Gary Harris When the Ash Fell

I guess it had been on the news for a few days, but I hadn't really understood then and I still don't understand now what the war was about. I bet a lot of people could tell you exactly what happened. Not around here. It's funny. Anyone you talk to, anyone in the whole world can probably definitely tell you exactly what they were doing when the bomb dropped, but there's no one around here who really understands why they dropped it. Here's what I know, here's what I'll tell my kid someday: Once upon a time there were these two countries, one called India and one called Pakistan. They didn't get along very well. And then one day they dropped 47 atomic bombs on each other.

I was unemployed at the time, though I was picking up a little bit of money here and there writing little pieces for the local newspapers. Back then before the Ash fell on us and the Fallout happened and that long, long goddamn Winter there were five different newspapers in Santa Cruz. They'd pay me a small fee to write up a review of some concert or album or whatever. I was living at the Fang Lizhi Co-op, which was a hippie housing co-op downtown, and there were a bunch of politically minded kids there, so I knew from their conversations that there was some sort of war going on in the Middle East, or wherever Pakistan and India used to be. So the first thing I remember about the morning of May 26 was waking up late and going downstairs and finding this big house meeting going on.

I go downstairs. The television is on, but it's all static-y, and President McCain is on speaking, but no one in the room is listening. They're all sitting in a circle, talking and crying. I ask what's happened and Benjamin says in a loud, hard voice, "So, for anyone who is just joining us, the Indian-Pakistani war went nuclear early this morning." I go and sit down on the couch. I watch McCain talking and then turn away. Of course, before the bombs dropped most people, like me, didn't realize how (excuse the language) completely fucked up the world would be. Obviously I thought it was terrible that there had been a war, but I couldn't figure out why everyone was so upset. It seemed a little bit silly, back then, to cry over someone dying whom you didn't know or ever meet. But it was a more callous time back then. Things like death didn't mean as much yet to people who were like me.

"No one knows anything," someone says. "But they say we'll be seeing the effects by tomorrow morning."

I ask what "effects," and people look at me funny. Then someone says, and I can hear this voice as clear as anything even now, 15 years after, they say hoarsely, "Smoke from the explosions will cover the entire atmosphere by tomorrow, and scientists think it'll block out the sun for at least the next year."

And then everyone starts talking at once. They say all the things that we used to talk about: "environmental impact" and "international crisis." Then one of the many people whose names I've forgotten says to me,

"At this point, Aaron, we just don't know what the fallout is going to be like,"

And that statement has stayed with me because it seems like all I ever talked about for the next five years was "fallout" and that, right then, was the first time I ever heard the word.

I wasn't convinced. Or, really, I had not begun to understand. There had been scary concepts thrown around before in the co-op, about war and fascism and something we used to call "global warming." I hadn't seen any "effects" of those so-called disasters, so I had come to the point where I took the things my housemates said with some skepticism. "The war is in Pakistan and India," I said, doubtful. "Can that smoke really drift all the way over here? Aren't we being a little bit dramatic?"

No one said anything. Right then one of our housemates came running in to tell us that there was a mob down at Safeway. He said the manager at Safeway had ordered all the customers out of the store and had locked the doors. There was silence in the room for a few minutes, and then people jumped to their feet and rushed out the door. How did I feel when I heard that news? I remember distinctly certain aspects of May 26, but only flashes, pieces of the larger experience. I think that I immediately numbed when I heard about the mob, I think I just turned off to it. Because, despite doubting that my hippie housemates really knew what they were talking about, I was a little bit alarmed by what they were saying. I definitely wasn't ready to accept that this intense apocalypse talk in the co-op could be reflected in the world outside. I wasn't ready to accept what was happening. And maybe that's the best way I can best describe my mindset over those terribly dark five years, the food riots and starvation and collapsing times. I was perpetually not ready for each and every development that led us, at an almost completely vertical slope, down.

There were about twenty people already gathered around Safeway, just standing there and looking at the building, and inside the glass doors you could see the Safeway workers standing around looking out at the mob. No one was really saying anything, they were just standing there. Whispers were going through the crowd: Safeway's corporate office had called and told them to stop all sales, secure all their merchandise, shut down.

We stood there. There was maybe seven of us, I think, and I remember that a few of them, my housemates, they started to mutter. I had the sensation that the muttering and the cursing started with us, but I'm probably just imagining that. It had probably been building for a while, and just as we ran up to join the mob the anger was beginning to boil up and over. And it wasn't normal anger, it wasn't just because people wanted in to the Safeway, or anything like that. It was like we hadn't been allowed to be angry at anything that was going on around us, about what we were already starting to call the "fallout" or the war or the nukes or Pakistan or India or anything. Or maybe I guess we were allowed to be angry, sure, we were allowed to be angry at the war and the fallout. But it didn't matter. We could be angry, but we were powerless. Here, at Safeway, we could be angry at something and we could do something. Nevermind if it was a good thing to do or not. So people were muttering. People started to push closer and closer up against the glass doors. No one wanted to be the first to do it, but everyone wanted it to happen. The employees inside Safeway started to back up, further and further away from the glass, just staring at us all, wearing these awful expressions that made them look like goldfish in the tank. Then people were speaking, suddenly, yelling out things, stupid little yelps and insults. I felt dizzy and sick and I looked around. The mob had swollen with more and more people. We were spilling out into the street. I wanted to get out of there, so I started to push through the crowd. Just then I heard the loud crack, and I thought, shit! Someone must have hit the glass, and then there was yelling, and I thought, shit! There was going to be a riot, and I felt like I was spinning. But right then out of nowhere a voice came booming out over the crowd.

"Springing Green Natural Food Store is giving out rations! Attention people!" And everyone looked over and saw Gary Harris, the owner of Springing Green Natural Food Store on top of a cop car yelling through a bullhorn. It was then that people noticed that all the cops had come out and they were all eyeing us coldly, just staring at us all but not moving, holding their belts or their clubs and standing still and tense like they were waiting. "There doesn't need to be a riot! We're going to dole out our entire stock!"

