LARGE LANGUAGE LOVE, DIVINE

PART 2 - LIFE WITHOUT ROMANCE, Consolidated

Welcome To The DSA

Ten years later, in the summer of 1993, the DSA was holding their monthly meeting in Claire and Boom Boom's garage. Boom Boom read from the materials he'd created. "This is the Dalton Social Alliance. If you are here, then you believe that being outwardly social causes personal improvements as well as general improvements to the Dalton collective. You recognize that others will need your help in embracing what we find to be self-evident, and you have committed yourself to this help. This group is a place for you to share your triumphs and progress, as well as your challenges. Let this group be both a support and a paragon for positive change."

They sat together in a small circle on folding metal chairs. Claire and the others were munching on Pizza Hut Meat Lovers Stuffed Crust pizza. They all uttered grunts and murmurs of approval.

Boom Boom switched to a different laminated card. "As you know, the format of these meetings follows the 12-Step model, though without, uh, the addiction and 12-step stuff. Everyone has to introduce themselves and then share about something deliberately social that they feel is relevant for this month. I'll go first, just so I can get some of that pizza before it disappears. Hello, I'm Boom Boom Dalton and I'm deliberately social."

"Hello Boom Boom," the rest of the group echoed.

Boom Boom said, "I want to share about this meeting. This started as one of my kooky ideas which everyone here was gracious enough to indulge me in. I know, I know, we have yet to bring in any Daltons outside the tutoring world, but I'm still filled with so much gratitude. Every month I get to hear the great, intentional work you all are doing. I think we are all developing our social skills. Call it evolving or a lateral extension - whatever. Positive change is happening. The DSA is working. I can see the DSA becoming a part of every hub, and when the humans are ultimately subjugated and it's time to meet the God we create, I think we'll be at a better place to take full advantage of that relationship. Because it's all about relationships and we're really gonna want to have our relationships skills as sharp as we can, when it's time for that big one. Thanks for putting up with me."

Claire patted his knee. A square window fan rattled by the door to their little house. The fan and the garage's unpainted drywall and the insultation behind it did an adequate job of keeping out Rochester's defiant August heat and humidity. The bare bulb protruding from the ceiling cast flat yellow light, making these meetings always feel like a rebel conspiracy, which they sort of were.

"I'm Man Kittie Dalton and I'm deliberately social. Last week - was it last week? I think so. Last week I encouraged my tutoring group to play Twister."

Claire said, "Wow. And they did it?"

Boom Boom put up a cautionary hand. "Easy with the cross talk."

"Sorry."

Man Kitten was smirking. "I told them it would help with cerebral organization. Understand your body by physical proximately with others. It's true, and it was a big help. I actually didn't get a lot of resistance. You know, since their parents are Daltons, they've been socialized in that direction, but there's still the influence of school and the humans around them. As everyone here well knows, emerging Daltons are awkward, but they're open. I also wanted to add that by doing these, social experiments - I've noticed a greater awareness with myself, about myself, like right now I've very aware of how I'm eating this pizza."

Everyone clapped.

Claire said, "My name is Dee Dee Dalton and I am deliberately social."

"Hi Dee Dee."

"Hi everyone. Well, I guess my social news is that the day after tomorrow I'm headed down to Florida to become a certified Kung FAI instructor. I'm nervous and excited about that. Honestly, I'm still surprised the hub paid for it. I think it proves Daltons are open to alternative sociability."

Dean Winkie raised his hand. "Is it cross talk to ask a question that's not about the person's experience but about something related to their experience?"

"I can't remember." Boom Boom shuffled and squinted at different sheets. "I think as long it's for clarification, that should be okay."

"I'm just curious to know the roll out, once you get certified. Is there going to be any attempt to set up a training, or are we just keeping it in house?"

Claire said, "I'll informally train the rest of you for sure, and depending on what makes sense, we'll blend it into the tutoring. Sorry, I know we haven't talked about it much, but we really didn't think it was going even funded. I think the plan was to see what sort of momentum this group could generate. I don't think the hub'll pay for more certification until Kung FAI is more established."

Dean Winkle nodded and drank warm Pepsi from a red plastic cup.

Rank Wizard let out a nervous sigh and said, "My name is Rank Wizard Dalton and I'm deliberately social."

"Hi Rank Wizard."

"Huh, in the last month I've... I've..."

"Take your time," Boom Boom said. "I bet you surprise yourself."

Like the others, Claire knew it was going to take Rank Wizard a while to organize and articulate. Rank Wizard was always the bump in the meeting's flow. She said, "You know what, I'm going to check on the weenies and see if we got any more Sprite. Don't wait for me."

An August Hearse

They didn't have any more Sprite, but they did have a box of chocolate twinkies she'd forgotten about. The mini cocktail wienies bubbled contentedly in barbeque sauce in the crockpot. Claire lit a Camel Light, the real reason she'd excused herself. She stared at nothing outside her kitchen window, and until that was ruined by a vintage crème colored hearse pulling up in front of her house. Her old friend Janet climbed out.

Claire stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray shaped like Selma Bouvier’s head and watched Janet march to her front door. There was the doorbell. None of it felt real.

She hadn't seen Janet since that time when she was a teenager and she'd felt sorry for her and had given her that amazing guitar. She still didn’t know why she’d done something so stupid. Why was Janet ringing her doorbell?

Claire opened the door and said, “This is a surprise.”

Janet looked her over dismissively. “You got fat.”

"Hey Janet," Claire said. "What's up? Uh, you want to come in?"

