he's been here 4 months) about 5 times, I think I was good.

Drove home, stopped at the ATM on the way, paid the babysitters, kissed the kids goodnight and proceeded to fall asleep on the bathroom floor for about an hour. 

And this morning, no discernible hangover.  I just hope there isn't some giant gap in the evening I am forgetting.

Oh the stories?  well one involved my idea for a Halloween costume this year.  One of the women I work with is tall with long dark hair, so I was thinking Sonny and Cher.  She'd get the fancy dress and I would find a fake tree to wear in front of me.

The other goes way back.  In the company I worked for before where I am now, I thought it would be fun to have a dress as your favorite Brady day.  Me? Though many thought my preference would be Greg, I was going to go as James but just couldn't find a wheel chair.

And those my friends, are GGG'isms!

Been Thinking. . .

Not about much, just things. 

First, I want to continue to thank those of you who have had the opportunity to read some of my literary attempts.  All three stories were really just written for me and it means a lot when I get the feedback that I do.  For better or worse, it' gotten me thinking about writing some more.

I work with this guy who keeps referring to the "Unnamed Story" as the one about the Pizza girl.  Oddly, I think about it that way as well.  So I'm seriously considering naming it There in 30 Minutes or Free.  Kinda sounds like it has a double meaning.

I'm also thinking about writing about where David is today.  The story takes pace in the mid 90's and he was about 30.  That would make him 50 now.  My guess is he probably has at least one kid, potentially a son, who lives with him.

He's not the suave debonair character he thought he was at the time.  My guess is he was married for a couple of years and that didn't take (love that line in the movie Dave).  Probably doesn't date that much or sets his sights where he would never meet woman.  I still don't think I'll like him and not sure I would have him end up with a happy ending (pun both intended and unintended).  Food for thought.

I'm still in the midst of the Widowmaker companion piece.  It's both harder and easier than I initially thought it would be.

And I'm still trying to find the story in me that started with this paragraph I wrote down about 6 months ago:

He stood on the small ledge extending from just outside his bedroom window.  Though normally scared of heights, Robert didn’t feel the least bit dizzy as he looked down at the crowd slowly forming, some 20 stories below him.  All he wanted were answers.  The questions were long ago asked and forgotten.  The answers seemed to be what still ran through his head.

 

 

So that's it for now.  Thanks again for visiting.

 

Random, Just Random

Whew, well that's it.  That's the stuff I've written in the past.  I do appreciate those who made it through the 6 1/2 chapters of that story I've spent the last two weeks posting and I'm sorry it all ended up backwards but I'm still learning how to post this stuff.

And in case you are wondering, David from the Unnamed Story, is neither me or someone I wanted to be.  Sure when I started writing it there were definitely leanings but he just became such a pig.  David is more who I was about 20 years ago and yes, it was loosely based on a major crush I had at the time.  The Narrator of The Widowmaker is a dead ringer (pardon the pun) for me. 

Now for those of you wondering where the humor is, well, so am I.  I needed to get that first story out there, call it personal therapy, and then I actually had folks asking if I had written anything else.   The result, the last two weeks of stories.  And, I am feeling there are more to come.  I have discussed with a very good friend of mine writing a companion piece to the Widowmaker, from a third person perspective (it is the first thing I've written from a first person voice), in order to get more emotion into the piece.  Ive started on that.  I also, years ago, tried my hand at erotica (okay, there's the pun I should be apologizing for).  I'm thinking about a meager attempt at that as well.  I will make sure to caution the readers when and if I follow that through.  I also started writing a play in High School called "Living Through Suicide" about a guy who tries to kill himself, tells his close friends and girlfriend what he really thinks about them, and then, as the title denotes, lives to face the consequences.  I had the whole thing outlined (something I rarely do before writing) but fell flat when attempting dialogue.  May write that into a story.

So where, again, is the funny stuff?  Honestly, I just don't know.  Like things I have written, GGG'isms has taken on a life of it's own.

I hope you enjoy this.  If you do, feel free to share with others.  If not, my apologies, but please check back (if you'd like) as you never know what might spring from this mind of mine.  I rarely do.

G. P. Stickeler -- 2/9/2015

Epilogue

EPILOGUE


What exactly is happiness?  The first memories of happiness are oft so simple.  Riding on the hobbyhorse in the basement, watching your favorite TV shows, birthdays (your favorite cake and presents a necessity).  Who could forget that first night you were allowed to stay up past your bedtime or that first star you got from your kindergarten teacher?  The looks on your parents’ faces when you brought home a good report card.  Summer vacation, swimming, going to a movie.  It’s all so far away.

You grow and the simple pleasures are no longer simple.  Graduating high school is just another link in the chain.  That first kiss is more awkward than anything else.  First loves have to end.  Money, power don’t bring you happiness, only the desire to have more.  Knowledge, experience are enablers for cynicism.  The road to true love is so marred with pitfalls; the end is rarely justified by the means.  Yet we endure.  We follow the path as has been done over the ages.

And what are dreams?  Some believe that dreams are our actual reality.  Some say they represent what we want.  Who amongst us wants to have monsters chasing us as children?  Was it that we wanted to feel secure in the fact that mom and dad would be there to rescue us?  If so, why did we oversleep for the big test?  Why did we go to the store with no clothes?  Why don’t the brakes work?

If dreams are a release for anxiety, why do days go by with knots torturing our digestive systems?  A means to maintain sanity; predictions of possible futures?  Then why can’t they be remembered clearly?  A world of true happiness?  Possibly.


