Right Now

            

        

It’s another typical Monday evening in the Spring 2011 semester. George and Hal have a tradition every Monday at 5:45pm, forty-five minutes before their Harrison Ford movie screening every Monday. The tradition: Felipe’s quesadillas.  Hal was released from Greek class early on this particular Monday, which warranted an excess of relaxation time before the standard departure. He opens his Carrollton Hall dorm room, and yells to George, “I’m starving, let’s go!...Right Now.” He responds while half asleep, “Right now.” George slowly crawls out of his elevated bed and flops onto the floor. He scrubs the crust out of his eyes, yanks his car keys off his book and paper cluttered desk, and rises onto his feet. Close to comatose, he says, “Right now.”

            

They walk out of Carrollton Hall and to the parking garage, not stopping to engage in lengthy conversation with anyone, as that would put a dagger into their now extended amount of ‘bro time.’ Usually George’s car is parked in what he called the ‘Presidential’ spot which means backed into the first spot on the first floor on-ramp. However, on this particular occasion, his car was pleasantly parked on the fourth-floor.When they hop into his Nissan Murano, George quickly put on the traditional ride out song of “The Show Goes On” by Lupe Fiasco. This song has been mapped out to be the prefect length song in respects to the drive time to Felipe’s, but who could really follow what tradition says when given so much extra time?

Meanwhile, Hal sits in the passenger seat contently and patiently for his stomach to be settled soon. George has other plans. He says, “What time is it? We’re backing down this bitch.” To Hal, this seemed to be possibly the greatest idea George had, second to hitting his Murano’s max speed on I-10. George whips his wheel right and begins to back down the parking garage. Before he can get five spaces down, Officer Larry, a Barney Fife look-alike, spots him. In his University Police golf cart, he rushes to the scene like a scene off Reno 911. George rolls down the window with a look of embarrassment and enmity.

Barney exclaims, “What are you doing?” In reply, George calmly says, “I was just moving my car to a different spot next to my friend. He told me his car battery died, and when he gets out of class I’ll give him a jump.” In an understanding but also questioning tone, Barney says, “Well you don’t have a parking pass, so I’m afraid you can’t park in this garage.” At this point, any good response George has swiftly leaves his mind, and says, “Even if I don’t go to school here, and I am just using the gym?” Barney gives George a look of disgust and potential anger building up, and says “Yes, son. You need to get a parking sticker. I’ll let you go now, but if I see you again, I’ll have to give you a ticket.”

            

George rolls up his window and tells Hal, “What a joke. Literally, I haven’t had a parking permit all year.” Hal can do nothing but chuckle at George’s confidence in his invincibility, but the pair progresses their way down on level of the garage, where George says, “Attempt number two.” Just as the first time, he whips the Murano into reverse, and proceeds backwards down the ramp. As he turns one flat area between floors two and one, he sees a car in front of him. He has no second thoughts about possibly stopping his tomfoolery, and follows the car in reverse.

            

At the sight of a backwards car in the garage, a man jumps out of the car in front. Hal says, “Yeah. That’s a University Policeman.” The off-duty cop instructs George to pull into the nearest parking space, and with dejection, he does. Hal says, with a mix of worry for his friend and a slight yearning to bust out laughing, “Oh boy.” George  and Hall are instructed to get out of the car, and the typical exchange of license and registration begins.

            

Not quick enough, Barney Fife speeds down in his Ez-Go, and exclaims to his brother in arms “That’s the same guy from the fourth floor! What did he do now?” George turns to Hal and says, “You don’t have to stay. I’ll see you at the movie in a bit.” Hal leaves the scene, and his laughter has turned to sheer worry for George. Hal is parked ‘Presidentially’ on the first floor, and drives to McDonalds.

            

With six Hot N’ Spicy McChicken sandwiches in hand, Hal walks into Bobet 214 for the movie screening, and George meets him with a smile and three words, “What a joke.” With a chuckle, Hal responds back, “What happened?” George replies, “The better question is, what didn’t happen? Careless operation. Best part is, I’m still parked there... Right now.”

What Is Love: Haddaway- Pantoum

Oh, I don't know why you're not there

I give you my love, but you don't care.

So what is right ,and what is wrong?

