DIARY
In this town…
I think I mentioned that last Sunday, after the completion of the Occlusion retreat, my brother and I dropped off Elisabeth, visited Jessica, and returned to Michigan. We got in a little bit after midnight.
I slept for twelve hours.
* * * * *
I spent most of Monday finishing the revision of Adrift on the Mainstream.
I slept for ten hours.
On Tuesday, I set out for Flint, with the intention of resolving the problems I’ve had with my novel Urbantasm. It was inordinately hot and humid that day, and I had packed my backpack too full. I walked from my parents’ house to downtown Flushing, less than three miles, and already felt sticky and exhausted. But I visited my grandmother for an hour, and she talked about her visits with Celia, up in Oscoda, on lake Huron, in a little cottage at the end of a road, with a porch swing. And I stopped at the BP for some water. And started walking again.
I followed Main street until it became Flushing road and followed it out of Flushing. I passed the House With The Six Foot Tall Wind-Chime, which I learned was also the house with three scary dogs, and stopped to use the bathroom at a party store that seemed like something right out of a slasher flick… the place was dim and smelly musty and damp, and there were unoiled machine parts and (animal) trophies littering the place. And then I crossed Linden, passed the lot where the veterans’ mental hospital had been, crossed those sweeping, rolling cemeteries across the river from the sanitation district, passed under 75, and went through the white trash neighborhood that fringes that side of Flint. I passed Paul’s old house, which will always be Paul’s in my mind. Its present owners, who have turned the Tarp shop into a recording studio (something Paul and I had always dreamed of doing, with variations), “All 4 Him Productions,” have been evicted. And so I passed the Shell and the Golden Gate and after a few minutes entered Flint.
And then Ben Paciorek saw me as he drove down the street, offered me a ride, and I accepted. He took me to Tom Z’s coney island. I walked a total of only nine miles, but was hot and sweaty and tired.
At Tom’s, I sat and worked for five hours. I had a coney and fries and coffee. It stormed outside. A bunch of angry high schoolers came and sat and stared at me, across from me. I read. A white trash cook arrived, angry that he had been fired without being paid. He tried to pull one of the waitresses hair, but she backed him up against the wall. Swearing. She called Tom Z. And then he was shouting on the phone to Tom. Then he talked more softly. Then he left.
It rained for hours and hours. The rain rushed down Grand Traverse as if the street were a river. I called the Perkins-Harbinses. They said that I could stay with them that night. When the rain stopped I zigzagged over to 2nd Street and crossed down into Hall’s Flats (aka the “Cellarway”) to see if that area was flooded just like I heard it used to be. It wasn’t flooded. The dyke built along the western edge has fixed that problem. But is was very foggy and ghostly and romantic. I crossed the flat and climbed the twenty-four steps to Court street. I followed Court to Saginaw, and walked under the unlit arches. The last purple glow was fading above. I turned onto Kearsley, passed through the U of M campus, and crossed 475. Then, walking through the Cultural Center… I stopped at the reflecting fountain for awhile. The fountain was turned off, but the lights had been turned on beneath the water, cycling through and mingling pale yellows, bloody reds, and most haunting iridescent blues and greens. It was like museum lights shining from behind some glass.
I crossed through the big ramp, and passed through Mott. I stopped in East Village and noticed the house I grew up in was for sale. They’re asking $100,000 for it, but my parents bought that house for about $24,000 in the late-70s. Finally, I arrived at the Perkins-Harbinses, and stayed up watching television with Emily, and working on writing, until 2, when I went to sleep.
* * * * *
The next day, Liz PH let me use Sam’s old car, so I found myself rotating through the city. First I hit the Atlas, where I worked until its surly owner asked me to leave (something he does after about an hour, even if the goddamn place is bone empty), then I hit Borders, drank coffee, wrote, read, and tried not to notice a girl there that I strongly dislike. Then, the library for an hour, to check my email and post here (2 entries back). Then, Toshi’s which closed at nine, to my surprise. I had a Flint and a Detroit style coney. And writing, writing. And finally, back to the PH’s. I’d realized I needed to change Urbantasm, so I called my parents and called them to come get me.
* * * * *
Thursday was angstified, but my mom took me out looking at wedding stuff. We went to four different places; two greenhouses, a craft supply store, and a fabric store. And then we went home. I watched TV and rumbled through my room, looking for things I’d saved because I am a packrat. That night I went out to the Torch for a drink. While I was there, I ran into Jon Grenay and Jason and Tiffany Hurley. They suggested I come to the Flint Youth Theatre play of “Alice in Wonderland” the next day.