Larry shot straight up in his bed.  “What the hell just happened?”  The phone was ringing.  He looked at the blurry clock on his VCR.  He found his glasses on the nightstand.  Twelve o’clock flashed on and off.  “Damn, the power must have spiked again last night.  I wonder what time it is,” he thought he as reached for the phone.

“Good morning.”  There was that groggy voice again that he looked forward to.

He cleared his throat.  “What time?”

“Huh.”  There was confusion in her voice.  She must have just woken up.

“Who’s driving?”  Geri had mentioned she’d have a car for a few days and that she’d drive him at least once.

“I did.”  She started to sound a little more coherent.  The phone rang again.

“What the . . .” Larry felt a rustling of the covers.  As he turned, Geri sat up next to him and kissed him gently on the cheek.

“Hi.”  Her smile lit the room.  He wrapped his arms around her and held her.

Click.  “I guess your not home.  It’s your mom.  Just wanted to see what’s new.”

Chapter 6

 

A VIRTUE

 

 

 

Larry dropped the phone.  This was not happening.  “Larry, Larry,” the muffled voice was coming from the phone on his lap.  He retrieved it quickly.

 

“Sorry, dropped the phone.”  He felt his pulse begin to race.  “What did you say?”

 

“I wanted to know if you wanted to go to the movie tonight.  If you’re not doing anything else, that is.”

 

“No, I was actually just thinking about getting dinner.  Haven’t eaten all day.”  Why did he say that?

 

“Well, if you want we could get something to eat first.”  What did she just say?  “Or we could just get something to eat, that is if you want to.”  It was her turn to babble.  “Look, why don’t we just do this during the week.  I don’t want to . . .”

 

“No, no, I’d really like getting dinner first.”  It was his turn to cut her off.  “I’m not exactly dressed for it right now.  I’ll need some time to get ready.”  For the first time this week, the words were coming out easily.

 

“That sounds great.  I really wanted to unpack and take a quick shower.  I was on the road for a long time today.  That much time alone in a car sure gives you the opportunity to think.”  She seemed to want to say something else, but stopped herself.

 

Larry looked at his clock.  “How about I pick you up in an hour.”

 

“Let’s say an hour and a half.  And I’ll pick you up.  I might as well get some use out of this rental.”

 

“Do you need directions?  Get a piece of paper.”

 

“I’m fine.  Remember you drove me past it a few times.”

 

“Okay, I’ll be outside waiting for you then.”  Was that hunger or anxiety he was feeling?

 

“No, no, no.  I want to come up and see that ‘museum’ you’re always talking about.”

 

Definitely anxiety.  He looked around the room.  “In that case, you better make it a week.  No, more like a month.”

 

She laughed.  “Come on, it can’t be that bad.  I’ll see you in ninety minutes.”

 

“Sure.”  Now he was outright petrified.  He waited until he heard her hang up the phone and jumped out of the chair.  “Shit!”  There was only one solution.  The spare room was basically empty.  It housed a pullout couch (for visitors), his computer set-up, and a television-VCR combo.  He gathered up as much mail and miscellaneous items he could carry and tossed them into the spare room.  Next went the dirty clothes.  He had to hurry.  He, too, wanted to shower before their evening began.  It only took a few minutes to move everything necessary from the living room.  He sat down, exhausted.  The carpet could use a vacuuming but it would pass.  Dusting wasn’t an issue either.  Having every surface covered with crap has its benefits.  However, now that he had removed most everything from those surfaces, he could see little outlines of dust.  He grabbed a napkin from the kitchen and wiped down anything that looked dusty.  He glanced in the hall bathroom.  Still spotless from the last time his folks visited.  He never used the bathroom so he could keep it hermetically sealed between guests.  All he needed was to hang up a few hand towels and check the toilet paper level.  “This is too easy,” he thought.

 

Then he walked into the bedroom.  “I want to see that ‘museum’ you’re always talking about.”  The words rang in his ears.

 

He looked around at the toys, books, magazines, overflowing trashcan, piles of clothes, unmade bed.  “Shit, this is the museum!”  Ten trips to the spare room later the museum was, well, presentable.  He looked around the room to make sure he felt comfortable having someone in there.  An object on the nightstand caught his eye.  It was a glass from his Batman collection housing a single, slightly wilting, rose.  He considered removing it but decided not to.  “She has no idea what the significance is.”  He glanced at the clock again.  He had thirty-five minutes before she arrived.  “Just enough time to shower, shampoo, shave, brush my teeth, and beat my body with frankincense and myrrh.”  It was an expression he had used since his teens.  He had no idea what it meant, but that never stopped him.  “Oh, yeah, and I should probably get dressed.

 

He looked in the closet to find something to wear.  She had always complimented him on that suit but that would be overkill.  Jeans and a T-shirt seemed too casual.  “I don’t have a thing to wear.”  Who the hell said that?  Christ, he saw her almost every day.  She had seen him in almost every outfit he owned.  She even helped him pick out clothes on more than one occasion.  “She’s even helped me pick out clothes,” he whispered.  That’s it.  He pulled out a pair of khaki pants and a pullover shirt that still had the tags on them.  He hadn’t had a chance to wear these since their last shopping excursion.  “At least I know she’ll like these.”  He looked at his watch.  T minus twenty-eight minutes.  He removed the tags quickly, making sure to throw them in the trash and not on the nightstand as he normally would.  He hung the clothes on the doorknob of the bathroom and started the shower.  While he waited for the hot water, he took the opportunity to brush his teeth.  He made sure to get them all this time.  As steam started towards him from the shower, he brushed his tongue and the roof of his mouth. 

