ROCS ON HIGH

sleepwalk plays... i was going somewhere with that but i can't find the words to say in the background...sleepwalk is heard among the rustle of sheets. sleepwalk plays over the rustle of sheets. amidst the rustle of sheets sleepwalk plays. stupid prepositions. i am so high right now. and trying to write a poem. but i’m laughing for some reason. lollipop is playing in my head....lollipop, lollipop, ooh la le la le la le lollipop....this is the coolest song ever. as i was saying (stupid song i forgot now)  it was funny, too. it's so hard to type lollipop because you only use your right fingers and the letters are so close together and each keystroke is a tremor in your hand. like you’re on lithium. you should try it. typing. not lithium.

you try to remember what you just said but it doesn’t come back the same. cookie. even now i feel like I-no it's gone. No it's there. D****t. where did it go. oh, yes. Sting of the police sang two songs about sex crimes. Roxanne and Don’t stand so close to me. It’s the police on a sting for prostitutes and pedophiles. Genius. Has anyone else made the connection yet? Do you know where this is from: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap on three on the teeth. lo. li. ta. yes. that old man in the book by Nabokov… where was i? Oh yes... sleepwalk plays…

II

Okay, I need to take a break. I put my laptop aside and ask if the guys want to play cards. Tommy, Ritchie and Harry say sure. We sit at the dining table and Ritchie goes into the other room to get the cards.

We pair up, I get with Ritchie, Tommy gets with Harry.

“You deal, Jane.” Tommy says.

“Okay. I’ll try,” I say.

“You think you could handle it?”

“Of course I can.” I say not without giggling.

“I don’t know...all this stuff about sleepwalking and Sting. I thought you didn’t even like Sting.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I heard you saying some s**t about prepositions and sex crimes.”

“Oh, was I talking out loud? How can you even hear me over Marilyn Manson?”

“Rob Zombie,” Tommy replies.

“Whatever. They both sound like they’re going to get throat cancer any second now. How do they get through a whole concert?”

“Let’s do blind bets.” Harry suggests.

So I deal out the cards.

“I’m going to say three.” I said.

“I’m going to say four.” Ritchie said.

“I’m going to say seven.” Harry said.

“Are you high?” Tommy said.

“As a matter of fact I am.” Harry responds.

“Fine, I’m going to say two then.” Tommy says.

“Harry, you don’t even know what you’re going to get,” Ritchie says.

“I said seven, “ Harry insists.

“He says seven,” Tommy confirms and Ritchie writes it down.

“Man, Jane always has the best stuff.” Harry informs everyone. “Where do you get it?”

“I got a guy.” I said.

“I didn’t even know it came in blueberry.” Ritchie says.

“Where did you meet him?” Harry asked.

“Around.” I said.

Tommy puts a queen of diamonds down with a smug look on his face after Ritchie put down a jack. I throw down the ace of diamonds and take the book. There is much laughter and slapping Tommy on the back.

“How’s that feel, chump?” Ritchie says.

“Damn, girl. That hurt. I think I need another hit.” Tommy says.

He gets up and goes to the couch and applies himself to the hookah and comes back mumbling under his breath. “Stupid queen.”

It’s critical times and Harry actually gets his seventh book with an eight of clubs. Figures.

“What the f**k. An eight of clubs? Are you kidding me? And he just pulled that out of his a*s.” Ritchie said. “Harry, get us some beers out of the fridge.”

I raise my eyebrow at him. “Oh, yeah. Get Jane a Crush.”

“You mean they still make those?” Harry asks. “What is this, 1982? Why don’t we just put on some Hall and Oates?”

“Just get it.” Ritchie says.

“Did you know that Barney Feiff was Andy Griffith’s cousin?” Tommy asks.

“Oh, here we go,” Ritchie says rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“Who?” I said.

“Haven’t you ever watched the Andy Griffith show?” He asks me.

“I never even heard of it.”

“Who doesn’t know Andy Griffith? Oh, I forgot, you’re from New Jersey” He says, as though I were from the mountains of Kvetchistan.

“I don’t watch Redneck TV,” I say.

“That is not a Redneck show. And I’m from Intercourse, Pennsylvania. Yeah, that’s right. Intercourse.”