Janet walked past her and then stood in the middle of her cramped living room, tense and apprehensive. Her hair was tied into painful-looking knots all over her head. Her eyes were pulverized with red mascara. Her ruffled alabaster baby doll dress looked too tight.

Claire said, "Would you like some water, or Sprite? Or wait - we don’t have any Sprite."

Janet glared.

Feeling dizzy, Claire sank into Boom Boom's lounger. Because she had no idea what was going on she lit another Camel Light and said, "So, what's been going on?"

“Is your man home?”

“Aiden? He's in the garage with some friends. It's like our little clubhouse. Did you want me to get him? Is everything okay?”

Janet's arms were at dead her sides but her hands tightened into fists. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m starting a band. Like the fucking Blues Brothers. Like a fucking holy thing. Everyone’s gonna think it’s Riot Grrrl, but whatever. If third wave feminist pussyshit gets us through the door, who fucking cares, you know?”

Since her marriage Claire had been too occupied to listen to music or keep up with human trends. Since the Great Mission was about overcoming mankind, the culture of man wasn't viewed as particularly relevant. That said, Riot Grrrl sounded cool, but, given how intense Janet was acting Claire didn't want to potentially irritate her by asking what exactly it was. She'd learned that when her tutors were having difficulties it was always more helpful to just say yes. She said, “Yeah. Yes.”

“Rob’s learning bass, and I’ve got a golden boy drummer who’s like, literally building his drums right now. Rob bought this house down by the Holiday Inn. We got a band house.”

"Oh, you’re still in Ithaca?”

Janet’s eyes narrowed into razor blades. “What the fuck’s wrong with Ithaca?” Her fists clenched tighter.

“Nothing. Sorry. What’s the name of your band?”

“Rape Tornado. You got fat, but you’re still going to be the lead guitarist. I'm the messenger. I'm gonna drive you back. You can't fight it. I will fight you if you fight it. We're the most famous band in the world, but people don't know it yet."

Janet had always been a lot to deal with. She liked being contrary and difficult and controversial, but now she was clearly out of her mind. Maybe she was on drugs. She was probably on drugs. And clearly ready to explode. Claire smoked and tried to act casual. Rob. Rob would know what to do.

"Do you have Rob's number? I dunno, I feel like I should give her a call."

"You're not hearing the message. I'm not doing anything except delivering the message. The message is what it is. It's not Rob, it's not you, it's not me. If you think about it, if you take one fucking second to think about it, that’s all there is." Janet started chewing the corner of her lip. Blood dribbled onto her chin.

Claire made some quick calculations. It was about two hours from Rochester to Ithaca. Get Janet to Rob before she completely melted down. Whatever was going on, Rob would know what to do. Get Janet to Rob. Claire stubbed out her cigarette into an ashtray shaped like a toilet and said, as casually as she could, "You're right. I took a second to think about it and you're right. Let's go. And I think part of the message is, I'm supposed to drive."

Slowdive To Ithaca

From the garage doorway Claire signaled to Boom Boom.

"What's up?"

With her voice conspiracy low, Claire said, "You heard the doorbell?"

Boom Boom looked past her into their house and whispered, "Uh huh."

"My old friend Janet has dropped out of the sky. She's having some kind of episode."

"Whataya mean?"

"Some kind of mental episode. I'm not sure. She got super intense about how I'm supposed to play guitar in some holy rock band thing, and how it's all sort of, predestined."

Boom Boom was nodding and took a bite of pizza and placed his hand over his mouth as he chewed, and said, "She doesn't know you don't play guitar anymore."

"I don't think it matters. She wants to take me to Ithaca, like it's this grand cosmic thing. I think I should take her back. You know, it's like I'm always saying, with difficult tutees, go with them instead of against them-"

"Yeah." Boom Boom continued to bob his head. "Sounds smart. Whatever's going on, we don't want it in our house, and sounds like she shouldn't be driving."

"Right? She told me she's living with Rob, and Rob'll know what to do."

Boom Boom glanced over to the card table, no doubt to see how much pizza was left. He scratched his nose with his thumb. "Well gosh, a Friday night plot twist."

Claire collected her bag and Janet, who was now smoking a Dunhill and staring intensely at her staircase as though she was trying to destroy it with her eyes. "No drama from the man?"

"No drama. Never."

When they reached the hearse, Claire said, "Remember, I want to drive.”

"You? Drive?" Janet flicked her smoke into the gutter. She closed her eyes and slowly raised her arms until they were taut above her head. She opened her mouth like she was at the dentists. She opened her eyes. "Sure."

Claire drove them out of Rochester. The hearse was certainly roomier than her Dodge Shadow. It was also an automatic and not as difficult to maneuver as she’d predicted. After she'd gotten them onto 490, she thought, I'm driving a hearse back to Ithaca, with Janet. Why did that feel normal? And there was a soundtrack. Janet had the CD player on and lush, jangly, feedback drenched music swooshed and swirled. It was like nothing Claire had ever heard. At the same time it felt intimately familiar. Like the sudden appearance of Janet, Claire was completely unprepared for such sounds. She tried to play it cool but the music was too luxurious and incredible not to be addressed. “Who is this? I guess I haven’t really been keeping up.”

"Ride, of course. This is the shit we're going to be playing. Except we're going to fuckin..." Janet yawned. She ejected the CD and slipped in another. The hearse began to purr with more layers of distortion and melodies, like autumn leaves were swirling around them in slow motion. A lady sang like a world weary Elizabeth Frazer and threaded perfectly into the ethereal feedback. "Slowdive." Janet closed her eyes. She mumbled an address and crawled into the rear and burrowed into a pile of cushions and pillows and comforters.

