The next morning it was raining
gentle but steady and there was no gap… no blue sky at all… solid grey. Serena
made a phone-call to let the boat owner know about what had happened. Becky,
and her absentee boat-mate, and muscled-bound blond jock boyfriend, came down
the ramp to the dock. The owner saw me standing next to Serena once he got to
the marina and took one look
at me, “You get out of here. Get off my boat! I am reporting you to the Harbor
Patrol and I am filing a restraining order. Don’t you ever come anywhere near
my boat again!”
Serena tried to explain, to no avail, that
I had nothing to do with the fiasco. Becky was able to talk the owner into
letting Serena stay but I was most certainly out. Becky was pleased to see me
leave without trouble, but the boyfriend looked disappointed I didn’t argue. He
wanted to use some of his muscle. Injun showed up as I was crossing the parking
lot on the way out of there.
I approached him hoping to explain.
That was a big mistake because, no sooner had I gotten within arms-reach, he
pulled a huge hunting knife out of his boot and had it poised at my gut. He had
his other arm on my shoulder as he leaned toward me saying, in the lowest of
audible tones; “I think you oughta take your Bible and your Christian-shit outa
here before I fillet your ass. Don’t you agree?”
Serena ran up the ramp and out the
gate, “No, Injun, don’t. He’s goin’!”
At that, Injun let his knife down and
I walked away, glad that I was alive.
Serena and I had agreed to meet at
the Rescue Mission for the six o’clock supper and service. I was homeless again
and I wasn’t so sure I had a girl after all this either. I was beginning to
think the promise of Santa Barbara was fading. It was just one more time I’d gotten
my hopes up and let them slip away. I went up to the library where there was a
fireplace and some comfortable chairs a man could sit in. If I did it right, I
could take a nap. In those days camping out in the library wasn’t tolerated.
You had to at least keep up the appearance of reading a book. It was a good
place to think and I needed badly to think.
At the Mission that evening, I checked in to stay out of the rain and
thought it peculiar that Bob-O did not. There was plenty of snoring, but the
snoring didn’t keep me awake. It was that gnawing feeling that it just plain
didn’t matter anymore. That morning at breakfast my worst fears were realized
as I saw Bob-O and Serena come in taking a seat in the pew in front of me
holding hands. Either they hadn’t seen me, or they were ignoring me. I sat next
to Serena at breakfast after the service to see what was going on.
“Max, we have to talk.”
It would be the first of many times in
my life that I will have I heard that fatal phrase, “We do? What’s there to say?”
“I love you Max, but something
special happened between me n’ Bob-O last night?”
“Like I said, what’s there that I can
say about that?”
What did I expect? After all, she
fucked me the first night we met. What made me thing she could keep her knees
together for me or anyone else?
“It isn’t what you think.” She
gripped my hand tightly, “Please, let’s talk after breakfast. I don’t want to
talk about it here.”
My brain was running in circles:
around and around… thinking, “What… what the fuck! I couldn’t sleep last night
and now my breakfast is ruined.”
After breakfast we sat down on the
wet curb outside of the Mission door.
“This has got to be good,” I started
the ball rolling.
“Max, Bob-O and I prayed last night.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, we didn’t fuck,” her assurance
didn’t make me feel any better for it, “We talked and prayed. Bob-O is a man of
great faith… did you know that?”
“Yeah, sure, he told me once he saw
Jesus at Lake Mendocino… while sniffing glue!”
“He laid hands on me and commanded
God to take my epilepsy away.” She was shedding authentic tears at this point
and paid no attention at all to what I was implying.
“Oh, Bob-O tells God what to do; does
he?”
“And he told me to throw my
medication over the side.”
“Oh, he did, did he?
“Yes.”
“I thought you believed that crap was
rot?”
“Yes.” She skewed her eyes, reaching
out with her hand to turn my face to hers. “But Bob-O is different… he told me
that you and… well, we, could not be together for this to work. That I must
live a chaste life… like the early Christians did.”
“No more sex then.”
“No more sex, Max, I have to tap into
the joy of Christ’s blessings!” She took the plastic ring off her finger and
put it in my palm.
“So then, you aren’t dumping me for Bob-O…
you’re dumping me for Jesus?” I chucked the ring across the street.
“Can we still be friends?” her eyes
were pleading.
“Yeh, sure, why not?”
Somehow this made me feel a little
better. I was coming down with a cold and a fever. I let Bob-O and Serena go
their way without further ado. I wanted to tear into Bob-O but thought better
of it; she would have left me for somebody someday anyway. That’s just the way
it is. She probably dumped some poor bastard before I came along… maybe that
guy, Injun.
I walked down to the beach… maybe for
a good cry. My heart was broken and it did feel just like that arrow was stuck
in it… that arrow that the little bastard cupid shoots into those Valentines.
The horizon was still shrouded in clouds but there were a few places where the
sun burst through. The sand was still damp, and my butt was damp too from
sitting on the curb with Serena. I raised my eyes to the gray sky above me and
prayed, “I give up. You want me to call you Jesus… I’ll call you Jesus. You
want me to call you anything at all, I call you that. But I need something from
you out of this… maybe some direction.”
I walked off the beach and crossed
the road to Helena Street next to the Lobster House. As I was doing so I
noticed everything seemed to have some sort of cross… especially telephone
posts. About that time a Volkswagen van pulled up next to me. The driver,
obviously high, yelled out, “Hey Bro, wanna get high?” and held a joint out to
me.
“No thanks, not today.” And I waved
him on. That was perhaps the first time I had ever turned down a joint. I felt
somehow empowered by that simple gesture.
The van pulled away as the driver
laughed, “It’s your loss, Bro.”
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