Satisfaction
REMINGTON GRAVES
Ever been in a shitty mood, angry,generally disappointed, sad, not “feeling it”… and or a combination of all those things on top of being sick?
And then all of a sudden…
Enter whiny spaghetti-western winds.
Grey clouds…overcast crumminess…as I drove to the local supermarket. My windshield wipers wouldn’t shut the fuck up–they’ve been that way for a month now. People kept telling me to check the fuses, or to unscrew the relentless wipers. It had been constantly raining, so It would be a bad idea not have them.
Of course everyone has a solution for you as long as it doesn’t involve them helping.
And these people have no idea I am a fervent Nurse With Wound fan. One only need to listen to this band a good ten seconds to understand the connection. Their style lies somewhere between the sounds of a busted television set and beautiful drones, dissonant noises and nonsensical clatter. Yes, at times, the rubbery moan a windshield wiper would make on the ass of a pretty young girl. Or, not as exciting, a simple piece of mundane glass.
As I walked into the supermarket, to purchase the flu medicine my body was crying for, I beheld my boisterous bedhead on the reflection on my car window, and a vicious wave of vanity voided what little confidence I had mustered on the way there.
Run in, run out, I told myself, don’t fuck around with these dorks. Get it, and split.
I grabbed a few things and avoided conversation. I sounded like a busted vacuum cleaner, and didn’t want to cause my throat any more unnecessary pain.
After I paid for my things, I approached the convenient kiosk that stood near the exit.
“Welcome to Starfux, Sir, may I help you?”
I pointed at my throat and gestured a writing hand on paper. How handy, a Starfux inside a supermarket, I thought.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I will get you pen and paper right away,” she said while glancing at my small plastic grocery bag. You have the flu? Well, that makes sense. I’m surprised you’re out here buying that stuff for yourself, you should be resting.”
“Static static,” I said trying to thank her.
“You poor thing! Ha, ha….Let me know if you need anything else. Anything at all,” she said with a glisten on her lip gloss as “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” kicked on the speakers with its revitalizing power.Funny how good music does that to a man. “Someone should be taking care of you.”
And as I took my hot tea from the counter, I smiled to be polite and wanted to thank her for making me feel like a Rolling Stone, but was glad my voice wasn’t up for it.
I walked out with a different feeling than when I walked in–I was reminded, that even in sickness with an aching body, I am a once-man now a god…
Shit, I thought, this song is far from over.
And if it’s good enough, it might find its audience, someone might push “repeat,” even if, to most people, it might sound like a couple of old windshield wipers.
∞
Speed Limit Demon
REMINGTON GRAVES
I have a sexual connection with the automobile; a myriad of wheeled machines have stolen my mind and in turn, kidnapped my heart. From some old man’s cutlass Sierra to a Challenger SRT8, I have owned, crashed, slept in and sold more cars than I can remember.
Speed limit signs were always ignored. In front of schools, I knew to drive slow when the little devils were around. And of course, if the cheese was nearby, I was a model of good behavior–two hands on the wheel, eyes straight ahead, sphincter of a sphinx.
Open roads transformed me into a madman in need of blurry lines and the pleading groans of a struggling engine.
Today, on my way to work, I looked for the sign with the assigned number of miles per hour one was expected to drive. What an interesting font, I thought as I whispered the designated speed. Oak trees and spandexed men in designer bicycles, a squirrel, recycling bins, the woman next to me was not on her phone, and the sun was making its way past the cold grey expanse. So, this is what what it looks like when it’s not blurry.
A devil…obeying the law.
Well, I’ll be damned.
∞
Alone For The Rest Of The Trip
REMINGTON GRAVES
Gravity had taken her goods, time had stolen her stout, the grey in her hair shimmered in the sun’s stutter in the shadows of endless telephone poles, and she knew less now than she had twenty years before this moment…sitting against a window on a morning train.
The muffled thunder in the tracks traveled from car to car. Swooshing and electric buzzing pushed on in a lulling lacrimosa. Disinfectant-drenched seats welcomed the people who missed the call, an obscene picture of mouths agape waiting for the spoon that would not come, a beckon to deaf ears, a clamor that faded in time in the mind of those who stayed behind.
She reached with her index finger and pressed it against the cool glass. The butterflies adorned the countryside. Children raced after a chocolate Labrador, screaming, waving a stick around, kicking their shoes up into the air. A distant barn sat quiet and still while its faded red paint endured another beating.
“May I sit here, “ asked an old man dressed in grey and white. “I promise, I won’t bite.”
“No, not at all. Please, please sit,” she said delivering a small smile.
“Okay, good. Now your boyfriend isn’t going to come out of that restroom and beat me to a pulp, is he?”
“No boyfriend,” she said raising her eyebrows.
“I find that hard to believe, young lady.”
“Not so young anymore.”
“You are right about that. Nothing ever stays the same does it? Of course, somethings seem to never change.”
“Yes, I think I know what you mean.”
“All the places we could have seen in our time and we simply never got to it.”
“Yes.”
“The things we could have done.”
“…I–“
“Oh, listen to me, rambling. I simply project, child, don’t take it personal.”
“No, I wasn’t…”
“When you’ve seen all the things I have, you get…well…complacent. Nothing shocks you anymore. And you wished it would. You wish something would rattle your cage. But, nothing ever does.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Oh, If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Well, I don’t see why not.”
“Let’s just say, we are headed to the same place.”
“Fair enough.”
“Now, tell me…are you happy?”
“What?”
“Are you happy?”
“What an odd question.”
“Not so odd. It’s a simple question, really.”
“Well,” she said with a long sigh,”I’m as happy as the next gal, I suppose.”