 

The water from the shower stung him as he got in.  He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but he had gotten a little sunburn.  “Great, now I look like a permanent blush,” he thought as he examined his face in the small mirror he had hung in the shower.  He got it so he could shave while showering.  Good plan, lousy execution.  The mirror was usually steamed over by the time he was ready to shave and he had to keep wiping it off.  He applied shaving cream and began the laborious task of wiping off the mirror, shaving one stroke, wiping off the mirror, shaving, wiping, shaving . . . Though he was in a hurry he still opted to “repeat if necessary” when it came to shampooing.  He knew his hair would still be wet when she got there, but this was a common occurrence with him.  As he rinsed his hair for a second time, Larry thought that he should have gotten a hair cut instead of travelling the globe this afternoon.  He was always waiting too long to get a hair cut.  He hated spending forty-five minutes for fifteen minutes in the chair.  Deep down Larry knew the reason he probably waited so long between trims was that it gave him a drastic change to his appearance.  Something people would notice.

 

The shower felt wonderful, relaxing, but the water began to cool down and he knew he was on a strict timetable.  Larry wiped off the bathroom mirror and took a long look at himself.  “Who are you kidding?”  He brushed his teeth again and gargled with a store brand mouthwash.  “Name brand quality at a fraction of the price,” he thought.  He brushed his hair, splashed on some over-priced cologne that he got because it came with a free backpack, and got dressed.  “Thirteen minutes to spare,” he said cheerily as he put his watch on, upside down.  “One more try.”  Despite what he tried to convince himself of, he was nervous.  First, he was actually going out with Geri.  Dinner and a movie.  This was unprecedented.  Second, he was very uncomfortable when anyone came to his apartment.  This was his fortress of solitude.  Plus, he knew it was never clean enough. 

 

Never clean enough.  He started walking around the apartment to make sure it was really presentable.  He grabbed another napkin from the kitchen, just in case there was any stray dust he had missed.  He was glad he conducted the inspection.  He found a few stray socks and a pair of boxer shorts on the route between his bedroom and the spare room.  He gathered them up and tossed them into his closet.  He was afraid to open the door to the spare room.  He checked out the hall bathroom.  Towels in place, plenty of paper left on the roll, no soap.  No soap!  He panicked.  He ran into his bathroom and rummaged through the cabinets under the sink.  Behind the bucket and toilet bowl brush was a single wrapped bar of soap.  He brought it to the other bathroom, unwrapped it, tossed the wrapper in the empty trashcan, and placed it in a soap dish his mother had bought him during his parents’ first visit.  “You don’t even have a soap dish?” 

 

He scouted the apartment one more time.  Realizing he was still carrying his ‘dust napkin’, he went into the kitchen, balled it up and tossed it in the garbage can.  Everything was fine.  He sat in the chair to wait out the final minutes before Geri’s arrival.

 

Just as he was turning on the TV, Larry jumped from his chair.  He ran into the hall bathroom and retrieved the soap wrapper from the trash.  He didn’t want her to know that he was only putting soap out for her.  He actually considered running the bar of soap under hot water to give it a used appearance but thought better of it.  “I don’t want her to think she has to use ‘used soap’.”  How was he going to last the next few minutes without having a nervous breakdown?  He balled up the soap wrapper and put it in his pocket.  He returned to his chair and began some breathing exercises he had seen demonstrated on a special about natural childbirth.  He wasn’t sure he was doing it right and wished that he had taped it.

 

Another bell rang in his head.  He turned, and there in the corner was a pile of videotapes.  He walked toward it disgusted with himself.  “You see a mess all the time and you forget what clean means.”  Noting the dust on the tape boxes, he detoured to the kitchen for yet another napkin.  He began wiping down each tape as he stacked them.  He quickly became aware that he didn’t have the luxury of the time this would take so decided on the next best thing.  He stacked the tapes and then wiped down just the surfaces that were visible.  Upon completion, he examined his work.  One more swipe of the napkin and he threw it away.  He took a deep breath and looked at his watch.  He was out of time.  As a matter of fact five minutes had passed since her expected time of arrival.

 

Being Larry, his first thought was that she wasn’t coming.  “I knew it.  I knew this was too good to be true.”  He stopped himself.  “Come on buddy,” he reassured himself, “you know she’s never on time.”  He sat in his chair.  The apartment was silent.  After another ten minutes he started to worry.  “She’s lost.  I should’ve insisted she write down the directions.  It’s been months since we drove past here.  And that was during the day.  It’s dark out.  Maybe I should call her.  If she hasn’t left I’ll make sure she takes down the directions.”  He was on his feet.  “Will you please calm down.”  He sat and picked up the remote control.  He pressed the ‘On’ button and one of the VCR’s hummed to life.  He pressed ‘Off” and grabbed the right remote.  He turned the TV on.  He turned the TV off.  He got up and pushed the ‘Power’ button on the TV (he knew where it was?).  He sat back down and turned the television off with the remote.  He got up, went into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator.  “I hope she likes root beer.”  He closed the door and returned to the chair.  He tried to turn the TV on but couldn’t find the remote control.  “I just had it.”  He walked into his bedroom, turned the light on. Larry scanned the room.  It wasn’t in there.  He went to the hall bathroom and checked the trash.  Empty.  He approached the spare room but thought better as he began to turn the knob.