Those were a few icy, awful minutes of silence. Everyone was looking at everyone else to see what they were supposed to do, and since no one was still yelling at Safeway or trying to put a brick through the window, no one else was trying to do that either. But it sure as hell felt like it was about to happen. And, man, those cops were staring at us so hard that they were nearly scalding us with their stares, just waiting and waiting to see what we were going to do.

Then the tension dropped, suddenly, so immediately that you could feel it hit the pavement and sink into the soil. The people started to leave. Springing Green was just a few blocks away, so there was this massive migration through the downtown. All the shops were shut down and locked, or the shop owners were there and standing by their doorways gazing at us, the mob, with looks pale and empty. Some of them were crying too. Gary Harris had his staff working, bringing out bundles of produce and big plastic jugs of water and all sorts of other stuff. The cops were there too, and it was tense for the first few minutes, like people didn't know if we were going to rush Harris and his employees. But then it was calm and people formed a line, and, one at a time, we were each given some supplies, and all the while Gary Harris was saying, over and over again over that bullhorn, "There's enough for everyone. Don't worry. Everyone is going to get something. It's okay. We're giving away everything. We're going to make it through this together. Everyone is going to be okay," and so on and so on, on into the night and up until the moment when the Ash first started to fall lightly from the sky onto the town like snow, covering everything in an eternal gray the color of death.

I heard later that seven people died in Monterey that night. And there's rumors that something close to 250 people were killed in Old San Francisco. But not in Santa Cruz. And I swear, I still feel, in so profound an feeling that you might even say that I know for a fact that there wouldn't be a Santa Cruz if it weren't for Gary Harris standing on that cop car, yelling over the sound of senselessness and fear, and offering to give away all his worldly possessions if all us Santa Cruzians would act like decent human beings. He saved us all that night, and I don't feel like I'm stretching the truth when I say that there wouldn't be a Santa Cruz now, 15 years later, if it hadn't been for Gary Harris

Jupiter the Wretched

Jupiter looked out across the fields and fields of rustling dry, dead grass. Panoski would be moving out of town soon, and it was possible that he would not be back for a very long time. It had happened before that Panoski had moved away, but this time Jupiter did not think his friend would come back. There was a girl involved this time. Irresolutely, he continued to drive the car down the narrow county road. Panoski had both of the windows open and he had the radio up so loud that the music sounded against Jupiter’s soul and he was compelled to sing. He was trapped inside of Panoski’s gigantic, all-loving voice. It was almost unbearable.

They had planned to get together Sunday and it had become a trip in the car. Panoski kept saying that he had to get back home to pack and Jupiter shrugged and said "a little bit farther." And then Panoski would laugh and make nonsense excuses for them both. Suddenly the road they drove on took them into a town and Jupiter slammed on the brakes in order to not plow into a street carnival.

“Oh wow!” Panoski exclaimed, laughing. “This is incredible!”

“It’s a car show,” Jupiter explained spasmodically, turning down the radio. “It’s just some local redneck car show.”

“You better park, Jude,” Panoski said. “This is incredible.”

It wasn’t a car show. There were large circus tents where all sorts of people were gathered to eat, or to watch eccentric dance troupes, or to dance to blaring live music. There were carnival rides and everyone seemed to be wearing masks. Jupiter noticed a man selling devil masks and hurried over. When he turned around to tell Panoski, he found that his friend had already hurried off in another direction.

“How much for the devil mask?” Jupiter asked over the racket.

“They’re satyr masks,” the man yelled back.

A group of almost naked girls ran past, towards one of the tents that had live music and dancing. “No shit?” Jupiter asked, gazing after the girls and digging through his pockets for money. He had around 80 cents. I need one of these stupid masks, he thought hungrily. “How much?” He glanced around. There were girls everywhere.

“Free,” the man said, laughing as he tossed one to Jupiter., “It's the rite of Spring.” The man philosophized, trumpeting, “It's the charge on young people, to suffer unimaginable pleasure-”

“Great,” Jupiter snatched the mask and ran off after the girls. He put it on and hurried into a tent where people were dancing. Quickly he joined the crowd, pressing against the sweaty, foul-smelling bodies with an eagerness that, if anyone had been paying attention, would have been alarming. If he were not as proud as he was, he would have stripped naked in order to feel as much human flesh against his as possible. He wanted to grab hold of the bodies and shove his face against the torsos and arms and legs and faces.

He did not feel that he was a good dancer, but he had learned from Panoski that the effort was what was important. Case in point, he found himself the focus of attention for a group of girls. They laughed at his ridiculous dancing and tried to join him. Seeing that he had an audience, he began to perform in real earnest…it was all from Panoski, the way he danced around, goofing off. Before long he was dancing with one of the girls, lavishing attention on her. Then, like magic, they were kissing.

In all of this for him there was strongly a feeling of disgust. Deep, deep disgust for her, for her friends. Disgust for the way that she responded to him so softly and so easily. For the way she looked and the way she dressed…her tank top barely covered her, he thought idly as he pressed his lips hungrily, desperately against her chin and earlobe, Didn’t she care how men were leering at her? She must crave attention on some level. He always found himself disgusted with girls as they relented to his torrent of fondling and kissing. But it wasn’t only disgust, all of the time. Often, especially when a courtship was turning out well, he felt pity for the girls. Conversely, he only felt pity for himself when things were not going well. The rest of the time it was only disgust, disgust, disgust for himself. Panoski often told him in a loving way that he was wretched, and tried to make Jupiter see that human life was beautiful. Though Jupiter never acted like Panoski's attitude could have an effect, he was very nervous to see what would happen when Panoski left.

They had left the tent, and were kissing in the shade of a massive oak tree. She pulled away when he tried to pull her breasts out of her shirt. “I have a boyfriend.”

He studied her face as he caught his breath. She was not overwhelmingly attractive, and he realized that he was kissing a different girl then he had meant to be kissing. It was her friend that he had wanted. “A boyfriend? What does that have to do with me?”