“You don’t sound too happy.”
“I feel blessed to be this happy.”
“You don’t deserve more?”
“Is happiness about deserving?”
“I thought so. Have things changed?”
“I am sorry, I don’t even know your name.”
“My name is Nicholas. And with whom do I have the pleasure?”
“Lilith.”
“Nice to meet you Lilith.”
“You too. How old are you, sorry if that’s a rude question.”
“No, not old at all.”
“Well?”
“I’m old enough to be your grandfather’s grandfather.”
“Ha, ha…oh, you can’t be that old.”
“Sure feels like it sometimes.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It is almost time,” he said fixing his tie and stretching out his neck.
“Your destination?”
“Tell me, Lilith, did you do it all?”
“Do what?”
“The things you wanted.”
“Is this my destination also?” She said with slow alarm.
“I’m afraid it is. I am far too old to deal with trouble. Your comportment is refreshing.”
“I just didn’t think it was going to be this soon.”
“If I had a tall glass of lemonade for every time I heard that.”
“No point in running is there?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“Okay, do you mind if I look at the butterflies against all that green…alone…for the rest of the trip?”
“Be my guest.”
∞
Nothing No One
REMINGTON GRAVES
The knock at my door came some time past midnight. It was faint and ominous. Small fist.
I opened the door to no one.
Ten minutes later came the knock again. This time a bit heavier.
My chewing stopped.
Knock, knock.
I chewed the rest of the chips in my mouth and stood up. Stared at my hunting knife on the kitchen table. I heard my futures self saying, “you should have grabbed that knife,” with a dying tone. I waited by the door.
The knock came again, this time gently and in two-second intervals.
Quietly I unlocked my door and yanked it open.
Nothing. No one.
Closing the door, I glanced at my staircase next to the front door and considered sitting there and waiting for the next knock.
Walking gently back to my living-room couch, I thought I heard sounds in the vacant room upstairs.
The sound of running water. Somewhere. The next apartment, maybe. Upstairs?
Knock, knock, knock, knock.
I looked at my cell phone to see if a call might be coming in of the person on the other side. Black screen.
My feet hurt from work and now here I was wondering who was playing these games.
A hot shower would do wonders right now, I whispered, and I wouldn’t be able to hear this nonsense anymore.
I stared at the off-white walls around me, the glass sliding door and its dripping patterns, my feet, the water spinning down the rusty drain.
My jaw was tightened up. When did I start biting the inside of my lip? I wondered.
The rushing sound of water abruptly ceased and I stood there motionless. Drip, drip, drip…
Ding, dong, came the door bell.
Fuck, I thought, this better be someone with a problem, I am now ready to break someone’s mouth open. I walked out naked and wet and answered the door with attitude.
No one. Nothing. A soft breeze.
A distant dog barking.
An automobile passing by a few blocks away.
I walked over to the couch wet and small-cocked and smiling.
What fun to have nothing better to do…
than to bother
the
gods.
∞
No Going Back
REMINGTON GRAVES
She wore blue lipstick and wandered aimlessly underneath hot-pink dotted lights in a dark room with designer drink in hand. The crowd craved each other’s attention in silence and assumed apathy. The music bent the walls and turned the place into a breathing organism of psychedelic music and malevolent morose. Pills of all colors spun and skated from under tables as people walked, ran and danced sweaty faced and furiously fucked up. Sunglasses reflecting the dark dance floor and the lights on stage. White-hair-model types, cigarettes in mouths, young and old, vampires and the naive, all in unappealing ceremony.
“Hey, don’t we know each other?”
“The oldest line in the book. Nice.”
“No, I mean it. Sally, The Goat, introduced us.”
“You know Sally?”
“She’s my aunt.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, you were wearing the same heart-shaped glasses you’re wearing now that day. Pool party. I had the doob, remember?”
“Oh, Greg. Right.”
“It’s George, but close enough. You’re Margot, right?”
“That’s me.”
“Can I buy you a drink, Margot?” He said leaning into her competing with the loudness of the band. “Anything you like.”
“I’ll take a Milk On The Bloody Rocks.”
“Sounds good–I’ll make it two. Be back in a jiff. Don’t go anywhere.”
The pink and orange strobes waved in warmth through her vibrating skull as she crossed her legs and waited for the wanker with her whistle-wetter. This is why I never go out, she though. This is nowhere.
“Here you go, sexy,” he said handing her the Bloody drink.
“Thanks.”
“You like this trash,” he asked raising an eyebrow in the direction of the band.
“I am a huge fan of Angels From Hell. They’re the only reason I came out tonight.”
“Shit…I am sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“No, it’s okay. You must like that soft shit like Black Faggot.”
“Funny. And, yes, I love that band.”
“Figures.”
“What?”
“Black Faggot is the Disney version of Angels From Hell.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Anyway, you get along with your aunt?”
“Which one, the goat?”
“Yes, the goat. You have two goats that are related to you?”
“Well, no but–“
“Precisely.”
“She is pretty groovy. I mean, hardly anybody can understand her. We bought a cute bell that we hang around her neck. She has the entire backyard to gallop around now…well, since her husband died, you know?”
“She hates that bell.”
“Really? We thought she was nuts about it.”
“She was nuts that she couldn’t gallop hard enough to get it off herself.”
“Oh…I had no idea.”
“That’s what happens when you don’t speak goat.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“Can you shut up for the rest of the show, please? I don’t want to miss this band.”
“Umm…of course.”
The Angels levitated on stage in black leather and began their drop-tuned terror of slow and spinning strident pandemonium. The fog machine reached the entire place and everybody was lost and afraid if ever, they would find their way back.
She smiled and sipped.
There was no going back.
∞