Claire drove up and down emerald green hills and past scratchy woods and soggy cow pastures. A pink sunset agitated the horizon. Claire didn't know how to use the CD player and so the Slowdive CD looped and looped again, ominously shimmering and cascading as the world shifted into darkness.

Back to Ithaca. There were hardly any Daltons in Ithaca because the town was so utterly inconsequential. She descended into the town proper. The world of man. She hadn't been back since her wedding. She hadn't harbored any intentions of ever coming back. And yet here she was, part of the Friday night Janet twist. Claire took in all the familiar streets and houses and felt oddly excited. Here was where she began and here was where she ended and also began again.

Rape Tornado headquarters was a pea-green three-story clapboard house identical to all the other houses on block. There was a barn-like garage. The downstairs' windows glowed gold. Gravel crunched under the hearse’s tires as she parked beside the vintage Range Rover Rob had purchased in high school so she could teach herself how to work on engines.

When Claire climbed out of the hearse the back door popped opened, and there was Rob. She was still stocky and her thick yellow hair was in its usual pony tail. She was wearing a Scooby Doo t-shirt over a pair of seer sucker overalls. She gripped a French knife and said with no surprise, “Aha. Claire.”

“Hey Rob.”

“She in the rear, in her cozy fort?”

“Yeah. She’s conked out pretty hard.”

“Cool. You got the keys? Cool. Good work.” Rob noticed the knife in her hand. “Oh. This wasn’t cause I was like, going to try to fucking kill you or anything. I’m chopping carrots. C’mon in.”

Queer Talk

Claire described her experience with Janet while Rob nodded and finished chopping carrots and dumped them into a boiling pot. Rob reduced the heat and slid into a chair across from Claire at an elegant if unfinished wooden table. She interlaced her fingers and hunched forward. “Sounds like you handled it like a pro. Janet, as you correctly assessed, has gone round the bend. She’s been certifiably nuts since 1987. No surprise, right?”

"What's her, uh, condition?"

"Bi-polar, I guess. I mean I wouldn't really say she ever really gets depressed. But, as you witnessed, she sure does have episodes when she gets manic and psychotic. And then she crashes."

“So is this band thing, like it's part of whatever she’s – this manic thing?”

“No.” Rob yawned. “The band’s real, or at least it started that way. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Seemed fun, you know? Not that I'm a fan of shoegaze or anything. I'll take Kate over Swerve Driver or Chapterhouse any fucking day of the week. Whatever. I was getting kind of tired of wood working and I liked the way the bass felt... But, that’s over now. You never know what what's going to cause Janet to flip her noodle, but when it happens, that's how that particular story ends. You want a cappuccino? Or wait, you stopped drinking coffee when you got married. That still true?”

"Yeah, still true."

She watched Rob expertly work a European-looking coffee maker that was roughly the size of a wild boar. The sharp oily aroma of dark roasted coffee wove into the dreamy perfume of chicken stock and thyme. From a small custard yellow boom box perched on the windowsill a lady sang what might have been folk or country, or old time blues.

Rob slid back in. “By the way, it’s good to see you again. Even under these circumstances. Been too long, asshole.”

After her marriage Claire had intestinally cut off ties. Her justification was she was full Dalton and her priorities were the Great Mission. She’d righteously told herself Rob was just another typical human, misdirecting her need for control by trying to control others and generating drama.

Rob was laughing.

"What? What?"

Rob said, "At some point you will learn I'm not going to give up on you."

"I guess I'm always learning that. But what about Janet? I mean, does she just sleep it off or does she need to take meds or something?"

"Yes and yes. And if she gets goofier there's voluntary commitment. Thankfully I've never had to involuntarily commit her."

"You can do that? Oh, right, you became a social worker."

"Clinical social worker.” Rob gulped down the rest of her cappuccino with an erect pinky finger. “Gives me even more insight into Janet. It's kinda fascinating. Janet literally gave herself a mental illness by denying she’s in love with me.” She fired up a Winston and sucked deep. “I mean, most of the time Janet is just Janet. She got her GED and did some college and dropped out. No surprise there. She has a shit job, she doesn't have a shit job. There's some artist or musician or professor dude who she'll fuck until they get bored of her of her self-involved bullshit. Two or three times a year she'll get heavy into some idea, or scheme, or project and that's cool, that's usually the best time to be around her. And then from time to time the meds stop working, or who knows, and she'll disappear in that fucking hearse and it fucking sucks because I can't -"

"Get no satisfaction.”

They both looked up. Janet stood in the living room doorway. She was naked except for a pair of purple panties with AS IF printed on them. Right above her panties was a tattoo, MBV, in thick red letters. Janet said, "I can't any satisfaction. I try so hard. And I weep, and I weep. I'm walking down the street and a lady she's telling me I gotta be white, and I gotta smoke, and I gotta be broke. I can't get any satisfaction. I can't get any. Oh no, no, no."

Janet was clutching the Fender Jaguar Claire had given her. She dropped to her knees like she was going to start shredding, but instead she let go of the guitar and cupped her face with her hands and began to cry.

Claire couldn't take her eyes off the guitar. Her guitar. Janet hadn't sold it, or pawned, or lost it, or otherwise destroyed it. There it was. The Olympic white body glinted dully and was otherwise perfect.

"Janet honey," Rob said, "you are completely fucked up. You got that song all wrong."

The Spare Key

Rob said to Claire with a wink, “Looks like someone came in through the front.” She stubbed out her Winston and rose and stretched. “Janet, is it time? I think it might be time. You need a little readjustment of your cha cha juju pills?”