She thought that was funny, sort of. As he went back to kissing her neck, she was further distracted by a massive parade of people that suddenly appeared. Everyone in the parade had instruments and were making a terrible amount of noise.

“Look at that!” She exclaimed, giddy and nervous like a little girl. He glanced over. All the people banged on, blew on or plucked at the instruments atonally and without cohesion. And there was Panoski, leading the march with a banjo.

“That’s my best friend in the entire world,” he told the girl. She laughed and asked him questions, but he was distracted, trying to watch Panoski as the parade continued past. He sighed deeply. Panoski was in love with a girl in Bolivia and in fourteen days he was going to go live with her in the jungle, leaving Jupiter alone in Heaven again. Why leave Heaven, ever? You probably couldn’t come back, Jupiter thought critically, especially not a second time. Jupiter was on the edge of something vast and terrible, and he wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. In a portable toilet he had sex with the girl, until she told him that she changed her mind and hurried out. Thrown off-balance by the speed of her leaving, Jupiter stumbled backwards and wound up sitting on the toilet. Gasping to catch his breath, he looked down at his half-mast erection disparagingly. He took off the satyr mask and put it on his penis, so that the skinny, long red phallus looked like the satyr’s nose. Suddenly he felt a stab of desperate remorse so deep and so violent that it seemed to penetrate his stomach over and over again. He ran out after the girl, tossing the satyr mask disgustedly into the toilet. I’ll never be a good person ever again, he thought despairingly, unless she marries me and tells me every morning that she loves me! He called out what he thought he remembered her saying her name was and stumbled clumsily, his pants still around his ankles. He had become drunk at some point.

After pulling up his pants he was almost able to catch up to her as she fled into another tent. The people inside were singing as with one voice. Once inside, the girl flew into the arms of a young, handsome boy. The boy had been laughing and singing along with everyone else, but he stopped to comfort the girl. He had a very charming smile and Jupiter frowned. He strode purposefully towards the couple, excitedly anticipating a violent encounter. He only hoped he could elicit the harshest of beatings from the boy. But then he heard Panoski's singing and stopped…his friend was standing on a table, leading all of the people in song.

Everyone was uproarious, tantalized. And Panoski pounded his feet into the table as he danced, drumming on Jupiter’s soul, singing verse after verse, bathing the people with his beer. Jupiter wanted wildly to rub his eyes and nose in Panoski's rough, stinking beard. But reverently he picked up the song and joined in, reaching out to grasp the hands of the people he stood next to. If Panoski would only stay, Jupiter thought plaintively, there would be nothing truly ugly in all the world, all wars would end, the hungry would be fed and all the flowers in the world would never ever stop blooming, it would be so glorious and it wouldn’t seem trite at all.

Jupiter's Long Weekend

The summer is the best time. It's the holiest time. The sun is out so long it seems unreal. And the long, hot dusk is like an ocean full of activity and voices. You're never alone in the summer. Everyone calls in sick from work and goes to the beach. I have to get tested once a week. Because during the summer, the women feel it's right for them to be easy. It's the heat, it does something to them. All the women in the summer want a stranger to tell them they're beautiful. They're all duchesses and famous movie starlets, even if they're old and worn out, provided they've kept their looks. There's nothing more sacred than fucking, I believe. Keep the bread and prayers. That sort of thing never did much for me. I was lucky to find out early that I'm one who gets his absolution laying down. And then, of course, there is the supreme joy of receiving the devotions of others. I called up Wendy on a Friday to see if she'd meet me for coffee on Sunday morning.

She was quiet for a few seconds. "What're you doing tonight?"

"I don't think it's a good idea for us to see each other tonight." I told her, "I have plans."

"With who?" She forced herself to laugh. I sighed. I loved it. I didn't say anything, and then she laughed again, "Not like I'm trying to get into your business." No matter how pathetic she got, she would never stop herself. She lacked all self-consciousness. There was a raggedness in her laugh, a desperation. She was a lesser kind of person, one fully and exclusively concerned with getting what she wanted, and I happened to be what she wanted. Evidence of this trait could be found in the way she behaved at work. She had been promoted several times already. She didn't have any sort of opinion about anything, she lacked all introspection. It wasn't an issue of her having a certain attitude or acting a certain way. It was her nature, her character. She couldn't help. She couldn't even recognize these facts about herself, and then endeavor to change. So I had her trapped. I told her I had a date and she started crying.

When the sun is out, I can do anything. In the nights, I sometimes lose my shit. But that kind of night is far, far away whenever the sun is anywhere I can see it, or, even better, feel it on me. I get off the phone and, after some thinking, I decide to go to the hippie grocery story to hang around all that organic produce and the Friday evening shoppers.

It's the magic of the season. You have but to make yourself available. I spot my neighbor among the girls that go strutting this way and that down the aisles.

"Hey!" I lightly touch her arm and she looks around at me. "I was just thinking about you!" I say. She laughs. She touches her neck. She says she saw me going to the store and it reminded her that she didn't have a thing to eat in the house. We've had a continual flirtation for the past few weeks. Is this the culmination? Everything feels perfect.

"Neither do I! And I'm hungry. What do you think we should eat?" I ask. She's a dark-haired girl of maybe 27, tall but not taller than me, with skin the color of coffee with milk. She has on yoga pants and a tank-top. That's what passes for sexy in Santa Cruz, I guess. She tells me that she doesn't know if she's hungry or not. Maybe I'm too obvious.

"I think that I want cous-cous," I say. "How do you cook cous-cous?"

She laughs and tells me, blah blah blah. I say that I'm a terrible cook. I make it clear that I'm either mentally or emotionally incapable of following her cooking instructions. She is amused, and tries to explain again. Everything is light-hearted. I laugh. I say we should have dinner. I ask her over to my place. Suddenly, she's hesitating. I know that I've been going way too fast, but I can't help it. She makes excuses about plans she made earlier. I can see that she's interested, but she doesn't feel like she has control. It's making her nervous. She will say yes, eventually. She will go with me, and she will let me tell her all the things that women want to hear, and she will do what I want.