 

“This is ridiculous.”  He sat back down and looked at his watch.  “Where the hell is she?”  He wasn’t angry, just overwhelmed with anxiety.  An image from seemingly nowhere came into his head.  It was the image of someone being shot at from a car.  The image was a bit foggy, like something you’d see in a dream.  “Oh God, I hope she didn’t get into an accident.”  He jumped up and grabbed the phone.  “Who the hell are you calling?” a voice in his head asked.  He replaced the phone.  “Maybe if I drove over to her place on the route she’ll probably take I’ll find her.”  He was manic.  “Will you please calm down?”  Larry was suddenly thirsty.  He went to the refrigerator and opened the door.  He started to laugh, a full, mind-clearing, stop driving yourself crazy kind of laugh.  Partly because he had let his imagination run away with him, partly because he realized tonight could be a lot of fun, but mostly because sitting on the top shelf was his remote control.  He allowed himself to relax.

 

Larry hadn’t noticed that another twenty minutes had gone by, he was engrossed in an episode of a show he’d never watched.  It was one of those bad-man-turns-good-after-meeting-the-right-woman stories.  The main character acted as both narrator and relationship catalyst.  Larry made a mental note to watch the show again.  “Maybe I should start taping it.”  He laughed to himself as he glanced at his watch.  The smile faded instantly.  He stood up and began pacing around the room.

 

“I am such an asshole.  When am I gonna learn to stop these ridiculous fantasies and join the real world.”  Thoughts of getting lost and accidents were gone now.  He was in self-pity mode and the power was up to full.  “I hope to hell she’s having a good laugh about this with her friends.  This is it.  This is the last time I let my guard down.  It’s just not fair.” He had made his way into the bedroom.  He saw the rose on his nightstand and collapsed onto his bed.  He allowed himself to calm down.  An asshole, yes.  Only because he allowed himself to get so carried away.  He was being ridiculous, of course.  He knew there was a logical explanation for Geri’s lateness.  He was just nervous.  Nervous and famished.

 

 

Larry was twenty-one the first time he was stood up.  It was during his post-Marcy, pre-Janet days.  He was rarely without female companionship but was never fully satisfied.  He was always looking for one more girl to add to his list.  That’s when Felicia walked into his life.  She was sixteen, adorable, and quite a flirt.  Rumor had it, she was also very experienced.  Larry fell for her like a ton of bricks.  And at that point in his life, he wasn’t shy about it.  She was aware of his intentions from the start and did nothing to discourage him.  To say she encouraged him was an understatement.  Every time she saw him she’d come up to him and stroke his arm or grab his hand.  Asking her for a date came with a rare ease.  She said she’d rather meet at his place and would arrange to get her parents’ car.  Larry sat outside his apartment building for two hours, running inside every five or ten minutes to check with his roommate if anyone had called.  Finally he retired to his bedroom with a half bottle of scotch.  He normally drank it with ice but tonight he drank it straight.  Come to think of it, he normally drank it from a glass too.  Oh well.

 

The next day when he saw Felicia at work, he approached her about the previous evening.  She just laughed at him and walked away.  It was the last time they talked.  Years later Larry had his chance to laugh.  He found out from a friend that Felicia had two kids before she was eighteen and was “quite a cow”.

 

He promised himself, he wouldn’t allow himself to get that upset over being stood up again.  That was a long time ago.

 

Larry must have fallen asleep.  He was awakened by a strange buzzing sound.  He looked at the clock as he got off the bed.  Geri was now over an hour late.  He kicked off his shoes and roamed into the living room to investigate that incessant noise.  “What the hell, oh damn, it’s the door.”  Larry pushed the appropriate button on the wall panel.  “Yeah.”  He was less than enthusiastic.

 

“It’s me.  Sorry I’m late.”  His stomach knotted.  The voice was unmistakable.

 

“Where’ve you been?”  He couldn’t even pretend to be upset.

 

“Let me in and I’ll tell you.”

 

“Oh yeah.  Second floor and to your right.”  He pushed the door release button and held it long enough to let her in.  He ran into the bathroom to brush his hair again.  It had gotten that fall-asleep-with-it-wet spike on the side.  He slipped back into his shoes and headed for the door.  He made sure to unlock the door, left it ajar as he left, and still checked his pocket to see if he had his keys.  He did.

 

Larry got to the elevator just as the doors were opening.  Geri stood there with a large brown bag in her hands.  It had only been a few days, but he didn't realize until this moment how much he really had missed her.

 

“Hi.”  Her smile could melt ice.

 

“Hi.”  Now that was original.

 

“Hi.”  The doors started to close.

 

Larry stuck his hand out to reverse the door’s action.  “Let me get that for you.”  He took the bag.  It was warm and had the distinct smell of chicken.

 

“Thanks.”  She walked out of the elevator and followed him to his apartment.

 

“Can she hear my heart beating?”  Larry asked himself as he held the door open for her.  He was sure they could hear his heart across the street.  “This is it,” he said timidly.

 

Geri entered slowly.  She was obviously trying to absorb everything she saw.  Larry steered her around the corner of the hall and motioned to a closed door.  “That one’s off limits.  Let me put this down and I’ll give you the tour.”  He pushed ahead of her and placed the bag on the dining room table.

 

“This is amazing,” she stood frozen, trying to take in the living room all at once.