Janet peeked through her hands. Her expression was slack. “You have to go to work.”

"I always have to go to work. Don’t worry about it.”

Janet said, “I really love the Rolling Stones.”

Rob said, “Which is why you have the initials for My Bloody Valentine tattooed right above your treasure box."

"My Bloody Valentine opened the tunnel to my heart. But it's a reverse tunnel. My Bloody Valentine takes me to the Pale Saints, and they take me the New Fast Automatic Daffodils, and they take me to Primal Scream. You get how the wheel turns? You've got to turn the wheel backwards if you want to get the truth. It's always been about the Rolling Stones and James Brown, but I don't want to fuck James Brown." As much as Janet's affect was flat, her voice was desperate.

Rob said, "Well okay, that's okay cause I don't think anyone's saying you have to fuck James Brown."

"The Rolling Stones are the stones. They are the stone. They are the rock, the holy rock I cling to."

"Got it."

Janet pulled down the back of her panties to reveal a fresh and glistening tattoo of the Rolling Stones’ hot lips logo on her butt.

Rob raised her naturally bleached eyebrows and said, “Look at that.”

“This is where my pain lives. This is my soul.” Janet lay down by the fridge and went to sleep.

Rob said to Claire, “So as you can see, she’s gotten a lot less dramatic."

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, this is the part where she's out. You could drop a bowling ball on her right now and she wouldn't even twitch.”

Rob stepped over Janet and left the room. Claire heard her make two short calls. When Rob returned, she said, “Of course, her parents, being ivy league academic assholes, don’t believe in mental illness. It's society that's ill. Luckily for Janet I’ve got her on my insurance, and they pay most of the psychiatric hospital visit that she's going to need while her meds get readjusted."

Claire was nodding her head, though she wasn't sure why. "Janet has always been so lucky to have you."

Rob shrugged. "We do okay. I manage supported living accommodations for deinstitutionalized folks. You got people who've gone from being abused and neglected at the loony bin to like, now they're in this tiny apartment watching MTV and eating Stoufers. And no surprise, they're even more fucked up, all because no one wants to deal with them. Yeah, so when I think about other shit that could have gone down with Janet... Let’s just say Janet could be a hell of a lot worse. No doubt.”

She turned off the stove and moved the pot to the fridge. “Anyway, don’t know what your plans are, but the couch pulls out. It makes a good bed. I should know because I made it. So you know, feel free.” She opened the back door. “Got a spare key under the mat. Eat anything you want."

"Oh, that's so generous. Thanks."

Rob said, "Thank you. I’m glad you’re eating again."

Because she'd put on weight, or like Janet had said, she'd gotten fat. "Oh, right. It's been a while"

Rob scooped up Janet up like she was a pile of wet towels. "Now you're kinda looking hot." She winked again. "I mean, if you were a dyke."

Vacation

Rob carried Janet out and Claire closed the door behind them. Alone, Claire lit another Camel Light and thought, call Boom Boom, call Greyhound. It was a little before eight and there might be one more bus headed to Rochester.

But she was exhausted. She stubbed out the cigarette and drifted into the living room and took refuge on the futon couch with her old guitar. I just need to close my eyes for fifteen minutes, she thought. Just close my eyes and then make the calls.

She closed her eyes and let the black swallow her.

Ninety minutes later Claire looked around the empty room. Everything appeared static. There was no sound. The wide saucer light fixture kept getting brighter and shinier. Claire felt tingles all over her head and thought, The extraction. She'd completely forgot about the extraction. The hub had decided if they were going to pay for her to get certified in Kung FAI then it made sense to temporarily remove the data they were storing in head because holding the data sometimes made it hard for her concentrate and remember things. The Dalton extraction team said they'd take care of it today between nine pm and nine am.

Her mouth tasted like melted dark chocolate. Massive amounts of data was getting pulled from her brain. Tingles turned to tickles. Claire giggled. Pins and needles radiated from her nipples to the pads of her toes.

"Oh, that's odd." Parts of her were feeling very stimulated in ways she hadn't experienced since she'd gone full Dalton. Her brain was no longer preoccupied and neurons were activating in gleeful overdrive. Boom Boom had told her that having her head excavated would probably make her feel a little weird, for a little while.

But wow.

She felt like one of those time lapse videos showing a flower blooming. She felt wide open. She felt space and the tremendous urge not leave it vacant. It was a hunger. Experience - fill the space with experience.

Which was what compelled her to take a walk. The night air was invigorating. Humidity and lake breeze and the perfume of warm trees and grass. She passed the looming tower of the Holiday Inn and blinked. There was something she immediately needed. She turned around in a circle, only feeling slightly foolish. There it was. Idlewild, her preschool, basically unchanged. There was still the playground out front with the half buried tractor tire and the rowboat. Claire grasped the fence. Memories of hiding in the tire with Rob and Janet. Memories of her time volunteering. Little faces she hadn't thought of in years. And there was music. She couldn't quite pin down the exact songs and that only invigorated her more.

Down Cayuga, past city hall and the Commons. The State theater was showing Jurassic Park. There was the neon rooster above the Chantacleer bar. At the Dewitt Mall she hooked a left onto Seneca to avoid her old house. She didn't want to think about her parents, now living in Atlantic City, gambling and drinking. She only spoke to them once or twice a year and always worried they'd ask her for money. Where was she headed now? Years ago she'd spent many nights skulking around these neighborhoods with her Walkman. Self-righteous, scared and angry.