Gimme a sign, I can’t go on.

I give you my love, but you don't care

What else can I say, its up to you?

Gimme a sign, I can’t go on.

I know we’re one, just me and you.

What else can I say, its up to you?

I want no other, no other lover.

We’re one together, just me and you.

I need you forever, don’t hurt me.

I want no other, no other lover.

Lingering and longing for you, longing forever.

I need you forever, don’t hurt me.

There is nothing I can say, only sojourn.

Lingering and longing for you, longing forever.

Is this love? Baby, don’t hurt me.

There is nothing I can say, only sojourn.

Only don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me no more. 

A Different Kind of Heat-Pantoum

There’s nothing comparable to a midnight sky,

and a campfire surrounded by friends and Louisiana brush.

Stories are shared along with the occasional spooky one,

but we laugh and cry waiting for the night to never end.

A campfire surrounded by friends and Louisiana brush

only brings us new memories and a change to reminisce.

We laugh and cry waiting for the night to never end,

because tomorrow is the Monday and another week of school.

New memories and a change to reminisce

means making us closer together than we are already,

because tomorrow is the Monday and another week of school.

However, we are still huddled around this fire now.

The fire is making us closer together than we are already,

Which is scary because we are all sharing the same blanket.

However, we are still huddled around this fire now,

and are dreading tomorrow and our bladders.

It is scary that we are all sharing the same blanket,

and don’t understand how someone hasn’t pissed their pants yet.

We sit here dreading tomorrow and our bladders.

The fire sizzles and releases a repulsive odor.

Dear Mister Howard,

Mister Howard,

            Mommy talks about you all the time, and I think she talks about me to you too. I’m not sure who you are, but I want to meet you some day. You seem like a nice man because I never hear Mommy talking badly about you. She talks bad to Daddy all the time. But then Daddy yells back at her. I never know what they are talking about. One day it is about Mommy spending too much money, or another day it is about Daddy not working hard enough. The same things really, and they always say that each other doesn’t care about me when I grow up. I think they care about me. Mommy always takes me with her to get her nails done and get new dresses. She always asks me if she thinks a dress makes her look like Miss Trudy in the apartment next door. Miss Trudy isn’t a very pretty lady like my Mommy. She has a big nose and ways wears this thing my Daddy calls a Moo-Moo. The lady scares me. And Daddy! Well Daddy takes me to Central Park every weekend to feed the little ducks with our old bread. He takes me in his car and onto the big road and puts the windows down just as I like it. Sometimes it scares me because the door rattles and whenever I touch the car I get this brown stuff on my hand, it kind of feels like taking Cocoa Puffs and smashing them up, but I know its not dirt. As Tony the Tiger says, “They’re Great!”! I don’t know why they fight all the time. Whenever they fight it seems like we get something new in the house. Not to mention they wake me up sometimes with the fighting. When I thought things were getting a little better, Mommy and Daddy woke me up with their yelling again. Miss Trudy’s dog woke up too and I heard him barking really loud. Daddy was asking why Mommy smelled like dog and this thing called licker. I would ask too because dogs are gross. Mommy asked Daddy why he smelled fruity and something like whiskers. Daddy always told me if I saw a man in a dress that’s a fruit, but he wasn’t wearing a dress tonight. At one point the loud questions stopped, but then Daddy knocked over our TV. It didn’t work anyways, so I wasn’t too sad about that. Then he threw my dollhouse at the wall. It looks broke, but I couldn’t see too much from inside the closet. For a long time all I could hear were things crashing and sometimes Mommy or Daddy saying “ouch.” They told me that “ouch” wasn’t a good thing to say because it would make the other person want to make you say it again. I think they forgot about what they were teaching me. Mommy and Daddy stopped when they heard a beating on the door and a man telling them to open up. They opened the door, and Miss Trudy walked in with a policeman. He put some shiny things on their hands and told them to sit on the ground. The policeman walked around the house looking for something, then walked out with Mommy and Daddy to have a talk. Their talk must be good because it has been a long time since they have come back inside, maybe things are better now. I hope so, because its almost breakfast time and I can’t ever reach the milk.

Thanks Mister Howard!

Mommy loves you so I guess I do too.