 

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”  Was he actually feeling comfortable?  His heart rate had slowed down and his stomach unknotted. 

 

“There’s more?”

 

He walked to the bedroom door.  How many times had he used his Star Wars collection as a way to get a girl into his bedroom?  This time, however, was different.  He just wanted to show off his collection.  To assure her, and himself, he reached around her, opened the door, turned on the light, and moved back into the living room.  Geri was speechless.  Larry sat down in his chair and allowed her to explore on her own.

 

“Hey,” he called to her.  “What’s in the bag?”  No response.  He looked in the bedroom and saw her examining one of the models.  “Earth to Geri.”

 

“Huh,” she turned.  “Oh, that’s why I’m so late, I thought it would be a better idea to just bring dinner to you.  I thought we’d eat sooner that way.  Guess not.”  She had disappeared behind the wall.  “I hope you like Chinese.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“And I got you a mug in Vegas.”  She was exiting the room holding the glass with the rose.  “What’s this?”

 

“Nothing.”  He took it from her and placed it on the table.  He hoped his sunburn covered the redness he felt in his face.  Larry began emptying the bag.  There were a few sealed cartons, a wax baggie with egg rolls, two fortune cookies, plasticware, and chopsticks.  The last two items seemed out of place.  A mug with a picture of an elderly man seemingly looking back and forth between a slot machine and a large breasted woman.  The caption on the mug read, “Las Vegas or BUST”.  Larry chuckled to himself as he placed the items on the table.

 

Larry headed to the kitchen.  “Should we eat in the dining room?”  He was removing plates from a cabinet.  Geri followed removing something from her purse.  It was a video. 

 

“I thought maybe we could watch a movie while we ate.”

 

Larry turned to face her, a bit confused.  “I thought we were going to . . .” He saw the tape in her hand.

 

“Well, it’s late and, well.”  There was that smile on her face again.  “You do have a VCR, don’t you?”

Chapter 5

 

A DAY IN THE LIFE . . .

 

 

The alarm never rang.  Larry opened his eyes and looked at the clock on his VCR.  Nine-oh-two.  He nearly leapt out of bed and remembered it was Saturday.  He lay back down and tried to return to sleep.  It wasn’t going to happen.  He looked at the glow of the TV.  “What the hell was I watching,” he said a bit louder than he wanted to as he watched two rubber encased fisherman snag what seemed to be a two-foot trout.  He picked up the remote and began flipping through the channels.  It was the normal Saturday morning fair.  A few cartoons, some sports pre-game show, a teen version of a newsmagazine.  He stopped at an infomercial showing a pan that looked like a wok but was steaming lobster over an open flame.  He couldn’t believe that people actually bought the crap they sold on these shows and decided he’d change the channel as soon as they showed how little they were charging for the device and what ‘freebies’ came along with it.  The phone rang.  He muted the TV, practiced his helloes, and picked it up.  It was the office, who else.  He smiled as he was informed of the most recent major catastrophe only he could prevent.  “Just have them use the Men’s room until the plumber gets there.  I don’t know, have someone stand outside the door.”  Damn, he’d missed the price.  He flicked off the TV and closed his eyes.

 

The rest of the week had been fairly uneventful.  Geri had called about ten-thirty to let him know that she was home and that her mother was fine.  Still shaken, but fine.  “I’m really sorry about missing our date (alright, she said ‘the movie’, but he remembered it as ‘our date’).  I appreciate your understanding.”

 

“That’s okay.  Maybe next week.”  He was looking at the rose.

 

“Sure, see ya tomorrow.”  Click.  Larry listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before finally replacing the phone in its cradle.

 

An all-day client meeting kept Larry’s mind occupied for most of Wednesday.  He was horrible at these things.  He sat like a lump, cleared his throat every time he spoke, which amounted to about three times, and laughed politely at the appropriate moments.  Mark had given up commenting to Larry about his behavior.  It had been over a year since Larry had heard, “What is it with you?  You’re great on the phone and freeze up in person.”  There was never an explanation.  This was one attribute Larry was unable to figure out about himself.  He was so uncomfortable off his home turf, which, oddly enough, was his office, not his apartment.  During lunch was the only time Larry let his mind drift to thoughts of Geri.  Twice Mark had to snap him back into the conversation.

 

The rides home were quiet.  Geri had planned a month ago to take some time off to go to Vegas with friends.  This left Larry without a passenger or pleasant conversation.  The rain had continued through the week so his attention had to be more focused while driving.  He couldn’t provide the necessary concentration to hold a conversation with himself.

 

As he lay in bed, he tried to review the plans of the day.  His mind kept drifting back to that new cooking device and wondering both what he could use it for and how much it would cost him.  He turned the TV on again but it was after nine-thirty and the new breast-enhancement product was being displayed.  Larry laughed.  He thought, again, about ordering them and gluing them to a wall in his bathroom.  “Just for fun,” he once told Vinnie.

 

“Time to get up, time to get up.  You look kind of drowsy; in fact you look lousy.”  He sang the words to himself but could almost hear the voice of his father.  How many Saturdays was Larry greeted with that little ditty in the morning?  He turned off the TV and got out of bed.