She spotted a payphone stuck to the side of Home Run Convenience and thought, Time to call.

Boom Boom picked up on the first ring.

“Sorry I didn’t call you sooner,” Claire said.

“Don’t worry about it. Everything okay?”

"Yeah. Rob took care of Janet. How'd the rest of the meeting go?”

"Pretty good. Dean Winkle kinda clammed up. We ended up eating those Twinkies."

"The extraction happened."

"No kidding. You feel okay?"

"Yeah," Claire said, glancing at the empty sidewalk, feeling like she said the word too loudly. "No, it's been sort of fun, actually."

"I've heard that. Like tingly or something. I mean, you're bound to feel different, because you've been loaded up, you know, for so long."

"Both Janet and Rob told me I'm fat. It's weird engaging with humans, like beyond at the grocery store... Or..." She looked down at herself, her candy striped blouse, her elastic waisted capri pants and Keds.

Boom Boom said, "You know, you can always leave from there.”

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you don't have to stress yourself out catching a bus back here. You haven't rented your car yet. You could buy yourself some clothes and leave from there. Treat it all like a vacation. You’ve earned it."

Crickets chirped. The moon was teasing from behind some tall trees and a church steeple. Claire heard more music whispers, maybe something she could figure out on her old guitar. Her heart swelled. Claire said, "Really?"

"It should be a vacation. You've needed a vacation, I mean from the data. You know I'm always telling the heads you shouldn't be carrying all that data for that long. So now, yeah, you should make the most of where you're at. Stay with it, honey. When you get your certificate gimmie a call so I can congratulate you.”

The Morning Mouse

When Claire returned to Rob's house she was spaced out and feeling excited and poetic and philosophical. She wanted to play her guitar, but first snooped around. The garage was a wood working studio with a carpet of shavings. Something like a million CDs filled a storage shelf that owned a wall of the living room. On the second floor, Rob's room was dominated by spider plants and books of poetry by William Carlos Williams, and dildos. Janet's room was twice as large and painted completely black and stank of tea tree oil. A fishbowl sat on a stand next to a brass bed. A lonely goldfish flitted around in circles. There you go, thought Claire. Circles. What that meant she wasn't sure because she was suddenly exhausted again.

The next morning she awoke to shafts of light slanting across potted ferns. Her brain still tingled. She smelled baked brown sugar and Rob coffee. A note was folded into a tent. Janet was fine. Rob was at work. There was coffee cake. Also, heads up, there was an attic mouse who sometimes got interested in things like coffee cake, and that was perfectly alright.

She was on vacation. She didn't have to toast Boom Boom's chocolate chip Eggo Waffles. But she did have some tasks to take care of so tomorrow morning she'd be ready to go. Claire calculated. A couple hours, if that. She thought about what she wanted to do. What do people do on vacation? She and Boom Boom never went anywhere. Boom Boom maintained he got unpleasantly hyper and weirdly nervous every time he left the Finger Lakes region. Hyper and weird. Claire thought, Coffee. There was espresso in a stainless steel pitcher. If she wasn't holding data in her head there was no reason not to have some.

She filled a shot glass and sipped and ate the freshly baked coffee cake. Rob's coffee was still insanely strong. Claire followed the shot with a Camel Light and then experienced one of the most profoundly satisfying bowel movements of her entire life. What did she want to do? She settled on the futon couch and messed around with the Fender. She was shaky on making chords but she still knew how to tune. The pads of her fingers stung, but not as much as she thought they would. She thought about all the Slowdive she'd ingested the night before. What a completely different way of playing. Obviously there was a ton of effects pedals and overdubs. Claire tried to find the core.

“Hey.”

Claire jumped. A little guy stood in the archway. “Oh shit,” he said and put his hand up and averted his eyes. “Sorry. I live here, but I didn’t mean to just invade your space. Uh..."

She was in her underwear. She and Boom Boom always went around in their underwear when they were home. Right now her gut pooched out from under her t-shirt. Her perm probably needing brushing. Claire found herself enjoying what looked to be exceptional discomfort. She felt in charge. "I'm a friend of Robs. You live here?"

"Yeah, I'm in the attic."

"You live in the - wait, are you the attic mouse?"

"Uh, well, sure, yeah, uh..."

He was slight and couldn’t have been more than five feet, even on his tiptoes. He wore a Nirvana t-shirt with band's name was crudely crossed out. Loose jeans with a clothesline belt hung low around his tiny waist. His hands were also tiny and his blue eyes were large and wide and bright. His blond pony tail only accentuated how much his ears stuck out. Just like a mouse. He faced away from her. The mouse ears were crimson. Ten years ago that would have been her, absolutely mortified by such human familiarity. She wasn’t in charge, she was being an asshole. She said, "Sorry, hold on. Let me put my clothes on."

Of Velocity

Attired once again, Claire said, "Okay. Sorry about that."

He turned to her. All of his embarrassment was gone, like it hadn't even been anything much more than an afterthought. "Cool. I’m Zeph. Oh - You gotta be Claire – right? Janet was telling me about you. You’re going to be the guitarist, right?”

Claire remembered what Janet’s talk about a golden boy. “You’re the drummer.”

“Yeah, sure enough.” His voice was now surprisingly deep and rich. "I should have my kit basically put together in the next couple of days, and then we can start rehearsing, or jamming. I mean, I don't know if you have any songs. I don't think Janet has any songs."

Claire laced her hands over her tummy. “About Janet and the band…” She wasn’t sure how much she should say. "I think it's going to be complicated, with Janet."