A Nonfiction Tribute

The weekend is so close, and so is an oil change. At least, that’s what Ben Bragg’s Facebook page says. I’d say right about now, Ben can’t take another minute of his boating history class he was telling me about earlier this week. I wonder what things are like for him in Throgg’s Neck, New York: 

Ben is counting down the seconds until Lt. Harper dismisses the class. After two hours of taking notes and one hour over due from joining the urination, Ben sees Lt. Harper give his trademark salute to wrap up class. SUNY Maritime Academy rejoices with the end of a week and an opportunity to leave campus. Well, most of Maritime can leave right away. Ben has to stick around for another three hours or so for Rugby practice. This is a fact which befuddles me as to how someone like him could go from gentle giant in high school to a brute Maritime Rugger. Maybe this could be attributive to why Ben is sen as so many different things to so many different people. On that note, he’s an eagle scout, great outdoorsman, one in discernment of the priesthood, and also someone that nobody dislikes and everyone loves. If anyone was deserving of my damn Signum Fidei award, it’s Ben. I sure as hell am not half the man Ben is.

Ben will get out of practice around six. If it was as grueling and hard hitting as he tells me, his six foot one and two hundred pound frame will be covered head to toe in grass stains on his clothes and bruises on his shins. Knowing his one-two-three planning attitude, he has will have his camping gear in the car and is ready for the opening day of duck season. He tells me just about every day about the flocks of perfectly colored teal with coats glistening with burgundy and Carolina blue. Before he gets in the car, he still has to change his oil in the Night Rider; also known as his black 1998 Acura CL he’d always park s close to me back in high school that I would have no room to get out of my car. This was all in good fun and friendship, as I had my fair share of retaliations on his car waiting on him after school. For example, I once gave him a windshield full of pine needles and small patch of them in is line of vision just happened to have dollop of tree sap on them. Whoops. This backfired on me however, because handy Ben carried Windex in his car and wiped the sap off with the biggest smile on his face. . A true renaissance man, and one who refuses to have anyone work on his car beside himself. I really do wish I were him; an inspiration.

The weekend is so close, and so is an oil change. When I got back from dinner with the folks and opened up my computer, Ben’s Facebook page was still up. However, his recent status update was buried amongst other posts I wish to have never seen. From “RIP”, to “we love you”, to “you’re in a better place”, I sat in disbelief. My phone rang, with nothing but tears flowing at each end. I ask Josh the most painful question of my life, “what happened?” He tells me that Ben was found on the side of NY-17, pinned under his car. Between our sobs, Josh asks me why was it Ben that had to go this early. I try, but can’t speak. We try to comfort each other, but nothing can be done. The end could be so close.  

Another Night Out

           Another night out in New Orleans with Rob and Bryce begins in the same traditional manner. After pounding back a slue of Crown and Cokes and watching the latest episode of Californication, the duo is primed for a sinful night overflowing of alcoholism and thirsting of chivalry. With a visor snug on their flowing locks, a tucked in long-sleeve Polo dress shirt, khaki shorts and Sperrys, they walk out of Carrollton Hall and turn left towards the Danna Center. Rob and Bryce’s first stop is the ATM. Bryce withdraws fifty dollars and reads a balance of three hundred and twenty three dollars.

            Bryce says, “Well, there’s my fight home to Kansas City.”

Rob does the same, and sees that his nine hundred dollar monthly allowance has landed.

            Rob’s response, “Oh the joys of being a native. That’s a relativity limitless bar tab, a Trojan variety pack, and finally paying off my new contacts.”

            “Yeah asshole, maybe tonight you’ll actually be able to see what you’ve been bringing home lately.” Bryce so cunningly retorts.

            The pair leaves Loyola to burn down uptown with Rob’s hand-me-down 2009 black Porsche 911. First stop is Bruno’s. With three-dollar Crown and Cokes, the two kings of orient begin flirting with the bartender. With every drink ordered and every failed icebreaking polar bear pick up line, she orders the bouncer to politely escort Rob and Bryce out of the bar.