 

The trek to the kitchen was not an easy one.  He staggered over a shirt, maneuvered around a pair of pants, and nearly tripped over his shoes sitting in front of the chair.  He picked up the half filled soda bottle from the table, drank what was left in one swallow, and tossed it in the trashcan next to the refrigerator.  He looked back to peruse the living room.  “Maybe I should clean this place today,” he said as he saw two days worth of junk mail spread across the couch.  “Yeah, right.”  He turned and opened the freezer.  He retrieved a small bag of ground, vanilla (artificially flavored) coffee.  He measured out an exact tablespoon of coffee into the filter of the one-cup-only coffee maker his mom had sent him.  He covered the coffee with sugar and shook a little more coffee from the bag.  He poured the appropriate amount of water into the basin of the contraption and turned it on.  Almost immediately he could hear the sound of the water dripping through.  He returned the coffee to its rightful place in the nearly vacant freezer.  He considered filling the empty ice-cube trays on the bottom shelf of the freezer for just a moment and then closed the door.

 

Now for the most difficult decision he would have to make today.  He opened a cabinet that was chock full of mugs.  His most recent count was one hundred and fifty, but that was just a guess.  He had counted the front row of the bottom shelf and multiplied it by the number of mugs deep the cabinet was.  This times three, the number of shelves, and added half that many for the mugs that were double stacked.  His time at home was never as precious as at the office.  He selected an oddly shaped mug featuring the proclamation, “I LIKE YOU, YOU’RE WEIRD”, from the middle shelf.  It had been a Valentine’s Day present from one of his ex-girlfriends.  At the time he received the gift, it was filled with cinnamon hearts and was attached to a “BEST BUDS” balloon by a black and white ribbon.  “How appropriate,” Larry had thought at the time.  The hearts were long gone and the balloon, no longer filled with helium, resided somewhere in the back of his bedroom closet.

 

Larry had started his fascination with mugs around the time he had moved to California.  He was always going to one tourist trap or another (“I love this shit,” he had told his companions, referring to the numerous attractions they would go to when visiting him) and felt a mug was the souvenir of choice.  He rarely wore hats and T-shirts faded over time.  “Plus, they’re functional.”  Who was he really trying to convince?  Every time a member of his staff went some place he would wish them well and, “bring me a mug.”  Lori, whose vice was baseball caps, would complain about what a bitch mugs were to pack and would, on occasion, bring him photographs of the mugs she’d seen.

 

The red light on the coffee maker went out.  It was done.  Larry covered the bottom of the mug with creamer, shook in what may have been a teaspoon and a half of sugar, and poured the coffee on top.  He picked up the spoon that was nearly pasted to a napkin from last week’s coffee, and stirred the mixture.  He sipped.  “Mmm, just right.”  He carefully placed he spoon back on the napkin, returned to the living room, and sat.

 

Without looking, he felt through the myriad of remote controls on the table next to him and pressed a button on one of them.  The TV was on.  He sipped at his coffee.  After running through all the channels twice, Larry was convinced that there really was nothing on.  He reached for another remote, turned on the middle VCR, and rewound the tape.  “Let’s see what I taped this week.”

 

Larry sat through almost six hours of the usual fodder he recorded each week.  Three sitcoms (two of which he had been watching while recording them), a TV movie that ripped off an old British vampire film, and the latest installment of a science fiction show he only kind of liked, but felt he needed every episode for posterity.  Unfortunately he hadn’t seen the show in five months; fortunately it took him three minutes to figure out what he had missed.  Or is that the other way around?

 

He fast-forwarded through most of the commercials.  He had this odd habit when he took a break, most commonly to make another cup of coffee or to retire to the bathroom, an obvious necessity.  He would forward through the commercials and then stop the tape, rather than use them for what they had been intended.  Every so often he would pick up a pile of mail, leaf through it, and toss it back onto the couch for later disposal.  “I’ve really got to clean this place up,” he would reiterate every time his toss was short, landing the mail on the floor in front of the couch.  At the end of the science fiction show he checked the counter and saw that he still had just over an hour of tape left.  He rewound the tape and noted ‘1:00’ on the spine of what he hoped was the right box. 

 

As the tape rewound he once again flipped through the channels.  And once again there was nothing on.  Sixty-seven channels of garbage.  He watched the preview channel for ten minutes until it lost its appeal.  Larry walked over to what three days ago was a neat stack of videotapes, but now appeared more like a small hill.  He dug into it for a favorite movie he hadn’t seen in four years.  After swapping the tapes, he started the VCR and returned to his chair.  He got comfortable during the prerequisite FBI warning, making sure to read it in its entirety (you can never be too careful).  Half way through the credits, he stopped the tape, bored.  He watched the preview channel for a few more minutes then started the tape again.  As the ‘Directed by’ credits faded out, he once again stopped the tape.  “This isn’t gonna work.”  He turned off the VCR, then the TV and headed into the bathroom to take a shower.  Larry knew that there was only one thing he could do to stop his boredom.  He needed to go buy some CD’s and maybe another movie or two.

 

While showering, he began to think about Geri.  “I hope she’s having a good time.  I hope she remembers to get me a mug.”  He started laughing as he rinsed shampoo from his hair.

 

Walking into the living room and zipping up his pants (“Am I losing weight?”), Larry saw the pile of videotapes in the corner.  He remembered something.  He took his wallet out of the pants he had worn yesterday, dropped the pants back on the floor and found one of his credit cards.  Sitting on the chair, he dialed the number that was on the back.  “I should write this down someday,” he thought.  “If this thing is stolen, I won’t have the number.”