“What are you, Amish?” Ritchie asks.

“No. My mother used to be until she met my dad and became a hippie.”

“That is so cool, Tommy,” I say.

“You and your useless information. He always gets this way when he’s high. He thinks he’s Alex Trebek. We get high so we don’t have to think, dumb a*s. Thinking is overrated anyway, don’t you think, Jane?”

“I have low tolerance for information. It’s all useless.

“I’m just saying you gotta be prepared for war. “He will win who, prepared himself, waits to take the enemy unprepared” he quotes Sun Tsu.

“The Art of War is of vital importance to the State.” I reply.

“You, too?” Ritchie says. “O, the betrayal.”

“Don’t you read?” I said.

“So, Jane reads The Art of War. What do you read, Ritchie, Joy Luck Club?” Tommy says.

“Shut up, d****e.” Ritchie says to Tommy and we all laugh.

After a couple hands, we repair to the sofa and Harry lights up the hookah and passes the hose around to us. I sit back and everything recedes into the background, foreground, playground, foreplay, you know the kind…

III

“Watch this.” Ritchie says to no one in particular. “ Hey,Tommy, don’t you think it’s funny how Petruccio tamed Kate by training her like a falcon?”

“That’s an interesting question, Ritchie. I find that his techniques, as absurd as they were, are brilliant in that he succeeded in eliciting the responses he wanted. Like in psychological warfare. He won that battle. Therefore, I think the ends justified the means. Hey, he got her to fall in love with him in the end and she became the submissive wife that women should be. It was genius.”

Suddenly, everything in the  room becomes so clear with visual delineation and color I can count each dot on the Kiss V. (for those of you who are unfamiliar with modern art, it’s a style of painting, possibly influenced by Pointillism, that Lichtenstein employs, except with bigger, more distinct dots. Like comic book art. Come on. Even potheads know art).

“What!? Are you freaking kidding me?” I exclaim. “What kind of sexist bullshit is that? What is this, the f*****g dark ages?”

“Jane, I’m just saying that back then women were like that. Kate was the total opposite of society’s norms but later conformed to those ideals due to Petruccio’s wiles. But her insolence is what made him fall in love with her in the first place. That’s all.”

As for the futility of thinking, having an opinion is worse. I can’t be bothered with the steps to form one. I leave opinions to others. High or not. On the other hand, Tommy is the most opinionated one of us all.  Forget about it. And now he’s is saying that Petruccio was justified in treating her like a lab rat that didn’t get the reinforcement even Skinner would have given her. And he was a sick b*****d.  And then saying women should be submissive. (Honestly, though, I think it’s hilarious how Petruccio puts her in her place. A man needs to assert his manliness once in a while. Once in a while). But I am not going to sit here and agree with him just by virtue of being a woman. I’m no feminist but this is Tommy. Who does he think he is, the Sultan of Brunei? Anyone who supports his sexist propaganda needs to be put in their place. I can feel the high blood pressure rising up to my face  and I definitely have an opinion about this. I look up and no one is making eye contact with me. Oh, he’s getting it.

“Uh, oh. It’s about to get ugly in here,” Ritchie chuckles taking a drag of his cigarette, who by the way, is the perpetrator of the dispute and Tommy’s demise. By the time my tirade is over, (don’t ask me what I said. Harry will tell you.) Tommy is going to 7-Eleven to get me a pack of cigarettes and a Screaming Sparrow Slurpee. Then to Sum Ting Wong for some crab rangoons. Then to Subway for chocolate chip cookies. And then fill up my car with gas. He is shovelling snow off my car right now because I allowed him to use it. All I had to do was look at him with a clenched jaw, the guys’ silence furthering the dramatic effect before he realizes he said the wrong thing. Who’s your daddy now?

I take a long hit of this high-grade haze and my head sways ...what was I saying. Oh, yes. It’s so much effort to think. I wonder if I would be smarter if I thought for myself. Oh, well. What are you gonna do? It’s all just a bunch of malarkey anyway. All I know is that the burden of life lessens when someone else tells you what time it is so you don’t have to take out your cell phone and look at it yourself. That’s what men are there for.

