Dunkin Dump

I hardly ever go there at all. So what’s her problem?  I go to the Dunkin dump today. That’s their latest ad, I swear. Gyrating sweating girls drinking some kind of protein concoction and doing splits.  Lot of lipstick. I don’t go there much. Maybe once a week, once every 2 weeks and goddamn, I make sure it’s after her man leaves. In the afternoon. So what’s her problem?

I go in. bill and bob are there, and bob’s wife. Ok…wave and smile

I go to the counter. Glasses bitch spots me and comes up.

What can I get you? she spits at me, making direct eye contact. Nasty. I look at the ceiling briefly, a little taken aback by her…attitude. Rendered mute for a second there. Then I look her right in the eyes. Study her yellow bottom teeth.

A medium cappuccino

Hot or iced?

Hot I say.

What in it?

Whaddya mean, what in it?

Flavoring. Chocolate, syrups—

No.

That’ll be 4.96. out of 10. She hands me back the 5 and 4 cents. I put the four cents in the tip jar. (There ya go, honey).

Careful not to touch her. She stares daggers at me the whole fuckin time. I stare right back at her. She’s not that great looking. Plus she’s mean. What in the fuck.

She goes to the other counter. Yells out my order and puts the cup down, walks away. I’m a little shook. Does she want to fight me? She definitely hates my guts. she doesn’t even know me. I’ll catch her outside some time, put her in a snowbank. Hot or iced. Jesus. It’s 20 below wind chill outside. I’ll bury her ass, given half a chance. Hypothermia would set  in fast. I’m just not in the mood.

“TEA & HONEY”

 There is a round headed, younger guy there. round all over. Pudgy and obnoxious. Says his name is gallon, like the jug. He has a big wallet chain and gangster style, with a baseball cap that says GOAT.  Tuesday night I drive in the freezing cold to the radio station and everyone is glad to see me . surprising. I belong there. i tell Layal on Thursday that I like the radio station meeting.. she turns up her nose. I went there when I  first got sober, she says condescendingly. Round head guy was at the wed meeting, he blew a fucking gasket.

FUCK YOU YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME FUCK YOU he screamed, smashing his fists on the table, getting his things and stalking off, slamming the door off its hinges.

Like that.

He is there the next day. manspreading. Thanking us all for “coming in tonight.” It was a noon meeting but whatever.

Layal came in and sat next to me. Idiot roundhead was running his mouth. Mark did nothing. Just sat there, writing in his little meeting book. I tried to explain some things to the idiot but he kept talking over the top of me. Finally, I said: listen. just listen to what I’m saying,

Okay, grandma, he says. Angeline is next to me. Are you okay? No I’m not. I look at Layal That was rude, she mutters, looking at her phone. Mark says fucking nothing.

Whatever, Baldy I shoot back. He sits, staring me down. Trying to intimidate me. I ponder throwing sulfuric acid in his face. I should have never stuck my neck out. Layal did not give a flying fuck.   On the way out, she was gushing to the little Indian girl “The Homer meeting is tonight. They have TEA & HONEY at the Homer meeting!” Which I took to mean: pay no attention to the crone walking behind us. She is of no consequence.

this is what makes him a man

Is this good thinking? The b names aren’t working out. I should go with Dave the Original. Is this a good idea? my head! I mouth the words of a prayer. on tv the guy was on his stomach and had been tased by multiple cops, all the while chanting the serenity prayer. I have never heard it said in that context before. Huh. So: total depression and acceptance. Ok, God. I’m old. Okay. I drive the hills for the millionth time, doing the same thing: shopping, meeting. I was gonna fb message him: hey, why’d you ghost me, you putz lol hahaha but I didn’t. It’s all over for me. I am entering the winter of life, forever dead beneath layers of permafrost. Something like that. I am employed this is my job: domestic goddess and meeting attendee to keep my head from falling off. acceptance is key, at least it says so in edition 4, which I’m so fucking old I have edition 3 with join the tribe. Lol hahaha.

I put my cute pink water bottle on the fake wood table. Layla is there. Hi Margaret says Paul. Hi Paul I say and look at Layla, drawing a complete blank. Senior moment I say. So sorry I am a total moron. No you’re good, she says. Like the Clapton song, I just had a brain fart I go to the restroom and come back in. you have got to be kidding me. It’s him, sitting at the table.

He says he’s struggling. That he talks with other men in the same predicament. I think: this is a good idea. I say hi to him.  he looks spooked, but I am calm. Yup.

I watch my black docs against the table legs. Think about the dream I had where Brewster was having a party and stood on the hill, his gray hair blowing in the wind like the guy online who ate too many of his son’s hash birthday brownies as A Voice intones: “this is what makes him a man.” Brewster put the giant sausages into a clear glass oven, turned the heat up to max, and incinerated them in a spectacular flaming fashion. Later, I made a sculpture from the burnt wreckage and put it on an album for him to find.

His gray short hair. His face, pale and sickly. His jumping right leg. His hand running up and down his thigh, ceaseless nervous habit.

I point my finger at him after the meeting.

You really should dress for the weather. It’s winter. Maybe a coat? A hat?

I’m hot all the time, he says.

Are you anxious?