 

The voice of an unattractive, fifty-year-old, mechanical woman spoke apathetically to him.  For five minutes she talked him through a maze of options in order for him to ascertain the amount of money he had available for purchasing a new videotape shelf.  “Next month,” he thought as he hung up the phone and replaced the card in his wallet.  He put the wallet into his back, left pocket and picked up the pair of pants that lay on the floor.  What must have been six dollars in change dropped to the floor.  He picked up the coins and placed them in his back, right pocket.  He removed his keys and put them in his right front, passenger-side, pocket.  Finally a handful of crumpled bills of various denominations was pushed into his driver-side pocket.  He grabbed his watch from the top of the television and put it on, checking the time.  As he sat down, he looked at his watch again, forgetting what he had seen the first time.  He pulled on his shoes; still laced from the last hundred times he wore them (“Have I ever untied these?), stood up and headed out the door.  As he heard the door close and lock behind him he checked his pocket to make sure he had his keys.

 

It was a beautiful day and Larry had already wasted half of it.  One of the things he really liked about living in southern California was the day after it rained.  The skies were blue and, other than a few wisps of white high up, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.  The air had an aroma that Larry could only equate with the smell of his newly laundered clothes when he was a kid.  “The top definitely goes down today,” Larry said to himself as he approached the car.  As he was about to unlatch the hooks that held the roof in place Larry decided on another course of action.  He took an empty plastic grocery bag from the back seat and filled it with the paper and tapes that had been accumulating.  He popped open the trunk and threw the bag in.  As he was closing the trunk, he caught a glimpse of a box that seemed out of place.  It almost looked like it belonged in his office.  Then he remembered how it got there and made a mental note to bring it upstairs, one of these days.

 

Larry drove to the nearest car wash he knew about.  It was packed.  This did not come as a surprise; everyone got their car washed after it rained.  Shit, out here, everyone got their car washed if the sun came up.  He debated the necessity and then pulled into the lot.

 

Forty-five minutes later, Larry’s car shined in the sunlight.  He tipped the guy who had rubbed it down and thanked him.  The man smiled vacantly as Larry drove to an adjacent parking lot and stopped.  It took him only two minutes to get the top down.  He stepped back and looked at the vehicle.  “Cool.”

 

Larry headed to the record store.  It wasn’t really a record store, he thought to himself.  This place hasn’t sold a record in years.  He briefly remembered trying to explain what a ‘45’ was to one of the younger members of his staff.  “Oh, right,” she had responded when he likened it to a CD single.  Just before he pulled into the parking lot, he saw a sign for the freeway.

 

“What the hell.”  He went straight through the light, missing his turn.  It took him a few seconds to turn off his turn signal and looked in the rearview mirror at the car behind him, slightly embarrassed.  At the next light, Larry took the opportunity to fish through the glove compartment for a particular tape.  It was a conglomeration of pop songs from the seventies and eighties that Larry felt had to be played at top volume.  He looked at the label that was beginning to come off the tape and saw the word ‘Freeway’ in his indistinguishable scrawl.  “This is it.”  He popped the tape into the stereo and aimed the car for the highway, speakers blaring.

 

 

An hour later, Larry was driving up the coast.  Driving up or driving down, it often confused him.  For most of his life, Larry lived on the East Coast.  He knew he had to travel east to get to the ocean and when he drove north, the ocean was on his right.  He knew that the Pacific was west and that driving north meant that the ocean would be on his left, but it was still an adjustment he had to make.  He realized this mostly when he was giving directions.  He’d have to repeat to himself, “ocean west, ocean west.”  He saw the water as he looked to his left.  Yes, he was driving up the coast.

 

Larry had no destination in mind when he had passed the record store.  He just new he needed to drive.  It cleared his head.  He was void of thoughts of cleaning, thoughts of work, thoughts of Geri.  He just drove and listened to his tape, which had just begun its second cycle.  The sun was nearing the horizon.  An odd image struck this easterner as he saw the reflection on the water.  Though it had started getting cooler as day started to turn to night, Larry didn’t stop to replace the top.  He rolled up the windows and put on the heater.  This was a trick he had taught himself when it used to take twenty minutes to put the top on his old car.

 

He was alone, swallowed up by the scenery, not a care in the world.  The music played on.

 

About a mile further up the road Larry spotted a convenience store and decided to get something to drink.  It was the first sign of civilization he had seen for awhile, apart from a passing car every so often, and his solitude began to dissolve.  He started to think about where he was, what time it was, whatever happened with the Women’s room at work, and Geri.  He pulled into the convenience store’s parking lot, turned off the engine, and sat.  “I wonder what she’s doing right now,” he thought.  Probably having a great time.  “I wonder if she ever thinks about me.”  This was a typical thought of Larry’s.  Not just with Geri, but with every female he had ever been interested in.  Even during the two years of his engagement he wondered what Joanna was thinking about when they were apart.  The image of an empty room once set up for a wedding ceremony, now oddly vacant, entered his mind.

 

Larry and Joanna had never reached that stage.  It was well over before they even considered setting a date.  She was supposed to join him in California.  He’d get settled in, start working, and then she’d follow.  He knew, however, that was never her plan.  She’d let him get out there, start a new life, and then fade into the background.  He remembered thinking as he boarded the plane if she would even bother letting him know.  There was a part of him that imagined the phone calls would just stop one day.  He could picture letters he had sent returned to him, “No Such Addressee.” 