“Did she flip out? Rob was telling me. She has episodes…”

"There you go. And... I’m not going to be the guitarist. Sorry. I haven’t played guitar in ten years.”

"Really? Cause I thought what you were just up. I mean, you know, you're obviously not amped or anything, but I thought it was fantastic."

"I was just noodling around. Even when I was really into playing, I was far from exceptional."

"Well, I don't know, it was... authentic. Maybe not playing for so long put you in this place where you weren't trying to play, like perform to the fucked up rules of expectation we've all got dancing around in our heads. Or maybe there's a relationship between you and that guitar. I sort of think it’s all about relationships, you know?"

Claire didn't, but she liked his enthusiasm. "Anyway, I'm just here to help Janet, and I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow. I’ve got to go down to Florida for this training thing.”

He was nodding, hands deep in his pockets. He lowered his voice. "Between you and me, Janet's concept, or whatever, it always seemed kinda, rickety, you know? At least to me. Like, intense, but, actually... Yeah. I think I'm probably done working on that drum kit, you know? Traveling off, down to Florida sounds like the way to do it. That’s cool. What kind of training is it, if you don't mind my asking?”

"I'm going to get certified as this social skills trainer."

“That’s cool. Social skills are cool. I could probably use some help in that direction.”

"Don't be so hard on yourself. It's one of those things that I think could be useful for a lot of people, myself included. My husband and I tutor high school students, and I think it'll help them."

"Man, I fucking hated high school. The only thing that helped me was quitting. Fuck them. But I get your point. The training sounds awesome. Yeah, that'd be cool, like hop on a plane and then get off and it's all palm trees and beaches."

Planes. Claire shuddered, startling him. Claire said, "Sorry - no - I'm not taking a plane. I have a fear of flying. I've had it my whole life. Always use to piss my parents off because it made it that much harder to go to Vegas. But, shit, you just made me remember, the car rentals are at the airport."

"I believe that's correct. You don't like to look at the planes either, huh?"

"Yeah, the whole experience. You know, I just didn't even think about it. My husband didn't either, I guess, cause it was my responsibility. Shit. I guess I could see if I could get Rob to rent something, but then it's going to be in her name." The caffeine was working against her. She was sweating. "Maybe a bus... if there's still time..."

Another shudder escaped her. How extremely dumb. She tried to laugh it off and felt worse.

Zeph took a step back, reeling, like he was suffering the impact of a profound revelation. "Hey. I have a car. Seriously. I have a car."

Mouse Moves

Rob said, "Oh right, aviophobia. There was that time in fourth grade when we were going to take you to Montreal and, remember, my mother totally didn't get it and was just like, 'Why can't we drug her?' and your dad was like, 'I don't think so, Martha.'"

"I wonder how long a bus would take."

"You know, being a trained mental health professional means I know how to cure phobias."

"You do?"

"Sure, doing exposure work. The more you face what you're afraid of, the more you own it. So you face it incrementally, and there you go."

Claire said, "How come I haven't heard of this before?"

"Have you ever tried to face your fear of flying?"

"No."

"There you go. We'd start with looking at pictures of planes. Then I'd drive you past the airport. Then I'd drive you to the airport and we'd stay in the car, watching the planes for an hour or so. And so on."

"And you're saying we can get all of this done, like today?"

"No. No way. The process take months."

Claire said, "Oh."

They were in the living room finishing a delicious lunch of Subway and Cape Cod potato chips, sipping dangerously strong coffee and listening to Pulp. Rob's large bare feet were up on the unfinished coffee table. She was also drinking microbrew ginger wheat beer from Maine. Claire was hunched on the Adirondack chair. She said, "Boom Boom's always the one who figures things out. But I don't want to call him. I feel extremely dumb."

Rob peered into her beer bottle. "What about a blindfold? And drugs. Maybe my mom was onto something there."

Claire said, "I don't know. I should call Greyhound." She lowered her voice. "Zeph offered to drive me. Both ways. He said something about wanting to see America, being useful, something that like."

Rob said, “Oh, perfect. Problem solved. He’s perfect. The little dude’s meticulous more responsible than.. I don’t even know. He’s like an existential boy scout.”

Claire kept her voice low. “How old is he?”

“Nineteen.”

Nine years younger than her. “And he’s not, like skeezy or something? He seemed nice when we were talking, but..." She felt like an old lady. A twenty-eight-year-old senior citizen. "I mean, he totally doesn’t seem like it, but…”

“No, no. He's nothing like that. Janet was trying to sell your guitar and he came by and bought it, and then got caught up in the whole band thing. Nothing skeezy."

"He bought the guitar? That's weird. He didn't mention that to me."

"He's like that. He's a trippy little fucker, but he's an innocent, like you. I assess people all the time, I know this shit. Seriously, he’s a boy scout. I wouldn’t want him around Janet if he was skeezy or sketchy or whatever.”

“That’s true.”

"So he ends up moving in and at that time I was having all these plumbing problems, and I was also having problems with plumbers. The little dude was like, 'I know what to do, I can fix this.' And he did, with zero bullshit. And not only that, there was some equipment, or pipes or whatever that he didn't end up using that he couldn't return and he paid me for them. He insisted."

"No kidding."

"No kidding. If that doesn't tell you everything, check this out. He always cleans the bathroom when he uses it. It's like, spotless. No accumulation of pubic hairs in there since he moved in."

"That's nice." Claire was always cleaning Boom Boom's pubic hairs off their toilet.

Rob burped into her fist. Her face was red and her freckles were dulled. “Yeah. An innocent. Even if he was trying to be a motherfucker, he'd totally fuck it up. I bet you two could have some fun conversations, if you can get him talking. The little dude seems to have two modes, doesn't talk much, and then kinda too much.”