* * * * *
Friday, I dropped my dad off at work, picked up the music and clothe’s I’d left at the PH’s, stopped at the Good Beans Cafe for several hours and spoke to Ken, the owner. He told me about the concert series he has started, how it’s building momentum, but slowly. I mentioned that I’d heard that often the first several years of such projects are simply about survival, not growth. He agreed, then added that in Flint, three or four years of such were needed.
Katie Nicolai and Dan Gerics arrived. I talked to them for awhile. Katie told me about a horrible accident her brother, Greg, has been in: he was touring Virginia with dancers but the bus was overturned. The bus driver died. Many of the dancers were badly hurt. Greg and Liz, his girfriend, were hurt and bruised, but essentially alright. I asked Dan about their work with Flint City Theatre. He suggested I submit a script. I will do so. It will be a revision of an old play I started but never finished, called “Canaryville Blues.”
Mrs. Crawford and Theresa arrived. I talked to them for a full hour… not long enough. Mrs. Crawford told me about the horrible accident Linday had been in: she was sad and driving through Pennsylvania, and her car overturned in the middle of a busy two-land highway. She didn’t know the orientation of her vehicle. It was spinning on its roof. She kicked out the windshield, unbuckled herself, and walked away without a scratch. She’d been living in Pittsburgh. Now she lives in Philly. We talked about math and unemployment and frustration, and all of that sordidness. But the coffee shop was closing. So we left.
I drove to the culturual center, and when the box office opened, I waited in the lobby for Walter and Bill. They got me a comp ticket, and they invited me into to share the circle before the show… they dedicated the show, in part, to me. It was a wash of memories, not so much just the circle, but being surrounded by all those kids wearing rabbit ears and pig noses. The production was very enjoyable. Jason Hurley, playing the Queen of Hearts, stole a scene… or three.
Afterwards, I’d intended to go out for drinks with Jon and Jason, but they were both tired and went home. Instead, I went out with Walter and Bill and Suzanne to a bar in Grand Blanc. I called home so that my mom would pick up my dad from work. I had a whiskey and beer and got really loopy talking about the past. Then we left, and I walked up and down a cold and dewy Saginaw until I’d come down a bit. It was late when I got home.
* * * * *
On Saturday, my grandma took my brother and I out shoe shopping for our birtdays. She took us to the mall.
We stopped in the food court at what I thought was a Chinese restaurant, and all of a sudden my brother started making these unfamiliar sounds, and an older Asian man behind the counter nodded his head and responded. They were speaking Japanese. My brother’s been learning this because he traveled to Asia on a tour not long ago, and as I just learned, picked up a Japanese Girlfriend, Jun. He’s learning Japanese. She sent him a kimono in the mail. She will be visiting soon. I hope I can meet her.
In the end, I got a fine pair of leather shoes at J.C. Penny. I didn’t even look at the price. They’d been deeply marked down… to $18.
That night, in celebration of my brother’s 21st birthday (on the 25th) we went to Skips in downtown Flushing… my Cody, and dad, and I. We had nachos and talked about the way the place had used to be, back when it opened in the early 50s or 40s or whenever. Then we walked around downtown, the river and park. I’d been feeling horrible about coming back to Chicago and life in general. But then I felt better.
When we got back home, all five of us we were awake, so we stayed up and talked for a long time.
* * * * *
Yesterday, I bought presents for my brother and aunt. I got Cody Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein, and my Aunt a scented candle. For my birthday (next week), my aunt bought me six Guinness and a pair of Guinness jams, which I promise that absolutely everbody will be seeing me wear often.
We had lunch; grilled chicken, corn, and green bean cassarole, then Cody opened gifts, and Elisabeth arrived to give me a ride. I frantically began to pack. We breaked to eat cake. I finished packing, and finally, Elisabeth and I rode off.
The ride back to Chicago made me dread coming back a bit less. Though I still hate it. But we talked about journals and writing, our various problems, stopped in Benton Harbor for the Cracker Barrel, and to look out over the lake. When we finally got back, I found a message on my machine from Advanced, asking me to come back and work for Orthopoedic Surgery this week and next, Wednesday on, seven days. We left my apartment and headed back to Hyde Park, but then I remembered my mom had given me some perishable food to refrigerate. So then we took another half-hour detour, returning to McKinley Park just so I could put some food in the fridge.
This morning I called up Advanced and told them I’d accept the assignment.
I know I said I wouldn’t… maybe by doing so I’ve forever sacrificed my right to bitch about this.
But it’s a seven day assignment… and I’m going to California for a week right after. This will put another $400 in my pocket. Another $400 will allow me to holdo ut that much longer to find a better job.
I intend to reward myself with nightly drinking binges until the assignment’s been finished.
All in all, quite a week. As of now: love Jessica, love my friend, love Flint, sick and tired of Chicago, but Hell and “oh, well.”
~ Connor