the coastergirl diaries volume forty

so she asked me for justice eyes to know where they were, or who took them. we'd barely looked. i told her they were around somewhere. none of this, really, would have been an issue at all had it not been for teh fact that there were bootlegs, rarities and out of print masterpieces in there. so we needed to look. she asked me where it was point blank, as if i was shortcut to getting work done. more and more of late, she'd sunken into the blistering habit of dependind on me to provide answers for her (some written on the wall if only she turned to read) and more and more i was violating my promise to leave if it ever got that way.

leaving wasn't a thing inside me to do anymore. it wasn't there, that i coud grab and hold to walk, though weary from what was maybe destined for wreckage. at least teh growing out of it all part, if not the great painting that was coastergirl and i. i told her i'd stop by after she got off work and we'd look for it together, turn homelife upside down, run through cars, like that shifting cartoon wind character pull it apart until we had to find it, the other ways were used up.

so we did, i showed and she showed, eager to find but not seek, but seek if she must.

naturally, as things go, the best place to start was the last place we remembered it. coastergirl remembered it being ont he counter when jacob got there, remembered flipping through it to change the music. i was outside during all that. the last i remembered of it was when we had gone to the monkees show (where red had met the now legendary madman of the flame-colored hair who at that time, was losing mental ground to stand on by day, but all this was a side note and at least halfway brought on by the excessive hallucinatgen days of us all, and before.)

so we searched the kitchen area, the place of her last memory with it, then moved to sofas, and garages and bedrooms and hallways and bathrooms. till bleeding fingers we looked, turning cars inside out with raging eyes. we searched lost, dragged, bulging minds: through closets and dust bins, laundry hampers, beneath car seat, in trunks, in allt he foiled foolish places a hysterical person or group looks when desperation has relieved them of all other duties. all of this mahy be harder to understand for someone who is not a music nerd, but for us it was a well lit path of things that were the only obvious ones to do. we eptied towel cabinets and wandered throught eh yard, the cubby area beneath the stairs (her northeastern inspiration home). a kind of rigidness came over us, finding us sinally searching in soffee cans, tin cans, garbage bags longisnce outside, boxes of cereal, we seartche dnon-sensical whimsicle in you-never-fucking-know places.

without luck, we sta to begin calling people who had been over or with us in the most recent of passed days.

her: have you seen my c.d. case?
l: no, why?
her: i can't find it anywhere. i havent' seen ti since jacob was here, but robert doesn't remember it since the monkees.

me: have you seen coastergirl's c.d. case?
j: not since you guys were going throguh it that night on the porch (both of us had seen it since this mentioned time)
me: well, she's losing her mind.
j: woe be to him that steals from music nerds, huh?
me: it's liek aborting a catholics baby without asking.
j: sorry. hope you find it.

we dialed 972 numbers, 817 numbers, 469 numbers, 214 numbers, jesus, we dialed people we hadn't seen in a year or more (coudn't say why).

exhausted, we sat for tea and she began telling me about the night.

her: nothing happened, you know.
me: oh yeah?
her: well, hardly anything. i kissed him.
me: why are you telling me this.
her: you would have known anyway, i wanted to be the one to tell you.
me: ....

days went by, without luck on the search front, and i stopped by a local used c.d. store to check for a few things i regularly check for when i have money to spend, and noticed, in the counter case (where they kept the caseless cds they'd bought off the public) a few of the same rarities coastergirl had.

me: i was at sound source today and saw a few ofthe same bootlegs and such you had.
her: jacob?
me: it sure seems like it.
her: why won't you just give me a straight answer?
me: because, i dont have one.
her: you always have one.
me: all i can tell you for sure is that i saw those cds at sound source and the odds of multple peopel in midcities having those are slim at best.
her: you think jacob stole them don't you.
me: honestly, yes i think he did. some one seems to and no one else who was here in the time between our seeing them and them dispaearing would have done that to you.
her: so you're tleling me jacob did it?
me: i'm telling you it seems like it.

it all seemed resolved. at least, she was now resigned to it.

a few days later we were out in denton drinking shit coffee at karma (the haunt of the faux-artistic minded of denton) and the smoke was so thick i had to go outside. this alone suggests a strangeness because i smoke more than bogart and did more even still at that time. so i walked out and she followed suit and we crossed the street to this nice little grassy area covered in large trees that rained down shade in all the heat and nastiness of the day. i laid down sprawled and she read through a book while we sat quiet, every so often musing about the variouses.

me: this is when i like denton.
her: you hate denton.
me: no i hate the people here, with their pompous, I'm artisitic-and-i-can-prove-it-with-my-lip-ring-and-blue-hair fantasy folk.
her: well, what's the difference now? they're all out walking about and talking and doind what they do, which is
me: what i hate (i interupted her).
her: yes.
me: but i'm not paying attention to them right now. right now, i'm laying in the green green grass and listening to the hustle and bustle of things going on beloww the dirt (or at least thinking i am) and enjoyign the way teh wind is hitting the leaves and this, here, now, is everything a beautiful place could hope to be or have.
her: it is nice today.
me: yes it is. perfect.

jacob walked by and came over to us. craziness, like he thought we hadn't noticed it gone or soemthing. he sat down and i sat up cross legged, ignoring him.

him: how's it going?
her: fine. what are ytou doing today?
jsut getting out of class.
her: oh, right on.
him: what's up robert. (i drifted off into thoghts of anger and ignored him.)

after awhile he left, having gotten the message, most likely despite it's unsubtle nature. he walked away and coastergirl turned to me.

her: i hate him so much.
me: then why do you talk to him? (i have never understood this about women. they will talk to someone they hate, pretneddind everything is fine and then bitch about them when they finally wander off. guys, well, guys, if they don't like you they show it, and if they don't like you enough,m they hit you and you hti them and so on until the rage is gone and then it's over.)
her: i don't want to be mean. we dont' knwo for sure it was him.
me: your'e right, btu that's not the only reason you hate him.
her: no, it isn't.

at this point i didn't know the other reason, but ti was obvious, that there was one. i had tried pressing for it, but with women, ground gained, is onlyt he ground they want you to gain, and only on their watch, by their secret time-keeping methods unknown to the men of the world. for this reason, i let it drop. we laid there a while and then went home.

i have never before or since laid in grass that lovely and had it matter like it did that day, ahve it fele the way it felt that day, so peaceful and full of all the warmth and wonder a being can ever hope to feel in this scrambled life.

go back to the beggining of the story.

2004-01-11 | 12:46 p.m.
0 comments so far