The sound of a cell phone ringing brings me out of my reverie. It’s Harry’s phone. His ringtone is the Imperial Death March.That’s the Darth Vader song in case someone isn’t familiar with Star Wars. It’s the music that they play every time he makes an appearance. Consequently he’s the only one who has his own music. Not even Obi Wan has his own anthem.

“What do you want, Ma? I’m at Ritchie’s. Yeah, I have my jacket. Yeah, I got my gloves, too.  Yes, Ma, I ate. I had Matsoh Ball at the diner. Of course it was kosher. It said it right there on the menu.  Ma, come on. I’m busy. No, I’m not drinking. We’re playing Spades. Tommy and Jane are here. Ma, I told you who Jane was. She’s Ritchie’s cousin. (I’m not.) She’s wearing jeans, Ma. What does it matter? No, she’s not a shiksa.(“Well,” he says looking right at me. I swear he’s looking at my b***s.) What? No, you don’t have to pick me up, Ma. Tommy’s taking me home. Ma, we’re not drinking I said! I don’t know where the Manischewitz is, Ma. I didn’t take it. You know I don’t like concord grape. Maybe your alta kaka boyfriend took it. Oh, alright, ma. I was just kidding. He’s not an alta kaka. Ma, I gotta go. It’s my turn. Ma, I got seven books tonight. Yeah, I know. Yes, I’ll be home by midnight, already. Oy vay! Bye. Love you too. Bye. Okay bye!”

“What the hell was that?”

“Saul is away on a business trip and Ma doesn’t like to be alone at night. I’m not even supposed to be out because it’s Shabbos.”

We all burst out laughing simultaneously, and he’s just sitting there sulking.

“ ‘Alta kaka?’ What the hell’s that?” Ritchie asks while he takes a sip of his beer.

“It means ‘old shitter in Yiddish.’’ Harry explains.

Ritchie spits beer out all over Harry, laughing uncontrollably.  Poor Harry.

“That’s hysterical!” Ritchie says and continues laughing.  Harry takes his sweater off and reveals a tee shirt that has nine Darth Vader faces on it like a Rubiks cube. It’s actually an impressive reproduction of Andy Warhol’s dyptich of Marilyn Monroe. I bet the kid has Darth Vader pajamas, too.

We all start laughing. I have to clutch my abs because they are hurting so bad. Tears are falling down Tommy’s face.

“All right. All right.”  Harry says as he takes a deep toke of the hookah. Poor guy... There’s always that one guy. He’s our token.

IV

Where was I? Oh, yes. I think I may have some short-term memory issues. It doesn’t bother me because it’s not important to me. My life is a looping reel. Who cares? All you have to do is ask the person to remind you. When they do it will come back to you. Let them tell it. It sounds like you’re listening to a novel about yourself. You get to experience your memories vicariously through them. It’s so much better when it’s coming from someone else. You’re so much more exciting that way. It’s good to surround yourself with people who have good memory. If they’re eidetic, especially when high, then you’re golden.

Ritchie says, “Jane, remember when we were at John’s pig roast and Harry couldn’t look at it because it freaked him out? We took the head off and put it on the hood ornament facing the driver with the tongue sticking out the side and he flipped out.”

“I thought he was going throw up right there on the street. When was that? I forget.”

“It was for John’s twenty-first birthday and it was at his pool. That was when you were going out with that guy Matt.You actually wore a yellow polka dot bikini. And you put pink streaks in your hair.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right, I put pink streaks in my hair for breast cancer month. How funny was that. He came back screaming like a little b***h with his arms waving. I wonder what ever happened to that bikini.” I said.

“You took it to Aruba with Marianne and Ann Marie. You got into a fight with one of them because the guy she liked hit on you and you ended up staying in his room. There was a jacuzzi in there. You left it on the terrace.”

“I can’t believe you remember all that. That was like six years ago. It’s amazing how you do that. I forgot about that jacuzzi. I don’t even know what the guy’s name was.”

“It was Manolo. He was from Andalusia. Remember, we had to look it up and found out it was some hoity-toity city in Spain.”

See what I mean? Just hit play.

V

When Tommy gets back he picks up his guitar and starts strumming. As usual he sings “Wonder Wall.”

I’m going to throw up. I think that’s the only song he knows how to play.  He doesn’t even sing. He croons and yodels. It’s like Bing Crosby doing a commercial for Swiss Miss.  Ritchie picks up a cushion and throws it at his head.

