Excerpt from Apology 9/3/94

Excerpt from Apology 9/3/94

Aug. 3, 1994

It is 11:00 and I am running late for work. If I show up late there is no doubt I will be fired. To try to save time I take what I hope is a short cut through Lancaster. The speedometer reads 75 and the heat gauge is in the red. To my dismay I find myself in a seven-mile strip of road construction. After an hour of 30 mile per hour driving I emerge to find myself thoroughly lost. Checking the road atlas Sasha just donated to me, I find I am miles off my path. I pound the steering wheel angrily. This is the last straw. I have definitely lost the job now. I have completely fucked myself.


I arrive at the factory hours late. There's no use in even going inside. Plus I receive word that the strikers had rioted that morning, attacking the cars of the scab workers as they drove through the factory gate.

Everything in my life is wrapped so tight that the slightest incident is elevated to a major disaster. A few hours lost on the highway has put me in a situation that could leave me living on the streets.

I have one more paycheck that should have been delivered to Samanthas house over the weekend, so I stay around town to get it from her after she leaves the factory. At 10:30 in the evening I call her from the phone booth in front of the Burger King. She is cold on the phone. She says the check did not arrive.

I am feeling so isolated and destitute that I ask her to meet me so we can talk. Despite her cruel moments I still think of her as a friend and wish to ask her advice and perhaps receive some comforting words. Much of the time she is caring and kind, and in some ways she has really helped me through these troubled times. We meet in a small playground behind a church near her house. We sit on a bench beneath a tree. In her usual way she chatters inanely.

"I can't wait to get out of here. It's a really cool apartment. I have to study the subway maps. It takes ten minutes to get to the ferry then I'll ride that across to Manhattan."

She turns to me as if she just noticed my sullen presence, "I'm sorry I keep taking about this, but if you're not going to say anything I'll just keep talking."

I sit quietly. It seems all I have to say has been said before. Even I am tired of hearing my own complaints. She continues willfully.

"Michael said he'd be my friend up there. His chickbabe Denise too. Boy I sure was walkin' around with my booty swingin' down in the village. My parent sure would be mad if they found out what a bad neighborhood Michael lives in.

Suddenly she pauses, Are you gonna talk or not?"

We sit in silence. The crickets call out. A green maple leaf floats down suddenly unhinged from its limb. I reach out my hand and it lands directly within. In the close stillness of the night heat I crumble it absentmindedly. The crackle of the crisp foliage reverberates in my ears with a violent amplification.

"I just want to thank you for all you've done and I'm sorry for everything that's happened."
She is not impressed by my worn out apology.

"I just don't know what to do. I fucked up everything. I'm just a fucking failure! People try to help me and I let them all down." My voice has begun rising in pitch and passion as I sink into self-pity.

She speaks calmly, "If I had a million dollars..."

"I don't want a million dollars, I exude.

"I wouldn't give you a million dollars, but I might help you," she asserts, now clearly irritated.

I stand up and pace around the bench. "If I had just a little hope. My entire future depends on getting to New York and I don't stand a chance."

"Well you should've thought ahead", she retorts.

"I did think ahead! I thought I was going to be living with you and Dave. It's so expensive to get an apartment on your own. You guys really put me in a bad situation!"

She responds defensively, "You dumped me. What do you expect?"

"We're in the band and we're friends. I thought we'd look out for each other. And why am I the one that gets shut out?" my voice betrays anger.

"Probably Dave knows I'll clean up after him. I don't know. Maybe he is in love with me."

My mind sinks into childish depths of self-pity while my mouth attacks, "You guys wouldn't even be friends if it wasn't for the band I started, and now you get together and turn your backs on me!"

"Well Dave sees you've been outta work, he probably doesn't trust you!"

I shout with venom, "Trust me? I've worked my whole goddamned life, against struggles none of you have ever known, and you all have your rich parents to fall back on. Now I have one bad time and I'm untrustworthy. I hope just one time you guys find out what it's like. Poverty sucks you down in a hole and the further down you go the more the hole constricts so you can never escape. Because when you're down people won't give you a break.

