Excerpt from "Apology" August 15, 1994

August 15, 1994

Friday morning I am awakened by a phone call. An authoritarian voice asks, 'Is Caeser Pink there?"

Thinking quickly I reply, 'He doesn't live here anymore. The last I heard he was living in his car in York, Pa."

"Is that right?" he says incredulously, "If you see him this is the sheriff's office and there's a warrant for his arrest stemming from a traffic citation in Altoona."

I hang up the phone and jump out of bed in a panic. If they find me I may never get out of jail. I decide to take a quick shower and avoid the premises for a few days. While in the shower there is a loud knock at the door. With my heart in my throat I wrap a towel around my waist and peak out the peephole on the door. To my relief it is only Rob Arnold, the X-bass player for The Imperial Orgy. His sight is a relief, but still an awkward situation considering that this is the first time I've seen him since I kicked him out of the band for drinking too much onstage.

Rob was the only band member whose working class roots, like my own, hailed from Lewistown. He is known in the area as a legendary wild man and alcoholic, but at heart and good and generous fellow. He was the band clown and added an element of insanity to the Imperial Orgy. His bass playing was never really up to par, although he was a master at inventing outrageously creative costumes. Sometimes taking the stage in wedding dresses, six-inch pink platform shoes, glitter coated drum major uniforms, or a pink nylon G-string.

Rob's curse was that when he drank, which was every day, he became another man altogether. In the backstage dressing dressing rooms he terrorized the rest of the band with his drunken humor.

While changing costumes he might strip naked and hide his penis between his squeezed together legs.

"Hey guys am I a pussy or what?" he would bellow demanding the attention of all.

He was fond of bringing his Budwieser laden breath close to one's face and gurgling bizarre intimacies, "Y'know I love you guys. I might be a drunken asshole, but I'm a wild man!"

A second later he has a familiar story he must tell the entire room. "Hey guys, hey guys, this asshole came to my place and pinched clothes pins on his nipples. I challenged him. I stood in the cold for twenty minutes with jumper cables clamped on my nipples. That fucker gave up! Did that hurt though! Shit! Hey, Mitch imagine what that would feel like clamped on your balls. Nadine, can you imagine what that would feel like clamped on your balls?"

Our first approach to Rob was to walk out of rehearsal when he drank to much to play his instrument. By the third set of every performance his abilities deteriorated relative to how many pitchers of cheap beer he gulped down. When it became clear he was holding back the quality of the music we told him he had to stop drinking onstage if he wanted to stay in the band. From then on he was filled with resentment and refused to put his heart into the music. At his last gig he would not wear a costume, complaining, "I don't get paid enough to change clothes." During the next to the last song he tore the strings off his bass and stormed offstage.

Since his expulsion I've heard rumors of his wrath with me. Referring to me as Caeser Stink and calling us 'back stabbers'. With this in mind I open the door. He has come to collect a few odd belongings and his attitude is friendly. We talk briefly and I update him on the chaos of my life, including my fear that his knock was the sheriff at my door. He gathers his assortment of cords and containers and we walk towards the door. As he places his hand on the knob I see the sheriff's car pull into the driveway.

"Shit!" I yell, "there he is."

Rob is calm, "Don't worry man, I'll get rid of him."

Still in my towel I hide in the basement hallway. The sheriff knocks and inquires about my whereabouts.

"I haven't seen that guy for weeks," Rob lies coolly, "I'd like to see him myself. I have a few things to settle with him too."

After what seems an eternity he leaves. It is ironic that after I boot him out of the band it is Rob who saves my ass. Rob and I both know what it is like to be in a desperate situation and this knowledge gives us a bond that cuts through the superficial bullshit when the chips are down.

I leave the house still in a panic. My first urge is to get the hell out of town. I have created such a financial mess here it seems I can never dig my way out. With unpaid fines and a ridiculously scarred driving record just being here is a risk. On the way out of town I stop at a phone booth to try to figure out how much the fine is for. I call the local D.A.'s office and am put on hold for an extended period. There are a steady series of electronic beeps as I hold the receiver anxiously and my paranoid mind begins to race, 'what if they are tracing my call? Maybe they're keeping me on hold because the sheriff's on the way here right now." I hang up the receiver and drive off in a rush. Catching hold of myself I stop at another phone booth and re-dial the number. The D.A. has no information about the fine and it takes five more calls to find anything out. I am assuaged to learn that it is only a small fine rather than the one thousand dollars plus I feared. I make arraignments for the fine and return home still shaken.

The next day Sasha comes to State College to help me move. Actually 'move' is not quite the right word for it. Perhaps vacate is more accurate as I have no place to move to. My belongings are stashed haphazardly with friends and family. Don and Jai have my couch, papasan, and TV. Sasha will be taking my CDs and art collection.

It is a strange feeling to know I will be homeless. I am sure I will be able to find someplace to sleep and shower, but I am not one who feels comfortable as a guest and I need a space to call my own. I feel as if I'm stuck in a floating purgatory. From morning to night I wander the streets or work at the university computer labs. This writing fills my time and gives be a vague sense of purpose that helps keep me from sinking into depression. Tomorrow I will leave on a ten day shoot for Filmspace giving me time to think of someplace to stay when I return.

On Sunday afternoon Sasha and I are doing the last of the moving chores. At 3:00 she must leave for home and I am due to leave for the film shoot. The house is nearly empty. I am forced to abandon my clothes dryer and an oriental carpet for lack of anywhere to store them. We clean the house as much as time will allow and leave the rest for Donald. It is a gray, gloomy day and I load my art collection into Sasha's car while rain pours down. We say an extended good-bye and go our separate ways. Driving away from the house is loaded with meaning because I know I am driving away for the last time, and moving forward into a future full of doubt and uncertainty.

'Homeless'. It is hard to associate the word with my self. When life is secure it seems like an unimaginable possibility. But here I am. Reduced to zero. Zero. 'How did I come to this?' -each page of this writing is a dig into the dirt of my life and slowly reveals the trail to my malaise. The plane lifts off the runway as we began our journey for the shoot. Far below on the ground I view the rows of tiny houses and the toy-like cars and trucks. Human life appears like a game that I am no longer a part of. I am floating, propelled through space without a sense of belonging to anyplace or anyone. In the three decades of my life what have I to show for myself? We pass through the clouds and the human world disappears through the soft blankets of white haze.