            They make their way over to The Boot, where they are so politely greeted by Rob’s ex-girlfriend, Jamie, and her Pro Bowl sized friend, Sam. Like any experienced bro, Bryce keeps Sam occupied at the bar while Rob begins his courting in the corner of the bar. Bryce and Sam’s conversation blends in with “Your Love” by The Outfield in the background, and each statement becomes more and more incoherent with every drink on Rob’s tab. Sam’s comforter turned red dress slowly shrinks to a pillowcase.

            Rob finishes his broken relationship and suddenly realizes that Bryce has gone astray. Also, does Sam. The couple puts their personal issues aside and attempt to figure out where their comrades went. Rob and Jamie dart out of The Boot, look left, and see Bryce being driven away in a police car. Rob gives Jamie a goodbye kiss and runs to his car. He is careful of every step as he splashes through the drainage puddles along side of the road. Rob speeds down S. Claiborne Avenue with every hope of not being caught himself. He comes to the station and asks the desk attendant if Bryce Chapman has been brought in. She tells him that he was immediately released on bail with a bank account ending 22573; Rob’s bank account ending. Rob asks to see the paperwork and is so astonished that he cannot see anything on the paper.

            Rob drives home with a sense of relief, and is welcomed by a pair of purple panties on the rear of his door handle. And on the rear of the panties, “juicy.” Disgusted of this sight, Rob flops down in his bed and lays his head on his pillow.

            Morning comes and Rob notices his wallet moved to his bedside with a note that says, “I’m sorry bro, I got into a little trouble last night. Hopefully your pops doesn’t see your bank account anytime soon. If he does, then I’ll take all the blame. If you’re reading this and I’m not here, then I made my flight back home and I’ll see you next semester. Have a good summer…and I’m sorry for using all your condoms. I got extra worried.”

            Rob goes into the restroom, reaches for his soap scum covered contact lens case. He notices that his right lens is not in the case, so he tries to see if he may have left in in his eye. No luck. Infuriated with the actions of his friend and his own, Rob goes to Capital One to see the damages done to his account. He swings the door of Capital One off the hinges and into Magazine Street. He was not able to see the sign that said, “Please use side door.” He approaches the clerk and asks for a current statement of acct 605 29 22573. The account balance reads one dollar and ninety-nine cents. He father always told him that when he goes broke, to make sure that he has enough money to buy a sharpie.

            

What is a Best Friend?

            Coming from a friend’s 21^st birthday celebration at Pat O’Briens, Sean pulls into Marc’s driveway in his two toned rust and dust 1993 Geo Metro. He stumbles out of the car, Hurricane in hand, and walks to Marc’s front door. Knock once, and no answer. Knock again, Marc swings open the door with joy to see his best friend, all with hopes that he remembered to pick up the desserts that Marc pre-ordered. Empty handed and covering up his intoxication, Sean tells Marc that he just happened to completely forget about the dessert. Miscommunication aside, the two pals walk to Marc’s kitchen, where Marc’s hopefully future fiancée Kara and Sean’s older sister Mary are having their own early night symposium on the latest Cosmo and People magazines. While the ladies talk about their unfortunate lives in comparison to A-List celebrities, Sean helps Marc clean the dishes from the three’s to be family dinner of Chicken and Andouille Gumbo with a side of freshly baked garlic bread. With the dishes completed and a girlfriend’s sweet tooth that even Willy Wonka could not solve, Marc volunteers to pick up their pre-ordered cheesecake.

            He gets into his prized 1998 Eddie Bauer Expedition and covers the slack of his best friend just like and good friend would do. Marc gets to Copeland’s Cheesecake Bistro, hoping that their Bananas Foster Cheesecake they ordered is still available and the restaurant still open. Much to his dismay, Copeland’s is closed, so he is forced to make a clutch decision. Winn-Dixie is right around the corner, so he ventures there to see what options are available. His perfect night of proposal is all falling apart like the end of a competitive Jenga game. With the Winn Dixie bakery closed with nothing out for purchase, Marc buys a six-pack of Abita Amber for him and Sean to enjoy if the girls are still complaining about their sex lives.