“Come on, man. What’s your problem?” Tommy says doing that thing that Italians do where you put your thumb to your pinky and bounce your fingers up and down.

“Play something else for once, you f****n alta kaka.” Ritchie responds.

“I can play Gypsy Kings.”

“You can play Gypsy Kings. This whole time we had to listen to Wonderwall every night, and you can play Gypsy Kings?” Ritchie says.

“How do you even know who the Gypsy Kings are?” I interjected.

“My sister used to play it all the time. She even took me to Radio City to see them.”

“My god, you have this whole other life we don’t even know about. Do you speak Spanish, too?” I said.

“No. I can only sing it.”

“Then play something a*****e.” Ritchie says.

Tommy starts strumming and warming up. He’s clearing his throat and says, “Check. Check.” several times to find the right key. Then he starts off with this simple melodic riff and goes into the lyrics and his voice gets raspy but dulcet just like them. And the rest just flows out and his fingers look like they’ve taken a life of their own. He sings Spanish proficiently, I can’t believe it. All we  need is a couple of Flamenco dancers on the coffee table and we’re sitting in a cafe on the Strait of Gibraltar.

“...Volare! Wo oh. Cantare! wo oh oh oh. Nel blu ni pinto ni blu...’

Ritchie and Harry are dumbfounded. Ritchie is speechless. That’s a first. Meanwhile, Tommy is taking on a different demeanor. He’s got a different vibe, his movements are one with his guitar. He’s in the zone. He’s actually starting to look good. I never noticed what great hair he has.  I know I’m high, but I’m not blind. He is out of control. Oh my god he looks so hot. His voice is so throaty. I wonder what he sounds like when he’s having sex. Shut up. It’s Tommy. We’re all just friends here.

The last chord is strummed and silence ensues.  Ritchie breaks the silence and says “That was awesome, man. I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on us. We were hanging out for three years and this is the first time I’ve ever heard you play real guitar. Like you’re a Spanish prodigy. Genius, man. What else don’t we know about you? Did you grow up in a Shaolin Temple and fight crime at night with your kung fu skills?”

Harry and I burst out laughing, I had to blow the haze out of my mouth before I start choking, I’m laughing so hard. “That was great Tommy. You were on fire.” I said, my eyes lingering at him and we made brief eye contact. He looked away immediately and was actually blushing. Alright, get a hold of yourself Jane.

VI

“Put Blondie on. Please, please, please, please.” I entreat Ritchie.

“Blondie?” he exclaims. “Where do you think you are, Studio 54? You want a bump, too? Should I turn the disco ball on?”

“You’re so mean. Please?”

“Oh, just put in on for her. I’m getting sick of listening to this polyp rock, anyway.  She’ll probably make you paint her toenails or some s**t like that if you don’t.” Me and Harry start laughing.

“After what she put Tommy through, he’s probably right, Ritchie,” Harry says. “Unless you have a foot fetish”

“Didn’t you used to wear your mother’s gogo boots around the house when you were ten?” Tommy says to Ritchie.

“No, but I was wearing your mother’s g-string last night.”

“You had to go there, right?”

“Hey, you were asking for it.”

“Scumbag.” Tommy says to Ritchie obviously at a loss for a comeback. He must be coming off his high. Harry hands him the hose and he inhales deeply from it, tries to hold it down for a second then burst out laughing then hands the hose to Ritchie.

“Alright. If that’s what the lady wants that’s what she shall have. I’ll even buy you a disco ball, Janie.”

“Yeay!” I said.

Harry looks at his cell phone and says, “S**t. It’s quarter to twelve. I gotta go.”

“Just relax for a minute, Harry.” Ritchie says.

“Tommy are you still taking me home?”

“Yeah,” he replied grudgingly. “I’ll be right back guys.”

We see Harry looking all distressed like someone who is about to have the runs on the New Jersey Turnpike and the first rest stop is in ten miles.  He gets up and puts his coat and gloves on.

“Hold on a second, Harry. Have one for the road,” Ritchie tells them as he goes to the fridge and gets out another round of beer and my Crush.  We all have our drinks and hold them up and say “Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson.” and clink bottles.

The Tide is High plays.