And she updates! I promise Roger will show up in this one because I miss him. Also, a quick apology for shoving Benny and Collins into the story in such a contrived way, (do colleges even put three people in a room??) but I had to get them in there, and much like the guitar and the camera, I had no idea how to do it otherwise.
Twelve: Roger
1988-89
The kid next to me is wearing a t-shirt that says 'In the dark? Follow the son!' in neon orange letters. His hair is plastered in a blond shell over his head and there is a big silver cross tied to a leather thong around his neck. He has a kind of dazed grin and when I look into his eyes I feel more like I'm looking into a horse's eyes, or a cow's. Not that he's stupid (well he might be, but I don't know) it just seems like he's not all there. Like he's passed on to some higher spiritual plane or something.
Everyone on this bus is like that. If I'd known I was going to be taking a Greyhound full of Born Again Christians I'd have booked a different ride. They're all from the same Christian youth group called Teen Spirit! (I find the exclamation point highly annoying). They're all wearing shirts with stupid neo-Christian slogans, polyester jackets, and those jeans with no back pockets and elastic in the waist that would make even the hottest ass look like shit. They're almost all blond.
The only time their smiles wavered was when I got on the bus in my ripped jeans and leather jacket. I guess I looked like the anti-Christ to them or something. None of them offered to help me put my Fender on the over head rack (not that I would have let them touch it) but that's not really the point, is it? I mean, if Jesus had been on this bus he would have helped me.
It's ten at night now. They've been singing these idiotic songs since I got on the bus, and probably since before, too. I'm sure the bus driver is ready to shove pencils into his ears just so he doesn't have to listen to this shit. That's how I feel, anyway.
"We are chiiiiiiiiiillin' in the light of God
we are chillin' in the light of God (light of Gooooood)
we are chillin', chillin' we are chillin', (Oooo! Ooo!)
we are chillin' in the light of God (light of Gooooood)"
And how, pray tell, does one 'chill' in the light of God? Tanning would be more accurate.
"We are praaaaaaising in the house of God
we are praising in the house of God (house of Gooood)
we are praising, praising we are praising (ooo! Ooo!)
we are praising in the house of God (house of Goooood)"
Oh, Lord strike them down! I know you must find this as irritating as I do, and you've had to deal with it for ages longer than I have. Strike them down now, before I do.
See? See what they've brought me to? I've actually prayed. I'm an atheist for crying out loud!
There is reason behind this madness, I promise. For once in my life I have a coherent plan. Okay that's a big lie, I have a sort of kind of half way formed plan. But it is still a plan, so we're half way there, right?
Here's what's going down: I am on a bus full of religious loonies. I am headed for Providence, Rhode Island. More specifically, I am headed for Brown University. Not to enroll, obviously. I am going to find Mark and I am going to rescue him.
I really miss him. I know it sounds corny, but it's true. I mean, we were practically glued together all through high school. We gave the teachers (and three quarters of the student body) hell. Then after graduation, I dunno.....things changed. Mark was shipped off to college to get smart(er) and I packed a suit case and my guitars, tossed them into my shitty old car and drove off to Seattle to see what was what.
Let me tell you something about Seattle; IT SUCKS. To be fair, there must be some people who like it, otherwise no one would live there.....unless of course it's like Salt Lake City and in which case everyone who isn't a Mormon or insane is stuck there for financial reasons. Are there any Mormons in Seattle? I'll have to ask Mark. I didn't see any. Don't they wear weird clothes? Or is that the Mennonites and the Amish? There are Amish people in Pennsylvania, my uncle used to trade with them.
I'm getting off track. We (and by we I mean I) were talking about Seattle. Seattle has a great music scene but it rains so fucking much that the shitty weather kinda cancels out all the musical coolness (at least for me). Unfortunately, by the time I figured out how much I hated Seattle I already had a job (if working at Dunkin' Doughnuts can be called a job when it's really more like sugar coated SLAVE LABOR) a girl named Kitty who I slept with, a dealer named Todd who Kitty also slept with, some friends, a band, and a house/squat/condemned building type thing. It took me about a month to get all this together and I was so busy that I didn't have time to realize that I hadn't picked the greatest place to live.