I'll have to pay more for a fucking flophouse than you'll be paying for your rent, I continue to rave. And that's all because on my own I can't afford the deposits and fees. When Dave and I moved into that house and I put up all my artwork he was so proud he brought all his friends around to see how he was living. You know how he lived before that, dirt and filth everywhere. I've got a stupid art collection worth thousands of dollars which I can't sell fast, yet I've got no money and no prospects. It just boggles my mind. I just can't understand how this happened and I never thought my friends would judge me like this!"

She begins shouting also, "What do you want? Do you want to live with me? Is that it?"

I pace frantically, running my hands through my hair, "No! It just hurts. You people were supposed to be my friends. Michael lived with me for eight months and never paid a cent. You lived for free for almost a year. Doesn't that mean anything? I just didn't realize the world was so cruel."

What do you want? she screams.

"I just want a chance, I stop in front of her.

"You'll never even be able to get past the credit check. You'll never be able to get an apartment there on your own, she glares at me. In childish rage I kick the back of the wooden bench as we shout simultaneously.

"I try to help you... she pleads

"I might as well... I interrupt.

and you just yell at me!" she completes her sentence in frustration.

just fuckin' give up now!" I shout.

Catching hold of myself I freeze in place. Samantha stands and begins walking towards her home hurriedly. I follow behind trying to keep pace. My voice is mild now, "I wasn't yelling at you. I just get frustrated. This stuff drives me nuts."

She enters her living room and shuts the door quickly. Worried that I will wake her parents I knock quietly. She peaks through the curtain on the glass door. I must look pathetic because she tries to suppress her laughter when she looks at my face. Opening the door I whisper, "Could I sleep on your floor tonight? I'll be gone tomorrow."

On the basement floor I feel gratified to be able to stretch my legs instead of being cramped in the back seat of the car. In the morning I will face despair. Tonight I am too exhausted to care and I sleep deeply. No dreaming. Refreshing nullity.

In the middle of the night I am awakened by a warm feeling on my back. I lie on my stomach and I feel a hand gently sliding between my buttocks outside the biker shorts I am wearing. I am too groggy to comprehend the situation as Samantha's fingers squeeze my balls through the elastic material. Coming to, I reprimand her, "Samantha...No!"

She stops and I return to unconsciousness. Soon she begins again. She attempts to reach between my legs and grab my penis from under my belly. Still only half aware I press my body against the floor making it impossible for her to touch me. She runs her fingertips softly against my inner thighs giving me an erection against my will. I lie still for a moment, forcing my will. For the first time in years I am practicing fidelity and I don't want that to change. She makes a second futile attempt to grab my erection from underneath my weight.

"Samantha, please? I'm trying to do the right thing for once, I plead.

"Just one time. It's not the right thing to have sex with me?" she coos with a girlish voice.

"No. I don't think it is, I try to respond firmly.

She rolls unto her back and spreads her legs, rolling her hips slightly as she fingers her vagina and rubs her breasts. "C'mon don't you want to?" she moans.

I sit up. Staring at her half-asleep and wondering if I am dreaming or awake. Her thin lips sparkle as she spreads them slightly, revealing deepening shades of pink. Animal lust battles love's resolve. She reaches for my cock with both hands. With my left hand I pin both of her arms brutally against her waist. Her hips still writhe and she places her foot on my stomach and moves her toes down to my crotch.

I lay down on my back rubbing my eyes with my fingers trying to gain some clarity of mind. She mounts me, slicking my penis inside her and writhing in hips in circle as she sits atop me.

At this point I surrender. The last thing I want to do is be unfaithful to Sasha, but I suppose I have done so just by taking this job in York and sleeping in Samanthas house. It is futile to fight it now.

Samantha lays down flat on my chest and begins to kiss me. Somehow the kiss angers me. I roll her over so I am on top of her and fuck her angrily. It feels more like a rape than lovemaking, but I am not sure who has been raped. She seems to take my anger calmly. When I come, not just my body, but my entire spirit collapses. Samantha holds me in her arms with a faraway look in her eyes. Her face reads that although this is some sort of victory for her, it is a hollow one. Her body feels warm and familiar to me. We both know this might that last time we ever lay like this together. After a few minutes she walk through the dark basement to the bed where she sleeps, and I am left alone on the floor.