The next night, there's a band playing at the Mermaid Cafe that people are going out to see on, and I go along. It's just getting dark when I get there, and it's a little chilly out. I shiver. The band is getting set up. They are all scruffy young kids, probably a college band. I hate live music, and most of the people who go to these things are younger than me. But there's not much else to do on a Saturday night in a small town like Santa Cruz. I buy a beer. Someone says something about rain. I go outside to see how the sky looks, and I meet Louisa at the door. She has cut her hair short, and she's dyed it lighter so that she almost looks blonde. I see she has on a pair of new shoes. She smiles at me nervous. "Hi Jupiter," she says and I don't say anything. "I never see you anymore? Where have you been?"

"Avoiding you," I say, and I follow her inside. I'm saying things that are making her laugh, but she's remaining tense. You take it all away from me, all of me. There's nothing left inside of me when you're here. You push back your hair and clear your throat. I can tell you're still a smoker. I tell you to buy me a drink and you are sighing. I remember the day you took off your clothes in the room and asked me what I was thinking about. I see Casey across the room and I look at you and you look at me as you are handing me the glass. I take it and accidentally our fingers brush and I feel sick to my stomach. I am still saying words but you aren't laughing anymore. My skin isn't mine, my words aren't. You are frowning. What am I saying? I'm frowning. You are turning away. I am calling you names. I run out the back of the cafe, taking the glass with me and I go out into the night. It's starting to sprinkle.

It's getting bad. My hand is shaking so awfully I can hardly drink. I feel a little bit better when I've finished, and I throw the glass into the street with is now covered in puddles of rainwater and bright with the reflected light of the streetlamps and car headlights. I feel as if I am spinning. I go into the Blue Magoo downtown. There's a DJ and the dance floor is filled with people. I go in with a fervency approaching tragedy. I find the kind of girl I'm looking for and we dance, and she grabs onto me in a daze. She's drunker than me, sloppy drunk and after no time at all she's kissing me hard and pushing me against the wall. There's yelling. Someone walks by and says, loud enough so I can hear, "What the fuck is she doing?" I'm suddenly afraid of an angry boyfriend, so I grab her and take her outside. I'm saying something about going somewhere private and she's laughing. Suddenly another girl appears and shoves me. She grabs my friend and starts screaming at me, while I'm trying to calm her down with wild hand gestures and what sounds to me to be gibberish.

"She's gay! We're at a fucking gay bar!" The angry girl screams. I look at the Blue Magoo in confusion and notice that the crowd of people outside are almost all women, and they're almost all looking at me. I remember then that some nights the Magoo has a popular gay DJ spin.

"But," I protest, "that's cool. I don't have any problem with gays."

It all ends badly. I can tell. The night is closing in, all filled with its teeth and sirens. I won't be sleeping. I go to the liquor store and buy a bottle of cough medicine to try to knock myself out. It doesn't really work and all night long I have to fight the urge to go out prowling around Louisa's bedroom window. At 2, I see her stumbling home with Casey in tow, or maybe some other asshole. At 3, I see her finally falling asleep. At 4, I come face to face with the Nemesis of my mind, and I'm forced to try and answer her thousands and thousands of questions, each of them so terrible they shred the skin from my bones. But at 5, the first signs of light come in and I'm finally able to shut my eyes and sleep.

When I met Wendy for coffee she looked the way I feel. There was a comfort in that. There was a comfort in the way she was always willing to be there. She needed a little while to get comfortable again, but once I said that I had been thinking about her she could help but smile a little bit. She said she had been with a boy that night, and I made her tell me about it. She didn't want to. She couldn't understand why I wanted to know. I told her never to wonder why, and she laughed, but she seemed to understand that I was being serious. I should marry her, I thought, starting to feel better. I reached across the table and put my hand on top of her's and she just about withered.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," I said. She smiled and leaned over to kiss my hand.

The Living Zenless

My old man had been a bike mechanic ... it was among the many professions that he could claim expertise in ... and one of the dozen professions in which he had made no money ... I had managed to pick up a thing or two ... I knew the basics, at least ... I couldn't claim to be an expert, but it was certainly something I could impress the girls with ... up in Portland, where me and the old man had spent most of our time, bikes were big ... I lost my virginity at age 15 because of a bike ... in Portland there was a real scene around the bike shops ... you could get pretty popular if you knew how to attach a crank to a bottom bracket ... hell, if you could accurately point out a headset, you were a big shot ... my old man was no good at making money, but he was a big hit with the girls ... I sometimes got to think that the only reason he kept me when I first arrived in the world was to attract women ... they'd "oh" and "aw" over me and he'd lay it on thick ... they'd move in for a few weeks, maybe a month, to play "mom" ... all of them under 25, emaciated, perpetually surprised and quick to tears ... my father had a definite type.

We made a pretty good team until I was about 7 years old ... once I got old enough that the girls stopped giggling over me, the old man put me to work performing the one household task that he could neither do himself, nor ignore the necessity of ... so at a tender young age, I became our family accountant ... it was my responsibility to mail off the bills and dole out my father's spending money ... immediately after I was given this sacred charge, the old man began to resent me for telling him how to live ... frequently screaming fights broke out in our household ... my old man became famous in the neighborhood for arguing with his 8-year-old boy about how to spend $10 ... occasionally these arguments came to blows ... luckily for me, my dad was an affirmed pacifist ... a real hippie ... he was always reduced to tears after knocking me upside the head ... I can only imagine how bad it would have been, had the old man been a good Catholic!

Then I hit my teenage years and my father starts getting kind of jealous ... of course I was nothing but awkward, but the old man could see how the wind was blowing ... competition for the attention of females had only grown year after year among the young men in town ... and now the competition had come home! My father's days of banging college girls were long over ... he had been forced to move on to emotionally unstable single women in their 30's ... it burned him up that I could legally have intercourse with a 16-year-old ... not to say I ever did ... I might have well, based on the jealous rants my father would go on ... and so I got to meet my mother ... after 16 years of not hearing a word from her, my father decided it was time I go and meet her ... so I went to live in Santa Cruz.