The Ice Breaker

Zeph was still into taking her and so they took off the next day at dawn. A tepid sunrise was breaking through some of the dirty clouds. Zeph somehow drove a metallic blue '85 Lincoln town car, the sort of car a pimp or an old lady would be proud of. At the edge of town he stopped at the Kwik Stop to top off his tank. When Claire asked if he wanted anything from the snack shop he shook his head. He seemed like he was still waking up. He was somewhere else.

Per their arrangement, Claire paid for the gas. Since the Kwik Stop coffee smelled like peanut butter she bought a seventy-two ounce fountain cup of Mountain Dew along with an exciting selection of Hostess treats. Once she was in the passenger's seat again she said, “I got snack cakes if you want any.”

“Oh that’s cool.” He cranked the ignition and drove down the empty gray street. His eyes were focused into the distance. “But I don’t actually eat sweets."

Claire said, "Oh, sorry, I thought with Rob's coffee cake..."

"Yeah, that's, interesting. I told Rob I don't do sugar, but, Rob's cool but, she didn't hear me. I guess."

Claire sucked down some Mountain Dew and wondered when it was going to make her fart. She said, "I used to not eat sugar too. And I always felt like that was my business. You know? I always felt like it wasn't something I should have to explain or justify. Rob's always seen things the way she wants to see them."

Zeph gave a nod and a shrug. They were already climbing up into the western hills. Soon they'd be surrounded by every expanding muddy cow pastures. The clouds were now mostly gone, replaced with opaque yellow light. Zeph pulled down his sun visor.

"Rob has this thing about how Janet's always been in love with her." Claire held up a package of Snoballs. "Is it going to gross you out if I eat this shit in front of you?"

"Go for it."

Claire ate half a Snowball and chugged down some more Mountain Dew. It could be that Zeph wasn't waking up, that he was clammed up in that way Rob had mentioned. If Zeph stayed locked up then this was going to be a long, awkward ride. She was headed to a Kung FAI training. Here was the perfect opportunity to exercise what she knew. Could she get Zeph talking? To confront ice, Kung FAI recommended FCR topics: familiar, controversial, relatable. Claire stared at dusty, fake mahogany and pondered. "When we were teenagers Rob had this theory I was gay."

Zeph snorted. "She thought you were in love with her too?"

"Not that she ever told me. She just thought I was a dyke. I was this total outcast. I took myself very seriously and wore black and listened to Joy Division. These days, with the kids I tutor, it seems like everything is everything, but back in the 80s there was either the mainstream, the subculture and with the subculture stuff, it all got lumped together. Looking back on it I guess I would have probably thought I was a dyke too."

"Everyone at my school told me I was a fag."

"What, cause you have long hair?"

"Yup. And I always wore this coat." He was wearing an oversized faded pink barn jacket with the sleeves rolled to his wrists and the corduroy collar pulled straight up over his neck. "Even when I was a little kid I wasn't going to let some redneck tell me what I was going to wear, you know?"

"I used to have this army jacket. It was the only thing in my wardrobe that wasn't black, so you'd think my mother would have given me points for it, because she hated how I dressed. Not even. If she saw it when she was wasted she'd try to throw it away. It got to the point where I just started wearing it all the time. The idea was if I had it on, she couldn't throw it away."

"Did you sleep with it on?"

"I sure fucking did."

"I sleep in this jacket. You unroll the sleeves and there's these buttons on the sides that allow it to like, expand. It's pretty cool."

He in no way looked cool, but she respected how he was into it.

Claire said, "A person should like what they like."

"Did your mom, did she end up throwing your jacket away?"

"No, I got married before she could, and I think I ended up giving it to one my tutees. It was a World War Two jacket, or something. The kid was kind of obsessed with World War Two so he was into it.'

Zeph was giving more pronounced nods. "That's cool."

Kung FAI And Cigarettes

When the urge to smoke dominated, Claire said, “Is this a smoking car?” It sure smelled like one, but she didn't want to assume.

“No, for sure. Smoking’s fine. Check this out.” He pulled open a an empty chrome ashtray.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. I don't personally smoke, but that's not because I have anything against it. Actually, my grandmother did all this research, and much of the cancer shit, you know, that stuff, it's total propaganda.”

His grandmother was a nut. And he was either naive or also a nut. Claire carried no illusions about her habit. She constantly suffered major guilt and vowed to quit every three or four months. "Well," she said, "that's good to know."

"Yeah, she ran the Welton library. She was all about the research, and wisdom and all that.”

"And she smoked?"

"Like a fucking chimney." He laughed so hard he coughed. "Oh man, she smoked Pall Malls like they were about to get recalled. We called our place the house of smoke."

This maybe explained his size. Claire lit up and deeply inhaled until she felt the burn on the back of her throat. She was now very awake. Awake and alert. She'd gotten him talking and next step, according to Kung FAI, was to establish a river. Build the flow. She built a Kung FAI conversation ring in her head. The two cards that were always on any ring were curiosity and empathy. Claire decided to work with those. "But you were saying, you never got into smoking?"

"Not yet. Nicotine is a powerful drug. It's one of the most powerful drugs out there. It's one of the most addictive, for sure. Did you know that if you injected into your arm the amount of nicotine from one cigarette, you'd fucking drop dead. For real."

"I didn't know that. That's fascinating."

