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Roadside Graves
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THURSDAY, Aug. 5
@ TBA -
Stereopathic on Hypem
Jul
10
I’m a little soft. I don’t do this kind of work as well as I ought, but we do get a lot of sad cases come through, sometimes individuals without a lot of money. Why do they come here? I really do not know. I couldn’t begin to guess. This place is supposed to be fun, right? But a lot of times I think they’ve got memories of some little vixen broke their heart, better times maybe. And so they come here and they walk around and they mope.
But this one, short guy, black hair, one of them turtleneck sweaters, walks up and just stands here a bit. The ride I was on is called “The Circle” and it basically just whips you around in a circle for two minutes and lets you off. It’s a centrifuge for humans, where you get that feeling of weightlessness and stick to the walls. There’s a snake that’s eating his own tail going round the whole outside of the thing. We’re a high class operation. But I maintain it well, and it gets a pretty good draw. That’s one thing I like about humans, we don’t miss a chance to alter the organism in any we can find. Get a jolt of adrenaline or whatever.
So this guy’s standing there and he comes up to me and just looks at me. I can see he’s crying. Red eyes, a little glisten under the nose, the whole thing. It’s a weird thing about seeing another man cry, even a young guy like this, that you just feel so embarrassed immediately. I looked away, like I had to check a gauge under the console. I fiddled there as long as I could. My eye caught the picture of Janie that I take with me from ride to ride. But I can’t really do this for too long and I can see the guy is still watching me. Gah. Just pitiful.
But I start to feel a little angry toward this guy. Whatever the problem is, I didn’t do it. It’s like he’s here just so I can see he’s upset. Well, no thanks. I don’t really care, pal. I mean I care in the way that I care about people, don’t want to see them sad or harmed, but I got problems of my own. Money’s tight for me, of course. Janie and I both work and they’re not great jobs. Sometimes you look at what you spend your ten or twelve hours a day doing and you have to think, what for? So I can get up and do it again tomorrow? The point of this whole work thing isn’t really living, because most of my living time I spend working. I get a couple hours in the evening or in the morning, and a day off, but . . . anyway.
I look back at him, and I give a, “What’s the deal, pal? You riding or no?” There’s no line, so I don’t care, but the guy’s giving me the creeps by this point. “You got a ticket?” I ask him. He doesn’t really respond. He looks up at me again, and then down at his shoes again and then he reaches into his pocket, and he takes out a little glass bottle. A vial. Where does anyone get a vial in our society? I have no idea. He reaches it out towards me, and I recoil. As anyone might. But he holds it up and I can see that he’s written the word “Tears” on it, in smudgy pen. Holy crap.
I don’t know what most people do when a stranger hands them a vial of bodily fluids but it basically short-circuited my entire nervous system. He dropped it into my hand and I opened the gate and let him in. He goes into the ride and I, still in shock I hasten to add, start the thing. He’s all by himself in there. Good night. I dropped the vial under the console, next to the picture of Janie, and I look around at the mostly quiet park. The shadows are growing in the morning and I see the sun come up over the haunted house, looking like it’s resting there, balanced on the building’s head.
I let the guy in, I let him have his ride, on me. No problem. Sometimes I wish I had a little more guts, that I’d tell the sad-bastard what I think of him. He comes regular now. I always let him in, and I always pitch the vials into the ocean.
The Cyrkle - “Red Rubber Ball” mp3
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One Response to “Song in Plaster: The Cyrkle, “Red Rubber Ball””
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This is one of my favorite songs of all time. I love that you wrote a story using that one little phrase. Clever you.