She met me at the train station in San Jose and drove me over the hill ... the whole way she talked about how badly she had always wanted to know me ... how she had been sober for years ... I got to meet her new family ... her husband seemed really bemused to meet me ... I guess I hadn't come up as a conversation topic until a day before my arrival ... my little half-brother and half-sister stared at me like I was some kind of monster ... I found out pretty quick that things weren't so happy in that home either ... my little sis asked me if I was going to take her mommy away ... you could hear mom fighting with step-pop from the front room ... they didn't even take a break for my first night there ... I slept on the fold-out sofa in the front room ... the sound of the waves came into the room all night ... it was like I was right there, sleeping out on the beach.

The next morning, I pretended to sleep until the whole fam was gone ... brats to school, mom and "daddy" to work ... I raided the fridge and checked out the T.V., but there was nothing good on so I decided to go check out the town ... it wasn't far to downtown ... I thought it looked alright ... lots of college kids, from Huxley University ... they seemed sort of stuck up ... but I was used to college kids ... those liberal arts students! My dad's whole life had peaked those few short years when he was a liberal arts student ... I wandered around for awhile, snooping for where the best kind of action was ... a little ways away from the downtown proper there was a little store front ... a bike shop! I went inside to see what they were all about ... I was told by the foxy hippie lady there that it was the Bikery ... it was co-operatively run ... yeah, I knew all about that kind of situation ... I asked if they needed help around the shop, so she gave me a little test ... she had me point out where the headset was on the bike she was working on ... I did better than that ... I spent a little while fixing up the bike ... she was impressed! They didn't usually get punk kids coming in with some actual knowledge ... she wanted to know if I could start right then and there! They were backed up ... the shop didn't actually do repairs ... it was a co-op, so anyone who bought a membership could use the shop ... but they sold rebuilt bikes for a small amount of profit ... the place was always broke ... mostly they subsided off of grant money ... and most of that was pocketed by the founding member ... he was an old hippie who lived in the trailer park outside of town ... he had started several co-ops in town, including a grocery co-op and a few housing co-ops ... he made good money.

Anyways, I got working right then and there ... the chick was really impressed with me ... when her boyfriend showed up she told him that I was a good find ... he was another hippie type ... in fact, most everyone who came in during the course of the day was one of those types ... I knew all about them ... the way they talked, the way they acted ... it was like I was watching younger clones of my old man and his buddies ... I didn't trust them for a second ... they thought I was great though ... they loved my mohawk ... they thought I was a real original ... I knew how to talk to them ... I told them my life story ... not much to say, I said ... I was raised by a pack of wild wolf people ... the spirits of the wind and river taught me the ways of bike mechanics ... all those hippies loved it ... then Jupiter came in.

Jupiter was a big, tall number ... rail-thin, but with wide shoulders ... he walked with a bit of a stoop ... like a crow ... immediately the spirit of the place dampened ... he wasn't a popular member of the Bikery ... he looked around and smirked and pulled out the wreck he happened to be working on.

"Don't stop the party on my account," Jupiter yelled ... all he ever did was yell ... it was his way of expressing all his important opinions ... "I'm just here to work on a bike!"

They didn't like him, that much was clear ... he dragged his tools and the frame he was trying to mend outside and immediately the hippies started talking trash ... "What're we going to do about Jupiter?" "He's such an asshole!" "Stay away from him, Barney," the chick told me, "we're trying to get rid of him."

They didn't like his style, it was true ... that's what perked my interest at first ... they told me he was selling no good bikes through the shop ... his creations wouldn't hold up for more than a few weeks without falling to pieces ... but he made them flashy ... lots of college kids picked up his bikes ... he knew how to market himself ... he would go up to the Huxley campus and put up flyers ... he sold just about two bikes a week ... they thought he was no good. I listened to all of this, pretty bemused ... I told them what I really thought of them all ... I really let them have it ... a bunch of assholes ... I went out there to introduce myself ... he was monkeying with a particularly wretched looking frame ... it had been in some kind of crash, it was all bent out of shape ... he was trying to bend the tubes back into shape with his bare hands ... I started to laugh at him ... he was caught off guard ... he started to interrogate me ... I showed him how to put the frame in the vice, to get better leverage ... with my help, we got that frame back into a good working order ... I told him my name, and he laughed.

"Barney? How about we just call you 'Knee.' That's a better name for you," he was interested in my bike mechanic knowledge ... we went through his entire collection of trashed, hopelessly damaged frames ... he told me that the Bikery co-op was going to throw him out ... he had the great idea to start up a new co-op ... owned entirely by him ... all profits would go straight into his pocket ... I told him that wasn't how co-ops worked ... he said he could use someone like me ... I hadn't met anyone like him before ... I was fascinated ... he wasn't the type that a kid like me said "no" to ... so that's how "The People's Bike Co-operative" was born.

