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Jeremy Smyers
Remembering J.F.
Everyday is just about the same, I thought. I wake up and take
care of
my morning business and then straight into life. No time for what I want
to
do.
"Yeah, but what do you want to do, Smyers?"
"That's not the point. The point is why would I waste the time to find
out if
I wouldn't even have the time to do it anyway?"
" Well, either way you're going to have to start doing something."
" I'll go get something to eat. How's that?"
"Fine, if you'll do it."
So I get up walk around awhile. Look out the window.
Smyers musing:"Damn, I drank too much last night. It's the no sleep
that's
going to kill me. I know it is."
I get dressed, brush my teeth, wash my face, drink some stomach aid.
It's
almost all I can do just to keep from puking right there on my
toothbrush. I
walk outside and it's all about the same: everyone with somewhere to go
and
things to do when they get there. The go, go, go, so that they can
get,get,
get...but they don't ever see that it's a vicious circle they're living
in:
the more they get the more they have to have...and they're selling, No,
giving, the one thing away that they'll need most: Time. They don't know
it
right now but they'll know it later on.
Smyers musing: "time...mmmmm...sweet time...nothing to do. No where to
go."
I walk down to Frank's (the gas station) and get some coffee. Nothing
like a
cup of boiling hot coffee to get the day rolling.
"But you hate boiling hot coffee, remember?"
" Yeah, but when it cools I'll drink it."
"No, you won't. You never do. It always gets too cold and then you raise
hell
and swear Frank's off for always selling you cold coffee."
Smyers walking and thinking: Damn this street is hot...so damned hot
it's
about to burn right through my shoes. That reminds me. I need new shoes.
The
leather is starting to separate on the left one and when it rains my
sock
always gets wet.
Well, there's the old dude from the nursing home. They've let him out
again.
Poor bastard has to walk around the block. He's like a dog only with
less
personality. And to think, to just think that that was a man with a
family
and a house and a dog and a mortgage. He use to get excited about
football
games and what inflation was up to. He went to movies and sped in his
car.
Now he can barely fill out his shirt. Head stooped over. He looks like a
starving dog.
Poor Poor guy...he probably played by all the rules too.
He
probably never drank to excess. Probably didn't smoke. What did it get
him?
Now he has to sit around waiting to die. He knows what time is. He knows
of
it's significance. You can't tell an old guy walking around a nursing
home
about paying the price for time. He could tell me stories that would
make me
run out and kill myself, I'll bet. Hell, he can't even go and get his
own
coffee...yeah, but he worked so he could pay his taxes like a good boy.
He
worked so he could drive a new car and eat fine meals and replace shoes
that
had split leather on the sole. He never worried about that.
But where
are all
of his friends now? His family, where are they? They have big jobs and
double
mortgages and wives that don't like him because he drools and talks
about the
old days. Na, you can have all of that alleged good living if that's
what it
gives you. I think I'll just go on down and get my coffee and take the
other
road home.
Smyers being a nice boy:"Hello Ma'am...Frank not in today?"
" No, Jeremy he's not feeling well and he decided to let me rule the
roost
today."
" Ah, that old Frank, he's probably just home watching The Price is
Right or
maybe trying to get away to fish."
" He probably is that old devil...Jeremy, you don't look good...maybe
you're
coming down with the same thing Frank has."
" Maybe Mrs. Bowden, maybe. "
"Do you want your regular coffee. "
"Sure why not...a day like this deserves some hot coffee. Well, tell
Frank I
said not to catch too many of 'em and save some for me."
" I will Jeremy hurry back now."
Beep beep.. and the door closes. That poor Frank...he looked bad the
last
time I saw him...poor guy, they'll probably throw him in one of those
nursing
homes and soon as he can't get down to the store to work; make a living
for
all of them. That reminds me: take the other road home. So, taking the
other
road home I pass by a catholic school. All the kids are out running
around
screaming and hollering. The tough guys are standing there looking mean
and
the girls are all giggling like morons. The teachers all look hung over.
I
should have picked another road to walk home on. Days like now you don't
walk
past schools by yourself. Everyone thinks you're some kind of a weirdo
checking all the kids out. So, I strolled along; taking in all the
sights and
sounds that make up Terrell, Texas...that make up Anywhere, USA,
Hometown,
America. The pavement was still hot and burning right through my worn
out
shoes; run down at the heel. I walked over closer to the police station.
