Jay Fox - THE WALLS

By the time finals came along, I had quit my job and my parents had calmed down some. They told me that they would pay my way until I found another job, which they expected would pay a good deal more than the small sum afforded to me by the good people at Java Express, my employer as of a few weeks ago. Thinking that they would only be supporting me a few months, we struck a deal: they would deposit fifteen hundred dollars into my checking account at the beginning of every month until either I found a job or September came along, though this latter condition was neither taken nor given entirely in earnest. This left me in a pretty good spot, as (at the time of graduation) I had a little over a grand in my checking account thanks to my previous job and several marijuana-related incidents prior to The Marijuana-Related Event. This was information that I did not feel the need to impart.

“Can I bum a cigarette,” I don't really ask because the pack is open; my thumb is already stroking one of the receded filters. “Thanks,” I add before he has time to object or accede. St. Germain can be heard coming from Jeff's room. I don't know the name of the song, but the central instrument is the flute. It's unlike Jeff to listen to such things; it is also unlike him to stare to me with such an admonishing expression unless I have forgotten to take out the garbage.

“You look like utter shit, man,” he says incidentally.

“Thanks,” I respond between plumes of smoke. “I didn't realize you and your parents were going to come back today. I would have slept in my room had I known.”

“It is a shame that we interrupted your convalescence.”

“Look, I know I made a bad impression. I'm sorry.”

“Well, it's a good thing that we woke you when we did,” he replies coolly. “Have you been greeting every day at the ripe old hour of noon?”

“I had a long night.”

“I see. And wherein lay the difficulty?”

“I'm not looking for pity, Jeff. I'm just explaining myself. It's not like I've been regularly getting up at this time every day,” I embellish (lie). I proceed to recount the entire night to him: Midas, Pepper, Aberdeen, Tomas, the triplets, Jane. The twenty-two was a mistake, I concede. Still, there's barely any left in the can. The air is hot now, as are all of the surfaces in the apartment — especially the Pleather couch on which I slept. My hair is pasted to my head and my body extols a viscous substance that smells like gin-breath and slightly putrefied beef. “I don't know how we're going to sleep in this fucking place without air conditioning,” I add.

Jeff ignores the final remark; he has decided to scrutinize the more inferential aspects of my behavior for the past two weeks with his cunning intellect.

I had told him that I wanted to spend some time searching for Coprolalia right after I had the talk with Sean back in May. He didn't take it seriously. To him it was just a statement that was made in order to perpetuate a conversation about things we wanted to accomplish over the summer. His current list includes finding a girlfriend, reading Infinite Jest , and seeing more jazz shows in the Village. If actions do speak louder than words, then the unopened vitamins on his desk that have been there since he made his New Year's resolution are calling him out. I'm obviously more ambitious. I'll spare the details of my life, and simply say that Coprolalia is not the first chimera I've courted.

“So why are you doing this?” he asks.

“Cowards taste of death many times before their deaths; the valiant only tastes of death but once.”

“Shakespeare?” I nod. “Richard the Third?” I shake my head. “It's Caesar, then.” I nod. “Tell me Brutus, can you see your face?”

“No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself.”

He laughs slightly. “Seriously, though; why are you doing this?” in earnest.

“It's fun,” I respond too quickly. He sighs. “Look, man, it's an adventure. I mean, most of the people who looked for the Holy Grail were probably just in it for the adventure.”

“That's a bit of a stretch,” he grins. “How is it going so far?”

“I won't lie: it’s not going well. But I'd rather be doing this as opposed to doing what most of my friends are doing — besides the ones on vacation, of course.”

“And what's that?”

“Either moving back in with their parents or going to interviews for jobs they don't want. Dave is thinking about joining the navy. Connie—”

“—I still can't believe you even speak to her.”

“She was my girlfriend for over two years, Jeff; I'm not about to just throw away a friendship like that. And now that I've separated myself from the situation some, I can see that it wasn't that bad of a breakup. We just both realized that the long distance thing wasn't tenable any longer.”

“And yet she was the only one who concluded this before you two called it quits.”

I bite my lip. “I knew it, too; I just didn't want to admit it.”

“Well, Boston is not all that far away, but I suppose you would know about these things better than I would,” he says in a tone that could be described and interpreted in a number of ways. The two have never met, but Jeff believes that our separation has led me to create an altar for her. Perhaps there is some truth to this, but it's not something I'd ever admit to him.

“Yes, well, she's going to be moving back to the City soon. She's going to be staying in her dad's place in Gramercy because he doesn't want her to move to Brooklyn.”

“Why does her father own an apartment in Manhattan? Doesn't he live in Cleveland?”

“Detroit. He has the place because he comes out here on business pretty frequently.”

“And why doesn't he want her living in Brooklyn?”

“I guess he thinks Brooklyn is a lot like Detroit — and, as I'm sure you know, Detroit isn't exactly the nicest place to live.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, she's been down here on all of these interviews, and they ask her the most ridiculous questions.” He squints. “You know, these questions that require horribly facetious answers. 'Why did you apply here?' 'Because I need a job and you're hiring.' 'What is one of your worst qualities?' 'Being candid enough to let you know that I'm not going to actually tell you any of my worst qualities.' It's a fucking joke.

“Denise, on the other hand, is doing well.”

“She was the Cynic girl, right?”

“Yeah. I talked to her on I.M. a few nights ago.”

“Did she have her laptop in the tub with her?”

“No, she only does that shit when people are around. Anyway, she's preparing for grad school at Fordham. She's also starting an internship with a radical publishing house in a few weeks — once she's back from Cleveland.”

“So she's the one from Cleveland.”

I nod. “Not Cleveland, but a suburb. Something Falls — I forget the exact name. Anyway, the publishing house is paying her, too.” I pause to drag from the cigarette, but it's been cold for some time. I notice that the first track of the new Wilco album is now playing. “What do you think of this record?”

“With the exception of Yankee Foxtrot , I'd say it's their best. And that's only after four listens.”

“Yeah, I've been listening to it pretty regularly.” Caesura . “Anyway, I guess Denise is the exception. Things are really looking up for her.”

“And you're searching for a man who desecrates bathroom walls.”

“Yes,” I respond with a smile. “And I've gotten to be pretty close with Tomas; not so much with James.”

“Aberdeen.”

“Yeah,” I respond. “He can be kind of condescending sometimes. Then again, there's certain nights he's a really fun guy to be around.” I relight the cigarette. “I don't know what his deal is sometimes. It's not like he's a celebrity or anything. Still, he's got this arrogance about him.” I shrug. “I'm surprised you know of him.”