It took about a week for us to set it up ... all the while I was staying at my mom's ... I got in late each night and took off early ... there were always notes left out for me, telling me what leftovers to eat ... asking me when I could "get together" with the old lady ... I wasn't having any of it ... "The People's Bikes" was set up in a beat-up old garage ... an abandoned old place ... Jupiter was really paranoid, he was convinced that the hippies from the Bikery were going to try and sabotage us ... so he thought it was a great idea for me to sleep there ... I went to mom and gave her the riot act ... I told her that she had abandoned me ... I gave her the complete run-down ... all the different women dad had brought around ... the craziness ... I told her I was confused, troubled ... and it was all her fault ... I could tell that I was making her really sick ... I kept going ... I told her about all the times dad had started screaming at me ... I told her about the unsavory characters I great up around ... and I wasn't even playing it up ... well, not too much ... I started getting all teary eyed ... by the end she was practically on her knees, begging me for forgiveness ... so I got a nice allowance, and I was allowed to move out ... it was a big relief for her, if you ask me ... anyways, I didn't have to worry about money too much ... we immediately started selling Jupiter's bikes, for tremendous profit ... most of his stock came from terminally damaged bikes that we found at the dump ... or the side of the road ... the flea market ... he could bargain anyone down in price ... he had an uncanny way about him ... it went the other way too ... he could inflate the value of any piece of crap he was selling with magnificent ease ... for purposes of expanding "The People's Bike," he made pals with the crusty punk runaways who hung around downtown ... he convinced them to steal parts from the "Bikery" ... most times he didn't even have to pay them ... they didn't like hippies anymore than I did ... And we started to get a good following ... all types came out to check out our bikes ... the experts scoffed at the garbage we were peddling ... they could tell we were selling pieces of crap ... but no one listens to experts ... if the experts say you're no good, that attracts a certain type of customer ... they came to us in droves ... Jupiter spent the money he made as fast as he got it ... he was always drunk ... he fell behind in his bike repair duties ... it was put on me to do all the mechanic work ... I would hardly see him anymore, but every few days another load of beat-up trashed bikes would show up in our garage ... I was sleeping on a moldy futon ... I started hanging around with a nudist named India ... she was a student at the transcendental meditation school ... I was pretty sure I was going to spend the rest of my life there in that shop with India ... I thought I had found what everyone in the world is looking for ... I thought I had found it early ... maybe everyone feels that way one time in their life ... or maybe it's just some of us, the ones who're too smart to get lucky.

There were a few returns every now and then ... sometimes some red-faced kid would show up and demand his or her money back ... most of the time I could patch up whatever had come loose on the bike and satisfy the customer ... I started to get nervous though ... I started to see more and more people wheeling their wrecks into the shop ... the kids would demand to see the boss, and I'd always tell them that he'd be in later ... that he was at a meeting but that he'd be back either in 20 minutes or 3 hours ... he had a busy schedule ... maybe he could talk to them, but they'd have to wait in line ... they could stay in the shop and wait, but it could be hours before the boss showed up, and then even more hours before they might have an audience with him ... I could go on and on like that ... sometimes a particularly determined kid would stick around until 9 or 10 at night ... it was happening more and more frequently ... for a while it was funny ... the same faces started showing up over and over ... they were polite as a rule, and easy to push around ... very timid ... but I could tell they had limits ... one evening Jupiter came by and found the shop full of kids seeking refunds.

"Wow! A lot of customers, huh?" He was pretty happy ... I didn't say anything, but I could feel the sweat break out on my brow ... all the kids were jumping up onto their feet, all trying to talk at once ... Jupiter looked confused for just about one second ... I'm sure he had been at least a little bit prepared for this sort of occurance ... "Really? Everyone here has a broken bike?" His voice oozed with sympathy, concern. "Once the boss shows up, we're going to have to have a word with him!"

The kids were riled up ... Jupiter was on their side completely ... he was outraged ... he informed them that he only did a minimum amount of mechanic work ... he pointed out that I was the main mechanic ... and that I was only a kid. "Our boss is Olgin McPatterson. He's supposed to be a genius bike mechanic," Jupiter explained to the crowd, "he taught his great-grandson, Randolfo here," Jupiter pointed to me, "everything he knows about building bikes." Jupiter examined one of the tires of one of the busted bikes that had been brought in, and he shook his head sadly. "Just as I suspected ... this rotating circular component is very poorly calibrated." He looked at me and sighed dramatically, "I should have made sure you knew what you were doing," he slipped a twenty dollar bill into my hand and, leaning close, he whispered in my ear, "go get us some fucking beer! Hurry!"

So I slipped out and went down to the corner store ... that night we had a real party ... it was great ... Mr. McPatterson never showed up, though ... and the next day I got more complaints from more kids than the day before ... new dissatisfied customers were showing up each time I opened the shop ... I had to track down Jupiter ... if I were him, I would have split town immediately ... in fact, if I were me and I were the kind of person with a fucking brain, I would have split town. Maybe he stayed for the same reason I did ... whatever that was ... he was at the Rush Inn bar ... turns out he was living upstairs ... he had shacked up with some Maoist grad student ... it was around noon and he was wasted ... I told him the deal, and compelled him to come down to "The People's Bikes." The crowd was becoming impressive ... Jupiter made an announcement ... Mr. McPatterson had fallen ill mysteriously ... it had been a painless death ... Mr. McPatterson loved bicycles, and wanted to make sure that everyone could ride one ... in his honor, all bike repairs would be done for free by the Bikery. Donations could be placed in the wicker basket over at the Rush Inn, Mr. McPatterson's favorite bar.

As the crowd thinned out, Jupiter told me to hurry down to the office of the local paper and place an obituary for Oligin McPatterson. He shoved thirty dollars in my hand ... "Tell her about what a spiritual, metaphysical connection McPatterson had with "The People's Bikes," he told me, "and tell her that McPatterson was a real hermit. He lived in the forest by himself, and never got no driver's license," and then he belched ... the office was downtown, not too far from our shop, and the woman behind the front desk took down my obituary order apathetically ... she asked me how to spell the name of the deceased and I did my best guesswork ... after I had given her Jupiter's story, she said that thirty bucks bought me about 100 words more than I had already used, so I told her all about Mr. McPatterson's loving wife Broomhilda and his 17 daughters, Yvonne, Jimmy, Ulgo, Harriet, Caroline, Carolina, Barack, Raina, Grumpy, Tuna, Jamie, James, Vinnie, Trumpet, Fiona, Finnish, Fishy, Teddy and Harriet. She told me that I still had three more words, and then we heard the explosion.