They
were eyeing me up pretty well. What did they expect a guy like me was
going
to do? All I was doing was walking down the street with a cup of boiling
hot
coffee. Sure, I wasn't drinking it but that was because it was too hot.
Maybe
they thought it was a disguise. That I was really some type of
operative.
Maybe casing the bank across the street out for some future heist that
my
gang and I were putting together. I was casing the bank out, no question
about that. It was the tellers in the windows that were getting cased,
though.
Smyers being suave as hell. Sauntering down the street looking
distinguished,
so cool and collective that he doesn't even have to drink the coffee he
carries, a guy like that Smyers, with all of his money from writing, can
buy
a million cups of coffee and never drink them. That's what all the high
rollers do too. They just walk around looking important and hold cups of
coffee they never drink:
"Hell, maybe I was born for this. Maybe I was destined to be a high
roller."
Headlines: Smyers made another million in the writing game and quoted as
saying:
"it's all talent...on loan from God himself."
That Smyers, that big player. You can't fool him. He knows the score. He
knows the score better than anyone. He's seen the other side. Knows what
the
tiger looks like when he smiles.
Smyers feeling dejected: "These women! To think of them. Sneering at me
from
their bank teller windows. Laughing at my run down shoes and my three
day
beard. Wondering what kind of jackass would walk around town and carry a
cup
of boiling hot coffee and never drink it. Little did they know! Little
did
they know! That they were looking at a great writer. A writer so great
that
he was the legend of his time. But a misunderstood legend. The critics
didn't
understand what he was saying so they thought his writing could use a
little
of this here and a little of that there. Fools! I'll show them! You
women
staring out at me, you'll know too! I'll show you too. Working at my
bank
will be the next think you know. Every afternoon I'll make you have a
drink
with me and then I'll leave. Leave you there. Tell you to go in back and
count the money. A dollar for every time you sneered at me. A five for
every
time you thought I was crazy. A hundred for all of the proposals you
turned
down. You'll know what the score is. I swear to God you will."
So, I walked on down to the corner and turned back up towards my
building. I
peeked around the corner to see if the land lord was around. I owed him
a
little back rent and I thought it would be a very uncomfortable meeting
for
the both of us.
Smyers stammering: "Uh, well, Mr. Lane, Nice to see you. And your wife,
how
is she? It's a fine day today. I was so tied up at work that I felt I
was
going to explode so I decided to run for a quick cup of coffee. Then
back to
the old grind stone. Yeah, no rest for the wicked. The rent? Ah, the
rent,
yes, yes, yes. Well, you see, Mr. Lane, I'm waiting, waiting on a
payment
from one of my confederates. Yes, he's supposed to be sending it but I
think
he's got a little behind but he assured me it would be tomorrow or the
next
day. Sick? No, not really, not sick per say, Just tired. It's difficult
for
me to sleep nights when I have to worry about all of the trouble that I
making for you and your wife, speaking of Mrs. Lane, how is she? Well, I
hope. Well, I hope you have a good day, sir, and not to worry I'll have
everything on the square in no time at all. See you later!"
Smyers thinking: "That bastard! That dirty rotten bastard. Waltzing
around
here like he owns the fucking place, "
"he does own the place."
"I meant it figuratively, smartass."
"Waltzing around here like he owns everything including me. He probably
goes
home every night and counts his millions. A guy like that asking money
from
me! To think of it. That bastard. I bet he ate steak for dinner last
night. A
steak with onions and mushrooms. A big baked potato with sour cream and
every
thing. That bastard. I bet the whole time that he was cramming it into
his
greedy mouth his wife, the bitch, was telling him what a God damned
wonderful
guy he was.
Lane's kiss ass wife: "It's very nice of you to help that boy at the
building
out like you are, not making him pay for his rent on time and then not
even
charging him any late charges. "
The greedy bastard: " Yes, he does seem like a good boy, Very well
behaved,
clean cut. I think he drinks, though."
"Really? That poor boy. It must have been his child hood. I saw him down
at
the washing machine and he told me the most horrendous story you've ever
heard about his child hood."
" Well, dear, I think he may have the ability to embellish a little
too."
" Well, he is an artist. You know how they have to keep their emotions
right
on top."
"Yeah, I guess. Will you pass the mash potatoes, please?"