            Marc and his hemi engine roll into his driveway from a almost completely unsuccessful trip. He opens his door and accidentally knocks over the trashcan, awaking just about every dog in the neighborhood. He swings open his house’s weather beaten front door. His wallet hangs from the right side of his mouth and a six-pack at the end of his left arm. In his head is the image of his future fiancée along with the tune of her favorite song, Sweet Caroline. In his right hand are his keys on his index finger and an engagement ring in his palm. Marc walks into a vacant kitchen and a note from his sister saying that she felt sick and needed to go home, at which he hears the sound of a window from his bedroom slammed shut. He races across the house to his bedroom and keys open the door. He finds Kara lying on the bed nude and in tears, knowing of her actions exposed. The only sounds Marc hears are the lub-dub of his heart, the putt-putt of an ill cared for car speeding away, and the clink of the ring hitting the tile floor. They say nothing. 

Since January 7th 1973

Since January 7^th 1973

11:00am –

            Ace and his seven-man unit surge out of their squad van and into the double doors. Ace’s knowledge is bleak, only knowing that there is one man wreaking havoc amongst the occupants and rescue workers inside. Bellhops and maids flee the hotel with tears and ash on their faces. His unit makes way to the staircase, with heartbeats louder than the fire alarms screeching though the halls…

            He counts the bullets as they fire, and the men in blue as well. All of this in hope to avenge what he sees as corruption. He enters a seemingly vacant room, bypasses the two African American housekeeping workers, and looks out the window to see two men with the crescent and star on their chest. Soon the .44 folds the badge and like a poorly made paper airplane, the men fall off their ladder. He enters the stairwell and heads to the rooftop…

11:15am-

            The assailant hears Ace and his unit ease open the six inch metal door atop the Howard Johnson. At this, he turns around and riddles the door with his military issued M-16 Rifle. The bullets stop, and the clank of the clip falls to the cement rooftop. Ace takes the cue, and charges at the shooter. With a leap forward, Ace takes a shot that rips through his thigh and soars into the clouded sky. Ace comes down onto the shooter, and avenges the loss of his brothers in blue lost that day; one 9mm to the shin and one to each shoulder. His unit and the helicopters finish the job…

           

            Seven days into 2003, the once off white and orange, stands beige. Resting on its side, a clarinet. And so, playing its own tune to hide the echoes of gunfire from that day. Seven days into 2003, the once medal adorned man in navy, stands guard with a royal apron saving nothing but the glares given to him when greeting a man with a simple “welcome.” And so, welcoming only the ability to forget the echoes of gunfire and anguish experienced that day. 

Prose Poetry

On Food

Processed beef, sesame seed bun, lettuce, diced onion, mystery sauce; deep fryer, red heat lamp, left out for hours at a time, crispy golden strips; halibut, cod, and drum mined mystery meat; safely cradled in a square cardboard box.

Beef, beans, sweet and spicy brown sauce, tortillas, forty-seven ways.

Square patties, bits scattered about the floor, thrown into the ten-gallon chili batch. Obesity rate?

On Love

What makes a princess? Is it her beauty, her woo, her fame, her fortune? What makes a prince? Is it his strength, his wit or lack there of, his rescue of his maiden? What is it that makes a princess tale? Is it the journey of the prince, the oppression of the damsel, the rescue from her lofted lodging?

And the princess paradigm exists. “Roy, you lazy prick, the car won’t start!” “I’m coming darling!”

"Stand By Me" Renku

"If Mickey's a mouse,
and if Pluto is a dog,
what the hell's Goofy"

"One food for your life
It's pez, cherry flavored pez.
No doubt about it"

Whether it’s when you’re with your gals or bros trying to decide on what to do on a Friday night, or if you’re having a flirtatious conversation with a significant other, the question of “what’s your favorite movie” is often asked. My answer is often three fold with Donnie Darko, Dead Poet’s Society, and Stand By me. Three very different movies, but one really can never go wrong with a “coming of age” story such as Stand By Me. This movie brings back childhood memories such as tree houses, fire hydrant slip-n-slides, neighborhood treasure hunts, and trips to the Rite Aid for condoms to be used for water balloons. That last one is a tad extraneous, but nonetheless, great childhood memories. In terms of these two renditions of fantastic movie quotations from Stand By Me, what really is Goofy, and if there is one food you would have for the rest of your life, what would it be? Even though Goofy wears clothes and drives a car “he’s a dog, he has to be a dog.” And if I had one food for the rest of my life it would have to be freshly baked Cinnabons. I think I have a little bit of a cinnamon roll obsession to say the least. My birthday is June 25^th; just saying.  