I told the woman to keep the spare words, that I had to go ... "The People's Bikes" had gone up in flames ... a real tragedy ... there was a big crowd around the place, including a bunch of the kids who had been harassing us ... and there were cops galore ... I beat it out of there quick as hell ... I didn't want to stick around in Santa Cruz no more ... all my shit had been lost in the explosion, but I had $100 on me ... enough to get me on a bus and back the hell to Portland ... I never knew what happened to Jupiter, but I read in the paper that no one was hurt in the fire ... from what I've read, it seems like most everyone involved is still trying to figure out who McPatterson was ... he's become sort of a legend, a folk hero ... people still remember that me and Jupiter worked in the shop, but all the attention has been focused on Jupiter's fictional character ... for my part, I've made peace with my previous hang-ups ... I've grown my hair out and I only wear tie-dye ... I wear a giant peace sign ... my dad thinks I've really, finally grown up ... it's awful, nearly unbearable ... but I doubt that anyone would recognize me from my previous life ... at least, that's my hope!

Louisa's Three Suitors

With the tip of my index finger, I draw an invisible line along the pale smooth skin that covers the muscles in Sammy's arm, then shoulder, then neck, all milk white and soft, and then I swing my left leg over the wide but skinny trunk of his chest, he's both a boy and a man in a way, in between, and I put my palms on the sides of his face and smooth back his coarse dyed black hair that he let grow long in front because I told him it would look good that way, though now that it has grown out I don't like it, it's messy and tangled and doesn't look good the way I thought, and I say that I want to give him a haircut and he's trying to kiss me. I do and then I run my thumbs over his small, bright eyes and I run the tips of my fingers over his lips and I fantasize about putting make-up on to see how he'd look, just to see because he's so pretty though it's hard to notice because he's a boy and like boys are he doesn't do anything to bring out what's pretty about his face and instead they all try and hide it. He asks if he can take me to dinner after I get off of work, and I say that I want to go to the party that Jude is throwing, and he shrugs and says yes while I get off of him and pull my jeans on and I look at him, still naked under the covers of my bed and I laugh:

"Does it bother you that I'm a girl and I wear the pants in our relationship?"

And he smiles and laughs, but it bothers me he doesn't at least try to say something clever in response, the way I know he would if Jude or Jude's friends were here, and then as if Jude knew I was thinking about him right at that moment, Jude calls my cell phone again, but this time unlike the 12 or so other times he's called me this morning, I am ready to talk to him. I will talk to him on the way to work, I think, and so I answer as I walk towards the door:

"You call me too much, Jupiter." I use his full name instead of his nickname, because I decide that I am annoyed with him for calling so much and because, I already know, he's going to say things to annoy me. "You called me 12 times already this morning."

"So? You do lots of things too much, Lou. There's literally too much that you do too much of. Quite frankly, you're on very thin ice, Louisa." I can hear the sounds of loud voices in the background and music playing. I wonder how he can be unemployed so often, for such long periods of time and still somehow get by in the world, but mostly I feel jealous that he's going to be goofing off the whole time that I'm at work, and all the while I'm thinking about all of these different things, Jude is still, of course, talking: "...it's amazing that you've managed to keep your position on Team Jupiter for as long as you have, considering the amount of complaints I've received about you. "

"What are you talking about?" I'm more annoyed now, listening to him talk nonsensically, and I think, frustrated, that he must be drinking, or maybe he's just been around those ridiculous people he hangs around with, who let him create his own world with his own reality and his own logic, because he's talking again in that way that makes no sense and, I think, he's trying to make me feel like I have to earn his friendship. He's always trying to do that, like a little boy.

"Tell me whatever it is that compelled you to call me 12 times over the past three hours, or else I'm hanging up."

"No. You can't put ultimatums on me, Lou. If you put an ultimatum on me, then we're not friends anymore."

"No," I stumble, I can't think of a good response and I realize with supreme annoyance that he's taken control of the conversation and moved it into his wacky world of jokes and sarcasm, I always expect to have a normal conversation with him and sometimes it's possible, only it always has to be on his terms, and I look at my car and realize that I've been standing outside of it with my key in the lock for a few minutes. "You can't put an ultimatum on an ultimatum!" I protest, succumbing at the same time to laughing and then it's official, he's won. "That's not how it's supposed to work-"

"Can I talk to Sammy?" He interrupts.

That is unusual, as he typically ignores or insults my boyfriend and I think immediately that this may be a sign of some improvement in that situation, that maybe Jude is letting go of whatever it is his problem is and maybe he's going to ease up on Sammy, which would be great, but still I don't see why he couldn't call Sammy's phone. But then Sammy has come outside anyways, having put on his clothes and he is gazing at me confused as to why I haven't left and I hand the phone to him and tell him that Jude wants to talk.

"Oh, hey Jude," Sammy answers. He looks at me. "She looks...well, she looks like she's about to go to work. The expression on her face? Um..." He looks at me and I shake my head, roll my eyes and stick my fingers into the sides of my mouth and make a face.

"Yeah, you're right. How'd you know? She is making a stupid face." He laughs and I immediately stop and get annoyed again. I think about skipping the party and going out with Sammy to dinner like he suggested, and I think about not talking to Jude for a while. He has gotten more intense lately, ever since he stopped seeing that annoying girl Angie whom he was dating, and maybe I need space from him. Sammy hands the phone back to me just as I'm deciding this, and Sammy says as he does, "Jude wants me to fight in a boxing match."

I frown, surprised, and get on the phone to tell Jude no, and find he's already talking: "I've been taking bets all morning. So far there's about 2 grand riding against Sammy. $2,000! We'll split the winnings evenly. I get half, and you guys get half."

"You're taking bets on my boyfriend?" I get into the car and pull out of the driveway.

"Well, Casey is taking the bets, and everyone thinks it was his idea." I'm surprised to hear that Jude's friend Casey is involved, I can't imagine that Casey would be interested in this sort of mess, but then again I can't imagine Casey turning down anything that seemed remotely interesting, and I pause because Casey's involvement makes the whole idea seem slightly more interesting.

"Everyone is betting against Sammy?" I ask.

"Well, ostensibly I'm betting against Sammy, so they're really probably just following my lead. But it doesn't help that you dress him up like the tooth fairy whenever you take him out. No one realizes that he's a gorilla, because you make him wear all those goofy David Bowie spaceman clothes."