For a couple of months I just dithered around. I went to work and did my part in raising the cholesterol of cops and construction workers everywhere. I went to parties every night and got totally baked or plastered or both. I tried acid (which I am never doing again) I tried speed (which I will most definitely do again) I tried angel dust, PCP, coke, and heroin. Out of all these, heroin was most definitely the best. I didn't shoot up, the fist time just did a chase but maaaaaan! It was fucking awesome, that's what it was.
Mark would kill me if he knew the kind of drugs I did. After we made friends again in high school I cut down some on the hard stuff but I dunno.....without him looking over my shoulder and clucking I just did what I wanted. And what I wanted was heroin. But I was safe about it, you know? I never used needles or anything. Didn't matter how safe I was to Kitty though, she dumped me (as much as you can dump somebody that you weren't in an exclusive relationship with). That's the real reason I left, actually. Well that and the band breaking up.
Our band was called the Hungarians. I thought it was kind of a stupid name, but it wasn't mine, it was Bob's. Bob was the lead singer/guitarist. He had a bad voice and he was a shitty ass guitarist. They hired me to play second guitar and back up vocals after their first guy got done for possession. Then the penny dropped and they realized I was a better guitarist than Bob (and yes I am bragging. Let me, it's fun) and moved me up to lead guitar. Even so, we weren't a very good band. Our bassist, Jeff, was good, and I was good but our drummer had an inability to keep time and, as I said, there should have been a law against Bob even touching a guitar. Still, they were fun guys and they gave me a place to live so I made the most of it.
The Hungarians broke up because Bob got arrested for breaking and entering and then Jeff moved to New York. He wrote me a few weeks ago to say he'd gotten a job at a theater in East Village where they did the Rocky Horror Picture Show every night. They had him playing Frank-n-Furter. He said that he could get me a job as an understudy for Brad if I wanted to get out of Seattle. He also said we could re-start the band. He wants to call it 'The Hungarians 2". Right Jeff, sure. This is why you were never allowed to write lyrics. At first I didn't know, I mean, I've seen Rocky Horror and I wasn't sure if I could take walking around in my jockies and dressing up in a corset and dancing around. It's just not me, y'know?
The things that changed my mind were three fold; first off, I got my ass fired from Dunkin' Doughnuts for eating the merchandise. Well soooorry Mr. Doughnut Man but you can't surround a hungry nineteen year old with doughnuts and not expect him to eat them. The second reason was, as I said, I hated Seattle with a deep, deep, deep, deep passion. The third came in the form of the following letter from Mark;
Hey Roger,
Last time you wrote you said you hated Seattle. You wanna know something weird? I hate Brown. Yup. It sucks.
Collins just got kicked out for setting fire to the Young Republican Youth Center. I'm dropping out because, as I said before, I hate it here, they spell theater with an 're' and the coffee is always burned. Benny is leaving because Collins and I are leaving and.....well that's it really. He says he wants to 'stick it to the man' (whatever that means).
We're going to New York. You should come. There's a good music scene in New York too. If you want to come, write or something. We're going on the 10th.
mark.
(He never capitalizes his friggin' name! Drives me up the wall!!).
So that's the story. That's why I'm on the Greyhound from Hell. I am going to Rhode Island where I will meet up with Mark and the Arsonist and the Paper Anarchist and
we'll take the Arsonist's car to New York. Then I'll start thinking about the whole Rocky Horror thing.
Ookay. I know this may be confuzzilling and for that I offer my appi-poli-logies (hahahahah I heart A Clockwork Orange......woah, here comes the nerd queen of the universe.....) but anyway that is that. Again, sorry if it's shitty/confusing. I will clear things up in the next chapter which should be posted by Friday. ALSO: THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS! They make me sooooooo happy!
