Jessika and I went on a little stroll to get coffee. We took a circuitous route that led beyond a decrepit nearby mansion to a deluxe treehouse in a beech tree. This was the treehouse Jessika had visited with Ocean last night.
We climbed up the rickety ladder to the platform and sat in the interior rooved section. The platform was ringed by a low railing obviously designed for little people to lean out over. The tree had grown noticeably since the treehouse had been built; it struggled up through narrow holes in the platform and distorted the floor hatch through which the ladder entered from below. Most of the lumber was still sound, which made me think the treehouse not much older than ten years. Spoiled little rich kids no doubt once entertained envious friends here.
We continued around the block to the 7 Day Junior (a little convenience store beyond the fence that runs behind Kappa Mutha Fucka) and bought coffee and Beast Ice beer. Yes, folks, I've gotten into drinking Beast Ice again after a summer hiatus. I only wish they printed the "5.9 % alcohol" celebration in even larger type on the box.
On the way back home, Jessika found a number of unopened bottles of fruit juice and some "high potency vitamins" outside a dumpster. True to form, she gathered them all.
Monster Boy was playing Gary Numan as I made coffee. His little back porch abode is a miniature gothic wonderland of blue bottles, oddly shaped mirrors, wrought iron and black lace curtains. He pays only $50/month.
It soon became clear that he'd found and read the uncensored version of yesterday's musings entry, which is good, since I'd wanted him to know exactly how I felt about his betrayal of Matthew Hart.
What did he have to say for himself? "It's really fucked up," "You don't know the situation" and other unhelpful stuff like that, said seemingly more to simulate sensitivity than to express real regret. I even gathered that there is a real plan afoot to pursue some sort of romance with Leah, detecting a subtle "it's us against the world" attitude just beneath his somber expressions. He said that Leah had been expressing dissatisfaction with Matthew weeks ago. Among her problems with him is his immaturity.
For his part, Rory tried to extend olive branches. He suggested we form a musical ensemble.
In other things, I asked Rory why he'd set up a Princess Diana joke page when, among our friends, it was he who'd seemed to be the most disturbed by her untimely death. All he could say was "it's the British way."
I was more disturbed than I expected to discover from Rory that I have a reputation for being a "light weight" when it comes to drinking. My Taurus Rising should rejoice that I'm apparently such a cheap date. I think this reputation stems from the fact that I'm often much more drunk than other people I hang out with, though the necessary drinking actually took place over a longer period of time.
The only thing we really discussed on the ride was the Rory-Leah situation. Matthew told Jessika and me some disturbing things proving that Rory's treachery was far more sinister than was evident at first blush. The day of the breakup, you see, Rory asked Matthew if there was anything he could do to make things better or to improve the situation with Leah. He went on to assure Matthew that he was behind him all the way. In retrospect, this chit chat will always be remembered as a cynical ploy.
What makes Rory's treachery especially insulting is all the trouble Matthew went through to get Rory accepted into our little world. He invited Rory over. When Rory fucked up poor Deya's car, Matthew spoke in defense of Rory's honour. When Diana expressed disgust in Rory's drunken toe-licking behaviour that same night, Matthew argued that Rory was repentant and contrite. When Rory was homeless, it was Matthew who said he could sleep on our porch or camp in our yard. If there was ever any one person in town that Rory knew he could depend on, it was Matthew Hart.
Matthew went on to say that any sympathy that Rory once enjoyed from former co-workers at the C&O (including his housemate Tyler) were squandered the moment news of the Rory-Leah situation leaked out. Rory's reputation instantly changed from that of well-meaning but hapless sailer on the seas of life to cruel, manipulative, cynical, selfish, bumbling villain.
The only thing I remember from this phase was Ocean and Rory talked about writing web pages. Evidently Rory is teaching Ocean all the HTML he's learned. I began to feel claustrophobic. I simply walked out, and went to the treehouse Jessika and I had visited early today. I wished Jessika would follow me, but I hadn't said anything to her. I lay down on the weathered wooden platform and immediately fell asleep.
When I awoke, I staggered home and passed out in my own bed. The digital clock radio read 11:30pm.
I could feel the caffeine putting a minty white glow in my stomach. Then the glow extended throughout my body. It had lost its minty vibe and gone on to become a tight electric buzz, a feeling of possibility, inspiration and energy. This is precisely what Jessika had wanted.
So all of us (Monster Boy, Deya, Jessika and I) hopped the fences and soon enough were in the BQP backyard. In the nearest corner of the yard (almost touching the little shed in the Kappa Mutha Fucka back yard), there is a small isolated shack where the air conditioner is always running. We knocked on the door, but no one was home. So we continued on to the frat house, a large white stucco building with an impressive red ceramic half-pipe roof in the style of the older buildings in Oberlin.
I should point out that at this point, I was actually pretty sober, even if I was charged up on caffeine. My sobriety was interfering with my desire to follow the others as they simply barged in through the fraternity's back door, but soon enough I was with them.
We were friendly, they were friendly. We invited them to future parties. They invited us to future parties, and even expressed regret we hadn't come sooner to the one that had just happened. The president of the frat, who gets to live in the little shack near our yard, said he'd heard me playing my guitar on occasion, but said nothing bad about it. Monster Boy tried to pick up some of the sorority sisters mingling about, but none of the fratboys seemed even the slightest bit interested in Jessika or Deya as sexual conquests. We hadn't stolen anything except a bandana from the porch of the little shack, but they took it in stride and Deya gave it back, mildly embarrassed to have been so easily busted.
The frat boys were dorky about it when they finally kicked us out, expressing concerns about "liability." But the experience had been pleasant, and we departed on good terms. As antithical to all things fraternity as we are, we have a built-in mechanism which demands that we at least try to get along with our neighbors. This coping mechanism is ancient; falcons never prey on the birds with whom they share a tree.
In the back yard of the our house, Jessika had me practice some Kung Fu moves she's learned in a self-defense class she's been taking. Don't sneak up behind me and grab me, or you're done for.
At the end of the night, towards 4:00 am, Jessika, Deya and I all sat around in my messy room, talking about things. Deya took me to task for what she saw as my exploitative behavior visa-vis Katie, the 16 year old girl from South Carolina who visited me recently. Deya thinks the girl is in love with me and I'm just toying with her. I explained that I actually like Katie, that our email correspondence wouldn't be taking place were that not so, and that if what Katie is doing is ill-advised or doomed, then I'm not the one to be blamed. No doubt she'd be carrying out a similar relationship with someone else if it weren't with me. None of these defenses impressed Deya. Truth be told, they didn't impress me either. Justified or not, I was left with the uncomfortable feeling that I might just be the villain in that story.
See some images captured from video shot on this day.
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