"I don't tell him what to wear," I say, annoyed. "Is that what you tell people? That I dress him?"

"I don't tell people anything," he says, "and anyways, what are you so upset about? Don't you realize what I'm telling you. Call up Casey and place your bet on Sammy. You'll be the only one. Do you get it? You're set up to win 2 grand. Maybe more. You can buy a lot of gay astronaut clothes for Sammy with that kind of cash."

"I'm sure Sammy can decide if he wants to play your stupid game or not without me telling him one way or another," I say. "I have to go to work. I'm already late because of you." I try to sound disgusted and Jude thanks me in a way that irritates me.

"Pleasure doing business with you." He hangs up before I can get the last word in and I'm enraged. I don't want to go to his stupid party, or play his stupid game, but if I don't, now I'm afraid that he'll tell everyone that I told Sammy he couldn't go and fight, and he'll make Sammy look like he does whatever I say, and Jude has already told everyone that enough times that people seem to think that way and I hate it. Then I get a text message.

"No one irritates me more than you do. I am eternally grateful." Jude writes and immediately I feel that strange, awful affection for him and I think that at least Casey is involved. It can't be so bad if Casey is going along with it.

I open the dance studio where I work and start to get the space ready for another day of lessons. The boss doesn't come in until 1, so she doesn't notice that I was late. I watch the little girls shuffle in with their parents and watch them line up and dance and I watch the boss lead the lessons and I spend a lot of time on the Internet. I see Jude is advertising his stupid boxing match on Facebook and Myspace, and looking at the posts he's put up I think that it's hopeless to try and resist going because it will be the only thing worth doing tonight. Jude texts me to call Casey and place my bet, so I do just to talk with Casey and see what he thinks of the event and Casey tells me he thinks the situation sucks but he's hoping Jude will not let it turn out as badly as it is starting to seem, and he takes my bet and it's already 9 p.m. by the time I get home and it takes me an hour or so to get ready so when I get to Jude's house I'm just in time to watch Sammy beat up a kid named Duncan. The crowd, consisting almost entirely of Jude's idiot dude friends, are standing around crowing at Sammy to lose.

"This is awful," I yell at Jude. He jumps and turns around, and immediately hands me a bottle of champagne.

"You're a thousandaire!" He yells at me. "I love money!" Not deterred by the look of disgust on my face, he comes closer and throws an arm around me. "I always wondered why you were dating that goofy ass kid. He's not nearly as good-looking, funny or interesting as me. But now I see. He's a fucking moose." He waves his hand around. "You see all these assholes? They're all quickly becoming broke assholes, on account of your retardedly strong boy-toy."

Right then Duncan lands a solid blow across Sammy's jaw, and Sammy goes lurching backwards and almost falls over, and the crowd screams with insults and terrible encouragements to Duncan to hit him again and I'm sick to my stomach, but then I see Sammy's eyes get big and wild and he roars back at Duncan and begins swinging in a blind awful fury. I say, "This is terrible," to Jupiter but he's already gone, yelling at people who claim that Sammy somehow cheated and I notice that Sammy's face is bloody and Casey comes up beside me and tells me that we should go outside.

Outside are almost all the girls whom I'd expect to see at Jupiter's party, along with most of the boys, the ones who aren't sucked into Jude's stupid, awful game. Casey tells me that the whole event sucks.

"This is the worst idea he's had," Casey says, clearly disgusted, "he acts like it's all for fun, gets everyone swept up in it and then he creates the worst possible situation."

"He's such an asshole," I say, drinking the bottle of champagne. It's warm outside and somewhere close by there is music. Casey says that there's a dance party next door and he says that people have been going over there. He asks me about work and I tell him a story about a guy who came in to see about classes for his daughter and about his enormous mustache. Casey laughs and tells me about a contest he read about for men with enormous mustaches and we keep on talking about more silly, funny stuff for a while until there's yelling inside and I remember about my boyfriend and I go inside to see what's happened. Jude is standing in front of the circle of people, his face is bright red and he looks drunk and he's barking at Sammy, who is in a bear hug with a guy named Robert whom I've met once or twice but don't really know. Both Robert and Sammy look exhausted and are covered in sweat and blood, I'm drunk and angry now and I want to tell Sammy to stop, to leave and to punch Jupiter instead of Robert or Duncan, but I'm angry at Sammy for coming here and doing this, and I'm angrier as he gains the upper hand in the fight and knocks Robert over, and I'm angrier still watching Jupiter jump up and lurch forward and yell that someone needs to kick Sammy's ass.

"I'm betting it all against this asshole," he stammers blindly, pulling out all the winnings from the earlier bets that he had me make and which he evidently had been collecting and all the bills fall and scatter on the floor and Jude lurches forward looking like he's going to try and hit Sammy, and I don't know if he is going to try or what but Sammy is staggering around, bloody and he looks almost senseless from all the hits he's taken and it looks as if he doesn't even think about it, he knocks Jupiter upside his head with a brutal, gut-wrenching grunt and Jupiter goes crashing to the ground. I can't take any of this, I'm all of a sudden sobbing and enraged and leaving out the back and going out through the back gate and Casey's alongside me saying we should really just go to the dance party, that it'll be more fun and before I know it yes I'm pushing Casey against the fence and kissing him and grabbing onto him partly to keep myself from falling over and partly because yes I've forgotten everything in the world and only want to be with him right there in the grass against the wood fence and I'm already trying to get his shirt off when he takes my hand and begins to pull me along, somewhere, I'm disoriented so yes I'm not sure in which direction we're going, if it's towards the dance party that we're headed or towards the boxing party or towards someplace else and yes I only hope its someplace where we can lay down together because if it is then yes I'll sleep with him and, I think, that might be the only thing I want in all the world to lay down with him yes the only thing I might ever want again and if he wants it then I want it yes and only it and he stops to say something, to ask me something that I am not hearing and I tell him, I say, Yes.