Nah, he says in his Obama voice. My prayers have been answered.

dragon

I talk to my friend bill. I purposely do NOT look at the pass. The needle, the spoon. I turn my back on it. My curly fuckin back of my head hey get a good look at that, motherfucker. My friend is up against it. I talk to him. At one point the guy walks past me to the bathroom, all black t-shirt and circumspect. I’m so sure he is telling all the women he works with what a piece of shit I am. what a fucking moron. ( one has dragon nails in a very deep shade of red that is to die for. I would compliment her, but I think she’s in on the plot) so he walks past, all fucking weird and I’m like whatever. I have my hair in a corona of unkempt madness.  it was me all along. I am the one and only louche junkie nutjob of misplaced intensity. he walks back, all tip-toe weird. Like I might sink my filed stained teeth into him. I would if I thought I could get away with it. at the cash register, his face. . a joke with the ladies, oh so funny. Laugh, glasses girl. Yeah. You’re cute. Bill and I walk out, after a sideways hug, because like I said, he’s going through it. I believe all the women are watching from behind the counter. I drive out and who should come walking right in front of me but him. In his hat, hanging hair, bagged jeans and a neon orange bag from Kinney’s. I like his style. At this point, that’s really what it all boils down to. My hair writhes. I look right at him and wave with my hand, like go ahead. Walk in front of me. He does, does a little run at the end like I’m gonna hit him or something. Have a nice fuckin day. I’m going to Cortland. Go fuck yourself.

the rain will come

I go to the place a few days ago. There is a huge amount of work going on behind the scenes in my psyche. in my soul. Bob gets there first, his big red pickup we go in together what’re you having?

You don’t have to

I’ll buy not a problem

Thanks bob. can I have a regular coffee cream no sugar? the girls behind the counter smile at one another. my paranoia flares.

I really like your glasses,” blue sweatshirt girl says.

thanks (ok, maybe overreacting).

the coffees will come up right here.

 Sure. don’t look don’t look a quick glance his back going into the other room in slow motion “thanks bob.” we go sit down here comes bill

what’s that?

tuna salad bill really likes it.

Oh. at this point the rain is trying to come. The sky is swollen. Humid. Bill gets his coffee and sits down next to me we all talk. Stuff. I look behind me, in the entryway there is a space where he could see me from the pass, or at least the back of my head.  There is a great deal of work being done by my hair follicles, my brain, and my stomach. I haven’t looked, no more of that despair but now there is a new type of despair: I won’t see him at all. This is horrible but I persevere. Music plays in the background, like my nighttime tinny radio set to whisper volume to have melodies on in the red light. Then the impossible happens. He comes out from his spot, still behind the counter but he goes to the cash register. From there he sees me, takes something out and goes back. He fucking came and looked for me. We see each other.  shortly after, in his neon blue hoodie.

 “bye bill.” the girls call. he looks back briefly, nonplused, then heads out the door.

fantasy skeev

I’m taking a vacation from it all. I wrote this thing. No one noticed except Susan. Thanks Susan, I appreciate it. I told the girl today the hard thing and she was kind of ok with it and then in the end she wrote love you and my heart breaks. The blonde better be right. Kept me on the phone for 3 fucking hours. Dumping her shit onto me I mean Jesus fucking Christ, I have had enough of this kind of torture. People are batshit crazy. Myself included. I mean, I call the guy every time, I make food, etc. then I go to the place and hope to catch a glimpse of my fantasy skeev I have been overly reliant on that whole thing and making it happen and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it. Let someone call me. Let them make it happen. And when the skeev walks by me, it doesn’t mean I am fulfilled. It means a dirtbag has walked past me and not given me the time of day. I have been putting myself out there with people for years, and this town or this whatever…I’m totally sick of it. It seems to me that everyone I deal with is supremely self-involved. And the one I want to notice me doesn’t give a flying fuck, I mean he’s a skeev, a skank, a piece of shuffling refuse. what am I doing making a deity of love out of him.? It’s nuts. The stores are nuts. Everyone jammed into Aldi on a Sunday, including me, trying to save a buck. Two people I thought were cool are…well let’s just say it’s not supposed to be political. I have no idea what is happening. The news is a tragic nightmare but for others it’s a wet dream. The machine is consuming us.

Mongo

My brain has a nasty default setting. I said too much, they all despise me now and worse, they know I’m poor. I figure next time they’re gonna get out the cootie spray. Spray me down. Everything is so green because it is underwater. There is a prehistoric fish and his red and black sneakers I took the white cross on route 59 in Nanuet when mongo gave it to me. His brother named him that because he liked to frequent whores, hence whoremonger/mongo. He was tall and lanky, gave good backrubs and lived in a house with his brother off the highway at the entrance to a state park.  Anonymous, completely nebulous territory. For 16-year-old me, perfect. The perfect setup. Plus always weed in those football things. Power-hitters or something they were called, I don’t remember. But they were great. You got high fast. That was a good thing. Anyway we were driving, in his car of course, my parents would never give me a car, what are you kidding? Route 59 scrolled in front of us, a flat expanse of traffic and big box stores that went into spring valley finally, which was uphill and very urban what with the apartments and shopper’s paradise and all that shit. Here, try this, he said, his big hands holding a pill. What is it? White cross. I studied the thing. Indeed it was a white pill with a cross on it. Huh. What are they used for?  Depressed people in the hospital. Down the hatch. Before too long, the scenery of strip malls, traffic and mongo himself were blindingly, achingly beautiful. So beautiful I was bursting out of my skin with a vibrating ecstasy that verged on pain. It was that good. I never wanted it to stop. I turned to him and said “don’t ever give me one of these again.” I knew what I would do if I got strung out on those and someone got in my way. Nothing good.