July 18, 1994 Excerpt From "Apology"

It's hard to continue sleeping once the sun begins to spill through the car windshield. I have been living in my beat-up Mercury Topaz while working as a scab worker at a factory in York, PA, to try to raise money to get to New York City.

Last night I parked in Jai's driveway. At least there I have less chance of being arrested for vagrancy or having the police find out that I am driving without a license.

Jai's parents are on vacation for a week leaving their luxurious house at her disposal. I don't feel comfortable spending time with her or accepting her assistance because she is constantly tormenting me with the deceptively cutting comments that roll off of her angry tongue. She is a master at floating remarks that sound innocent enough at first, but lay in unconscious wait, with razor sharp fangs and saber claws, to prey on moments of doubt and devour confidence with stealth precision.

Her half Thai lineage is seen on her face, which sits unexpectedly on a tall thin frame. It is morning and I sit on the opposite end of the kitchen table watching as she eats bagels and drinks orange juice. I went to sleep hungry and the aroma of the bagel re-awakens that hunger. My eyes are hypnotized by the richly inviting color of the juice. She drinks it out of a crystal wine glass as she chatters with a gay, childlike air. Underneath she is a woman scorned, and every bite of that sustaining bagel, and every generous draught of that juice is a calculated act of vengeance.

Usually her attacks are hidden beneath a veil of civility. On occasion the veil is lifted and she simply taunts me with names like 'asshole' and 'loser', or she chides Sasha-'why does she dance like her wrists are broken?', 'how can you love someone with a honker like that?'.

I always try to feel compassion for her situation even while she pummels my self-esteem. I tell myself 'I'm strong I can take it'. So I smile through the pain in my guts as she smears blue jam over the bottom half of the bagel, thankful to be sitting here out of the hot sun for awhile.

It was through Jai that I got the factory job. Her father is the head of the janitorial staff and she is also scab working. Being the only person I know in this town, I am forced to depend on her at times for matters of survival. The price I pay for this is placing myself within the domain of her manipulations.

After her breakfast we sit on the deck overlooking the community of small mansions from our position on top of a hill. The neighborhood is sterile. No signs of life. No trees. No children. On the next ridge seven tiny golf carts move to and fro, saving their passengers the burden of walking from tee to tee.

From the portable CD player the soundtrack to the film 'The Commitments' plays. Jai is a background singer and dancer in The Imperial Orgy. As such she idealizes the romanticized vision of her role that the film portrayed. Considering it was only a year ago that I convinced her to have confidence in herself and attempt the role of musician and performer, I suppose such naiveté is acceptable.

The music plays and she dances around the deck singing. As I gaze outward over the ridge I try not to notice the way her ass sticks out of her bikini-bottom, which she has pulled up between her cheeks like a G-string. She turns away from me and wiggles her bottom a few feet from the left of my vision.

"Do you think anyone would notice my boobies from the next house?" She asks as she pulls off her top and plops down on a lawn-chair. The once familiar sight of her small breasts leaves me disinterested. Since I struck out on breakfast I escape the situation by moving on to my second basic need.

"Could I get a shower?" I ask blandly.

"Can you make it quick?" she examines the tan line on her abdomen with a sensual stroke of her forefinger.

The shower is in the basement. After I undress she opens the door without knocking.

Handing me a bar of soap she says sarcastically, "Don't wash your dick with my washcloth. I don't want to get any Indian germs".

The shower doesn't have much pressure. The water is warm and washes away the dirt in noticeable streams of brown on the tub's bottom. Two days since my last shower. My body is showing the signs of ware from my unsanitary habits. My face has broken out and my legs have begun to rash behind the joints where I sweat.

It is the dirtiness that makes me feel sub-human. I would like to find a quiet stream where I could bathe daily. The area is a sprawl of concrete and geometric forms. Order; the hallmark of civilization. There are too many people to expect to find a private spot in nature. Nature has been reduced to the green patches between the shopping malls. And even if I could find a stream it would never be private enough to avoid the social shock of the nudity required for bathing.

Only a half hour left before it's time to go to the factory. The streams of water heading towards the drain are no longer brown. The water bounces off my face like a massage of warm needles. Sasha comes to my mind as she does every other moment. I wish I could call her, but I can't afford the call. Plus I don't want to annoy her by my lack of frugality. Our relationship has evolved into an almost childlike position for me. This may be a natural role for her based on what I see with her parents. She often scolds me quietly for the irresponsible way I handle my botched affairs. After years of hopelessness I am having a hard time returning to long term planning.

Somehow our positions have changed and I have become her suitor. It is I who holds ridiculous demands for future commitments, and she who remains logical. In order to prove my devotion I have prostrated myself before her and what is more boring then love handed over so easily.

On top of this the degradation of my financial mess and the humiliation of my living conditions has broken my pride, which makes it impossible for me to relate to her with my usual confidence. My mind is a pendulum swinging between turmoil and resolve. The insanity of my dark moments must surely apparent in these writings.

It was not always this way with us. In the beginning I was at my height of surety. The Imperial Orgy was showing the first small bloom of success. I was finally beginning to achieve what I had planned for so long. The thrill of working the emotions of the crowds gave me an immediate sensation of fulfillment and the attention began to heal the lacerations of my long battered ego.

At this time she came to me unheeded. Writing me poetry, sometimes nervous below my gaze. When I cried she called me a king. When I was weak she saw my openness as strength. She urged me to let go when I hesitated to feel deep emotions.

But it's been five months of chaos and struggle. In her writing she called me her 'Scorpion knight who laid down his armor'. To exist in this world one needs protection. When I placed my armor back on it was tarnished in her eyes. We are both fraught by our personal situations and are lrelationship shows signs of ware. Before I can hope to re-balance the situation I must first achieve some success in my own life.

With this thought I am brought back to reality by a piercing buzzer on the factory floor. The screech warns me that a conveyor belt is clogged and I scurry to climb the yellow ladder to clear it. I have no sense of what our labors here lead to nor do I care. Just give me my paltry paycheck and the meager hope that comes with it. This hope is the hope of a man clutching at straw.