 

She was more civil than that.  She broke it off with a phone call.  Granted, she called him at work, interrupting a meeting.  But she had called.  “I can’t leave my family.  I’m really sorry,” were her last words that day.  She couldn’t leave Mommy was more the case.  Never before had a woman he wasn’t interested had such an influence on his life.  But it was for the best, he had guessed.  Larry had to laugh when he received another phone call a week later, again at work.  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”  He could hear the tears.  He could also hear that she was quite drunk.  “You were so good to me and look what I’ve done to you.”  This call, he knew, wasn’t scripted like the first.  This was the Joanna he had seen only a few times; when they were alone together, out of the matriarchal sphere of influence.

 

It was all for the best, his mom told him a few years later.  It had taken that long before Larry could discuss it with his family.  After the initial phone call, he had sat down and written letters to each member of his family, telling them the news.  Each letter had ended with the same request, “It’s over, it’s behind me, I’d rather not discuss it anymore.”

 

“You probably would have ended up divorced, anyway,” Mom again.  It wasn’t bitterness; it was love. 

 

And so here Larry sat, once again wondering if he was ever in Geri’s thoughts.  And, of course, the ever popular, “Does she feel anything for me?”  He got out of the car to get something to drink.

 

Though it had only been a few minutes since Larry had entered the store, it had gotten fairly dark when he returned to the car.  And cooler.  He looked at his topless car, glanced at his watch, and thought about the long ride home.  In five minute the top was back in place and he was on his way.  As soon as he got on the road, he turned off the stereo.  The feeling he had on his way up the coast was gone.  Now his thoughts were tuned to what he had to do when he got into the office on Monday.  He cursed himself as he remembered the proposal that he had let sit on his desk for the past week.  He considered stopping at work on his way home to pick up his notes so he could finish it over the weekend.  The traffic he merged into on the freeway convinced him differently.  “I’ll just have Stacy handle the meeting and take care of the schedule, close my door, and do it.”  He quickly realized how selfish that would be and made plans to go in tomorrow.  It’s quiet on Sundays, no phone calls.

 

Though it only took an hour to get home, it seemed like an eternity.  He tried to clear his head on the drive, he even turned on the radio a few times to an oldies station he liked, but it didn’t work.  The events of the past week, the past year, his life, kept playing in his head.  When he finally opened the door to his apartment, it was seven-thirty.  “Now what am I going to do?”  As if an unknown force controlled his actions, the response came quickly as he kicked off his shoes, stripped off his pants, and dropped in his chair.  The TV was on instantly.

 

Larry, once again, flipped through the channels.  He happened upon a sitcom from the mid-eighties.  It was one of the great mysteries of the universe.  He had only seen the show once before it was cancelled, yet every time he caught it in reruns, it was the same episode.  Larry was sure there were more episodes than this one, after all no network in their right mind would buy a show that only had one.  He smiled and thought of all the TV he had watched during the eighties.  Maybe his initial conjecture wasn’t far from the truth.

 

There was a slight pain in his stomach and Larry heard it grumble, loudly.  He hadn’t realized it before, but he hadn’t eaten anything all day.  He went to the refrigerator and took in its emptiness.  “Not even a slice of provolone.”  He began to think of his options.  He could go to the store and buy something or stop at a fast food place.  Neither option sounded very good.  If he went to the store, it meant he might actually have to cook.  Fast food was easier however, in either case he would have to get dressed.  Now if he ordered something, a pizza for example, he would only have to pull on a pair of sweats when the delivery guy came to the door.   Another problem.  Though more in line with his laziness, he couldn’t eat a whole pizza.  “Breakfast!”  Here was the obvious answer.  He went back to his chair and began thumbing through the phone book, which was conveniently located under the table with the remotes.  After finding the number for the “restaurant nearest you” he picked up the phone.  “But I don’t want pizza.”  He dropped the phone on his lap, the book on the floor and returned to watching TV.

 

“What a stereotype I’ve become,” Larry thought as he sat in his chair, dressed only in a T-shirt and boxer shorts.  “All I need is a cigar and a beer and . . .” He began to scratch himself.  The phone rang.  He muted the TV and lifted the handset to his ear.  “What’s the crisis now?” he thought to himself.  “Run out of toilet paper.”

 

“Whatcha doing?”  It was Geri.

 

“Uh, nothing,” he quickly removed his hand from the source of the itch.  His face flushed.  “Hey,” gaining his composure, “how’s Vegas?”

 

“How was Vegas is more like it.  I just got home.”

 

“I thought you were staying till Monday.”  He was now back in control.  Well as much control as he could muster while speaking to her.

 

“Yeah, well, I almost left last night.  My roommate lost all her money Thursday and she’s been moping around ever since.  It just wasn’t as much fun as I thought it would be.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”  And he swore he’d never lie to her.

 

“So now I’m home.”  There was an awkward pause.

 

“How’s your mom?”

 

“She’s doing good.  I stopped to see her on the way here.  She told me to say hello.”

 

The pain in his stomach wasn’t from hunger this time.  “Her mother knows about me?”  He didn’t know what to say.  “Well, uh, Hi,” he improvised.

 

“So, um, listen, did you still want to see that movie?”  Did he hear a slight shake in her voice?

 

“Yeah, sure,” he reached for a newspaper.  “I was thinking Wednesday after work.  You know how Mondays tend to be crazy, and well you don’t usually work on Tuesdays, so I thought Wednesday would make sense,” he knew he was beginning to babble.  “It’s really up to you, I have a fairly open schedule.  I mean if you want to wait till Thursday that would be . . .”

 

“No,” she cut him off.  “I mean do you want to go tonight?”