A Trip to CCs

While Gazing through the glass,

gloriousness is displayed.

Hypnotic swirls and twirls

of puff and crumbly greatness

Alternating layers

of flaky and gooey lusciousness.

“A warm cinnamon roll

with your latte today, sir?”

“No, thanks. but I’ll take a

stale cream cheese bagel por favor.”

Inspiration for this ironic piece is from our break period last class. I figured ten minutes would be a solid amount of time to get super grande latte, but I was mistaken and strolled into class a few minutes late. Embarrassing? Yes. Worth it? Not a chance. Once Dr. Chambers gave us the green light, I dashed over to CC’s. Which, while on that note, “CC’s” is an abbreviation or term of reference which thoroughly confuses me because there is no personal possession or pluralizing “Community Coffee”. Confuses me as much as those acne medication commercials that claim to turn a pizza face into Leonardo DiCaprio. Aside from that, I went over to get my latte and was asked the question of if I wanted to add anything to my coffee. One day I’ll say “No, if I wanted one I would have ordered it”, but this time I felt like being kind. However, leading up to my purchase there were two cinnamon rolls calling my name and waiting to be devoured. As R. Kelly says “my mind was telling me no, but my body was telling me yes.” Moment of truth came; do I want a cinnamon roll? I cracked, and asked for a cream cheese bagel. As my mouth was salivating over this glorious looking cinnamon roll, I got a less healthy choice in a fully loaded cream cheese bagel. What was I thinking? Regardless, I lived with my decision and headed back to class. Swiftly strutting, I took a bite out of that bagel and quickly realized that I was victim of last week’s reject batch that the manager just happened to slip back into the case. At that moment I introduced the stale bagel to a trashcan that looked like it hadn’t eaten for days. My journey to CC’s was complete, I walked into class infuriated and embarrassed. 

Billy Collins and Roz

One walks around in a bluegrass field and sees every species of animal imaginable. The person sees a woman frolicking delightfully through the field of daisies. The woman walks into her home, sings songs to her parakeet, and settles herself for the evening. She tosses a field green and strawberry salad for dinner and eats next to the door with curtains blowing in the wind.

“Alice in Wonderland”? No, I don’t think so; just a fantasized prose version on Billy Collins’ “Poetry” to lighten the mood a bit. However, the first time I read this piece, I was almost entirely taken out of our discussion due to its ability to take me back eight years in my educational life.

Seventh grade at Holy Cross School in New Orleans, LA was a rite of passage. We were the big fish of the middle school, moving from the indoor staircase at fifth grade, to the right outdoor staircase in sixth grade, and finally the left outdoor staircase located next door to the wall ball courts in seventh grade. Our class shirts read “Nous sommes du fromage”; “We are the cheese.”

That being said, with cheese comes a rat to show who’s boss. That rat was Ms. LeMay. I’m not sure what frightened me more, her stench of six-day-old smoke, or her voice mimicking Roz from Monsters, Inc. Nevertheless, this was one rat not worthy of a Nutcracker center stage performance. Speaking of a center stage performance, the entire reason why Collins’ poem reminds me of this creature.

Roz’s class was highlighted by the reading of Edgar Allan Poe. In the Poe segment of class, more like all of spring semester, we were blessed with the opportunity to memorize “The Raven.” If this sounds like something that would be in the least bit entertaining to do, then please schedule a visit with your pediatrician. I did not have that choice at the time, so I was granted to pleasure of committing to memory one hundred and eight lines of masterful darkness.

The night before it was time for my center stage performance, I flawlessly recited “The Raven” to my mom and pup. Moment of truth came as my name was called. The first stanza was long walk on the beach with the girl of my dreams. The second stanza was as perfect as a 1990 Pam Anderson. The third stanza; enter Tommy Lee. Not only was I not able to get “silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain” out of my mouth clearly, but I decided it would look better if I just kept repeating the same line over and over again in hope it would trigger some memory. Oh wait, the next line was “So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating.”

I wish that whenever seeing or hearing of rustling curtains I did not allude back to this tragic moment in my academic life, but thank you Billy Collins. You are the cheese.