Smyers: That bastard. That bastard. I can't believe it. The greatest
undiscovered writer of our time and he's trying to push me around of a
few
measly bucks. Money, that when I'm rich, will be a mere pittance. Money
that
I give to the bums. And he's hounding me like a damn mob boss to get it
back,
the bastard. He'll get his money. He'll get every cent of his money plus
some. A little extra just for his trouble. Don't think that Smyers
doesn't
pay his just and fair debt. Yes, sirre, he'll get every penny of his
money."
So up to my room I go. Walk in take a look around. It's all the same.
It's
always the same here. But I can't figure out what that smell is. A
strange
smell. A smell almost like death. The smell of death right here in my
room. I
sit my coffee down. With all of this trouble around I couldn't even
drink it.
Everyone kept getting in my way. It's cold now; too cold to drink. I
can't
stand cold coffee. I never could stand it. I'll hate someone for life
and
beyond if they try and give me a hot cup of coffee. Some misogynist
bastards
think it's funny to watch a guy burn himself on a cup of boiling hot
coffee
but I'm too smart for them. They can't get me with that old trick
anymore. I
walk over to the window. The guy across the street that always sits in
his
window is busy I guess. There's a family at the restaurant under him
having
lunch. A man and a woman with two little kids; two little boys. Eating
and
having a good time.
Smyers regretting life: "Oh, they don't know! They don't know what it is
to
be alone in this world. Alone but not lonely. Not me, boys. No, I'm
fine all
by myself. It frees me up for everything that I need to take care of."
The bar around the corner doesn't seem to have too many cars in the lot.
Maybe I'll stroll over there and have a quick drink and sort of think
everything out for a while. I can't stand being alone in this room right
now.
With the smell of death in it. You could cut it with a knife. The walls
are
watching me.
Walls talking: "You owe rent, fucker. You better pay or you'll be out on
the
street. You and your stupid typewriter and all of your dusty old books.
You
don't even have nice books. You got every one of them at the second hand
store or you stole them from the library. We know your dirty little
tricks.
We watch you all the time. When you get thrown out take your dirty smell
of
death with you."
Smyers:" There's one thing I've always hated about this room: Those
dirty
yellow-grey walls with cracks all over them from the passing trains.
When I
finally am recognized for the great writer that I am and the money is
rolling
in. The first thing I'll do is buy this shack from Lane and have it
bulldozed. Fucking walls taunting me. You'll learn like the rest of
them.
Filthy walls. Not even a bug would crawl up a wall like that. I would
hang
pictures on you, wall, but the contrast would too great and it would
take
away from my pictures."
Smyers putting the wall in it's place: "The one thing that I would want
if I
was a wall is for someone to think enough of me to at least hang a
picture on
me once in a while, I mean what else are you there for?"
I think I'll just go on over to the bar and see what's going on. There a
bartender there; I don't just mean any bartender either. A great
bartender.
Beautiful bartender. A young girl of twenty-two but will be twenty-three
in a
couple of months. A great girl. A little slow sometimes, maybe. Shy,
she's
very shy. A good country girl brought up on the farm. Innocent as the
day
is long. Her heart belongs to another, though. I couldn't sway her with
my
repeated vows of her everlasting happiness. She turned all of that down
to be
with her true soul mate: A pizza parlor manager...what AGONY...what
failure...She turned one of the greatest up and coming writers of prose
and
poetry down to be with a pizza guy. A poet that might someday equal e.e.
cummings. The great e.e. cummings and she blew it all so she could get
free
pizza. Why does no one think ahead? Think about tomorrow? j.d. smyers
they'll
all say. Now there's a poet that had a plan.
The reading public: "Smyers, what a great poet. He gave his all to give
the
world his words and thoughts.Sure, he was chastised along the way.
Giving up
life for the sake of his art. "
Smyers the crusader: "Yeah, it's not that big of a deal. A little tough
at
the beginning but I held true. Thanks go to God. Thanks to my parents
for
without their help I certainly wouldn't be here today in front of all of
you
fine people. Thanks to my former land lord and now business partner in a
newly formed demolition venture, Mr. Lane and his lovely wife."
The reading public: "(CHEER) (APPLAUSE) (HIP HIP HOORAY FOR SMYERS)."
Smyers walking across the street thinking: Maybe she will break up with
that
pizza dick and everything will be in line for me to try for my flanking
assault. After all, I mean, hell, what does he have that I don't? When I
make
it there'll be more pizza to eat than she or that two bit pizza boy has
ever
seen.
Pizza for everyone! Compliments of Smyers.
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