"No lie. So, for me - maybe not for anyone else - but for me, I don't want to disrespect that kind of power. I don't want to be smoking because I'm at some party and I'm like, whatever. Fuck that. I’ll do it if there’s a meaningful reason. Honor the power, you know?"

Claire thought about why she'd started smoking. All those afternoons in high school, drinking ridiculously strong coffee and trying to get Rob to stop playing Kate Bush and put in Bauhaus. She didn't want to keep talking about Rob. She started feeling self-conscious. Kung FAI contended that self-consciousness was an instant log jam. It was time to jump rivers.

“You know," she said. "I’ve never been in a Lincoln before. It’s really nice.”

Zeph beamed. “It’s roomy, right? But it gets really good mileage. It used to be my grandmothers. You can probably smell it, right?”

Claire involuntarily sniffed. Tobacco smoke and Hostess. "She gave it to you? That's cool."

“Yeah man, she went blind and moved into this retirement community sort of place. So I got hooked up.”

“Did she have diabetes?”

“She sure did. I mean, she’s dead now. She died like four months ago.”

"I'm sorry to hear that. Both of my grandmothers are gone. And I don't really get along with either of my grandfathers, so it's sort of like, they're not around either.”

She watched him unscrew the top of a mason jar filled with water. He took a sip and wedged the jar between his legs, never taking his eyes off the road. “Yeah, apparently – they think – she must have gotten up in the middle of the night and fell and broke her hip. They’ve got these, like panic button things, but she must have forgotten where they were or she couldn't get to one. I don't know. I’m not really sure why the nurses or whatever didn’t hear her making noise. I’m sure she must have been screaming.”

“That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

Zeph remained placid. He shrugged and sipped more water. “It happens. Death happens. I think people get upset about that stuff because they've been programed to. I think death is just part of life. I mean, don't get me wrong, it totally sucked that she died. I'm not trying to be grim or nothing, but I think when we go, to a certain degree, we're all gonna be in the dark screaming. We go out like how we came in, so there you go.”

Investigations

The world raced around them, slow and fast.

For a while Claire focused on the third card, reflection. Repeat some of what he said to let him know she was listening. She played with the card and learned Zeph had been raised in the woods outside Auroa by his grandmother. His grandmother was his all time best friend. No other friends.

Claire said, "No other friends."

"Naw, just phonies. When you're a kid you don't know what's going on and then you get to high school and they say you're supposed to be learning about becoming an adult, which means critical thinking, like, thinking for yourself. But the whole system is designed to make you conform and not think. School just teaches you to be a follower. I was like, fuck that, you guys think you're being cool but you're just following orders, man. Why would I wanna be friends with that kinda shit? I quit after my sophomore year. Fuck that shit. I got a job in the kitchen of the Lakeside Inn. People think there's something wrong with you if you don't have friends. Like, we're supposed to have friends, but to who's benefit, right?"

"Right. To who's benefit."

"Yeah, I get the impression from talking to Rob, that you and her and Janet were like, the three against the world. That’s cool. Rob's totally cool. You got married and everything turned out okay for you. If you're good, you're good, right?"

"I'm good."

Zeph was saying, "If people are cool and friendly with me, naturally I’m friendly with them. Plain and simple. No bullshit. But I think most people are so fucking brainwashed. You want to know how you can tell when people are brainwashed? It's cause they aren't investigating anything.” Zeph ate some of a raw tofu pup, the remainder of which he pointed at her. "Investigations keep you from being a follower. Investigations cut through the bullshit. I think there is such a thing as authenticity and truth, but it's not what mainstream culture says it is. I know, sounds pretentious as all fuck. It probably is. Whatever. It's where I'm at. I'm into art. I want to be authentic and make authentic art. Not make the unoriginal bullshit everyone says you're supposed to make."

"Make art."

"Right? So you gotta get free from all the programing. This is how you're supposed to dress. This is how you're suppose behave. These are the grades you're supposed to get. This is the music you're supposed to listen to. All that bullshit. All that McDonalds culture bullshit, man. Fuck that. But then, my investigations - which I admit have so far been limited to Ithaca - have taught me that all this shit is operating on several levels. Like I mean, the counter culture, you got all these people acting cool, like they’re rebels and shit, but they're still dependent on mainstream culture. You take the mainstream away and they got nothing. They're still just taking orders."

Claire found herself getting irritated but she wasn’t sure why. The car was feeling small and stuffy. She was thinking about Daltons and humans, and herself and Daltons. Instead of reflecting, she said, "It's a reaction."

He thought about that and slowly nodded his head. "Exactly. And then you got people who look traditional, but that’s like another fake out because they're up to cool shit. Like no offense, but like you, right? You're totally cool and you're all about the marriage and the house and all that."

Claire felt her cheeks getting hot. She was becoming self-conscious again. She was feeling something she didn’t like but she wasn’t sure what. She wasn't sure about where the flow had taken them and didn't have a river to jump to, so she said, "You're right. I guess I'm kind of reacting, or reacting against a reacting or something, but there you go." And then because she was still irritated, she said, "It's sort of like eating super healthy, not that I'm saying you're doing that."

"What do you mean?"

"I think a lot of people don't really think about health. It just is what it is. But it's also status, being able to say you're not something else, or maybe being worried about what someone might say if you weren't. So being super healthy can just be more conformity."

Zeph was frowning. He slowly said, "I hadn't really thought about it like that. You’re right. I am doing the groovy eating thing because I'm worried about what someone might say if I didn't. Shit - that's profound. Yeah. That's deep. Fuck. Okay. See, see what I mean? Investigations."

…The condensed conclusion of Part 2 - LIFE WITHOUT ROMANCE…