I lay in darkness. One of the greatest things about my relationship with Sasha is our total honesty. We have shared everything from our darkest secrets to our most private journals. But I am ashamed of this night. My weakness created this event.

The rest of the night gives little relief from my troubled thoughts. I am still awake to hear the first bird songs and see the emerging morning light. It glows through the tiny basement window. First gray. Then blue. Now blazing white. My breathing is a measured questioning sigh. A new day.


In the morning last night's events are thankfully not spoken of. Neither can I forget them. By mid morning the sky has turned appropriately gray and gloomy. Samantha and I sit on the deck while I make calls trying to locate my missing paycheck. It seems to have vanished and neither the post office or the temp service who hired me will take responsibility. I feel I have reached a new low. The immediate cash seems vital for survival. There seems to be no options left to hang my hopes on.

I am exhausted by my own anger. I cannot bear feeling hostility towards my friends. Everything I know about the band members has been filtered through Samantha and I can't trust her honesty right now. She seems to be using her influence with them to torment me. Often she tells me nasty things they've said, then a day later contradicts herself. To relieve my own stress I wipe the slate clean and forgive all. It is a relief.

In timely fashion the phone rings and it is Dave. He wants to speak to me. One of the major complications of my financial situation has been that I have a lease for an apartment I share with Dave. I don't live there but I still pay $400 a month in rent. The lease is over in two weeks and I owe him almost $800 in back rent. All my earnings from the factory go to repaying him. When I speak to him on the phone he is extremely understanding. We agree he will hold my Dali lithograph until I take care of the dept. He says to make sure I have money to move to New York before I pay him. I suddenly feel shame for my previous anger. It crosses my mind that as soon as I let go I receive.

When I hang up the phone Samantha is in an unexplainable rage. "I want you to get your stuff and get out of here for good!" she hisses.

I am completely perplexed. "What's wrong? What'd I do now?"

"The way I see it you dumped me when I needed you. Why should I, or anyone do anything for you? All you want is a free ride. Remember last week when I told you that you were the most talented man I ever met? It was all a lie. You're a joke!"

"Samantha. Why..." I don't have the will to match her steaming energy.
Her eyes glare and she gestures dramatically. "If you want somebody to go to, go to your little Indian bitch. But you can't because she doesn't want to hear it and neither do I! She doesn't give a fuck about you and nobody else does either. Why should they? If she loved you, you could go to her. Everyone's sick of you. Why don't you just kill yourself and it will be a relief to everyone?"

I am stupefied. "Samantha I'm a human being, I plead

"Just go ahead and do it," she challenges me.

"Samantha I'm ..." I whine.

"Just kill yourself! You don't have the nerve. Do you? Kill yourself! Kill yourself!" she screams.

For an instant there is a total logic to her diatribe. All collapses in confusion. It would be the most dignified thing I could do. It would be as simple as making the decision.

In panic I run off the deck, through the yard, and jump into my car. I drive off. As I move down the highway it is as if I am administered a healing dose of nepenthe from a long ignored internal source. I suddenly feel serene even while her words echo among my thoughts.

I have no direction. All about me cars, trucks, and busses charge towards their destinations. Construction workers build. Factories shoot steam into the sky as they create their wares. Each human works to fulfill their desires. Their goals lead them through their days. The swarm passes me, but I have become unhinged. For this moment I am not a part of this world. I am on a mountaintop looking down as the insectiles blindly create a frenzied, delirious maelstrom.

The Protestant work ethic clasps hands with greed. Corporate kings hire ad execs to condition the statistical consumers into delusions of need for products that lend nothing to life. Darwin's theories are proven by the whirling activities of the free market.

But I am moving slower. The cars pass by as indecipherable blurs. The people race by like a kinescope in hyper drive. I can no longer distinguish man or object for it all moves too fast. All colors fade into white. All sound congeals into a thunderous Aum. The galaxy is a ripple in space moving outwards from the sun. The stars paint a bed of ecstatic white heat. Einstein's theory moves in reverse. Maya bows her head. Heaven exhibits itself with a tightrope walk on the cusp of two worlds revealed as one. The world has not changed, only my perspective on it. Inside I am still.