He was a janitor at the office, a TNT (tago ng tago, the Filipino term used for hideaway illegal immigrants). Greg once worked at a cruise ship as a chef's assistant, seeing the world and what it had to offer -- especially their women. Then one day he watched the movie Titanic. He told Clark the movie changed his life. Dre would bust Greg's chops, telling him he was afraid the ship would hit an iceberg.
Now Greg had joined Dre, his roommates and Hannah in a small collective of people who knew what was up.
"I'm sorry, Clark," Greg said. "Sandra seemed like someone special, like true love."
"The kids died, too," Clark responded. "One of them was pinoy actually. Not that it matters, I don't know why I brought it up. Police reports said they were going 135 mph in a 40 mph zone. No drugs were involved. They were probably just partaking in normal teenage shit, you know, toying with the idea of immortality."
"If I were you I'd be so angry," Greg said. "I wouldn't make any excuse for those god damned motherfuckers."
"Of course I was mad. I was pissed. When the person you know with the strongest convictions, the purest belief in what it means to be someone who follows Jesus, someone who's focus was strictly doing what was good for everyone around them no matter how it affected them, who didn't treat faith like fanaticism but as an active desire to do the right thing. Well, when you know all that and the person dies with no rhyme or reason and for no purpose but the random whim of humanity, you're not just going to be mad at crazy drivers. You're going to be mad at everything."
"I'd grab my gat, Clark," Greg said. "I'd see them at the crossroads, nigga."
Clark laughed, Greg smiled.
"Thing is, man," Clark continued. "I met the kid's parents. They apologized to me and to Sandra's parents and his friend's parents. His name was AJ and he was going to NYU in the fall. He had a girlfriend. His death was just as tragic, just as random. You stop thinking about how someone was taken away from you, just you. You start thinking about how everyone lost something that day. Holding a grudge would've been the opposite of what Sandra would've wanted."
That sat silent in the car, staring at what was in front of them, an audience of gravestones. There was not a cloud in sight.
"It would've been such a nice day for a picnic," Clark said. "So you ready to meet Sandra?"
"Game on."
Standing in front of Sandra, the sound of cars quietly grumbled behind them. Greg turned around to the view of a procession.
"Do you ever think about your own funeral," Greg asked.
"Yeah, but when I do I try not to dwell on it."
I know what you mean, man. I always imagined dying like 2Pac or someone cool, I think. A death that is very important."
"Yeah, I think everyone doesn't want to die in vain, but wanting to die with purpose is the ultimate vanity. I mean we're not going to be there when people are mourning or not mourning."
"Uh huh," Greg responded. "I think I'd rather not die at all. Since that is not possible I imagine being immortal in some way. I'd rather forever be in someone's mind. Like the story of Adam and Eve. Adam is still alive because we know him. Everyone remembers Cain and Abel (pronouncing it A-bell) but no one remembers Adam's third child."
"I'd love to be their third child," Clark said. "If I believed they existed, of course. I'd love to hang out with my older brothers and I think I'd try to fix things before Cain killed Abel (pronouncing it A-bell out of politeness).
"You, ha," Greg answered. "I think I should leave you with Sandra. Get some alone time and stuff. I've never been to an American funeral. Maybe I will crash the party."
Without waiting for an answer, Greg gave Clark a hug and walked towards the procession which was two blocks away. Clark watched Greg leave, then sat indian style in front of Sandra's grave.
"Hey Sandra," he said. "That was Greg that I've been talking about. Gregario Lopez. Gregario like Gregario del H. Pilaar and Lopez like Juan Lopez, my fake dad. He was the guy I told you about, he watched Titanic and saw that scene were Leo Dicaprio sneaks into the rich section and is having dinner with Kathy Bates. He tells all those hoity-toity people in the bourgeouise table that he doesn't know what to expect but he wouldn't have it any other way. Crazy, Greg was inspired to do what he wanted in his heart because of that movie. Andre thinks he saw that boat hit that iceberg and didn't want to die like that.
"He likes to talk like a rapper sometimes but he's my hero. He snuck his way into America and lives with his aunt and uncle and cousins. You would love him. You'd be able to speak tagalog with him and talk about President Arroyo and ask him questions about how it is back there. I know he would love you too.
"We got super drunk last night last night so I'm a bit hungover."
He closed his eyes.
"Your parents were kind enough to to keep your cellphone in their plan so we can all hear your voice message still. I left you a message. I hope you got it. I stopped seeing my therapist, he wanted me on Paxil i think it was, but I'm not ready for that. I couldn't really tell him all that much because I just imagined him thinking about all those things he learned from school and diagnose me. Your therapist was probably better, Dr. Hutch. I haven't even told him that I miss you. I miss you and I'm moving on, I'm supposed to move on, but I can't even masturbate without feeling guilty. It's weird being in love with a dead person I feel like the biggest bitch alive. You'd probably say it's also safer for me to get stuck in something like this because I wouldn't have to move on.
"Right now I feel like this is the closest way I can be to God, talking to you. I wish I had found faith like you did and maybe I can just be a better person for the rest of my life and hopefully St. Peter will be very nice to me and let me see you again. I wish I can go to confession and say Hail Marys and just keep living. But I can't, belief for the sake of afterlife safety is not a concept I can grasp.
"I love you.
"Your parents are cool right now, I'm sure you've seen them. Your brother is cool too. He's coming here from San Deigo in Thanksgiving. He loved the Philippines, he said I should've went. He talked about going to this place where he walked in and saw a bunch of women in schoolgirl outfits and you can choose one to spend the night with. He was saying it was awesome.
"Oh before I forget, I should tell you Elden is finally proposing to Carly. He's still weirded out so he asked me if he should and I said 'hell yes' if that's what he wanted. We're going to be in Napa Valley this weekend. This weekend is the big day and I'm sure it won't be a stretch to that Carly will say yes.
"It was my birthday yesterday, I got work in a bit. I don't know why I did what I did last night. I came here like two weeks ago. I just wanted to share my birthday with you, but I should've went there earlier. I'm still adjusting, acclimating. I imagine this adjustment might even last til I'm 40 years old, going back home from your grave to an empty apartment and eating frozen dinners while watching a Real World marathon. I wonder where the Real World will be in 16 years, maybe Antarctica. And when I see a guy that's around 40 years old right now with that sort of loneliness stamped all over him, with that I-could've-face it makes me want to go up to them and tell them to wake up and that they can't waste their life. But when it comes to me, I'm finding so many excuses not to. For some reason, it's not even a remote consideration. And I have to change that.
"When people would say they'd fall apart if the other person would leave them, do you remember how we'd look at each other and roll our eyes? Kind of like how we understood how nice it was to feel that way but how it's not the entire truth because we used to emphasize how independent we were from each other while staying connected in a way that transcended words or urgent declarations. It felt like we were performing an experiment on the perfect relationship without ever really trying to. I mean, we both had our flaws and mistakes in that relationship but nothing we could talk out. We always found that balance between want and need and necessity and indulgences, we gave each other space but still made it known how important we were to each other.
"Well, I've allowed myself to fall apart without you. I can live without you, but I would never have chosen to, despite how indifferent I sometimes acted. Last night was the culmination of all of that. I'm sorry for this transgression. I owe it to myself and to you and my parents and everyone around me to keep living. I've still got something to lose, I'd like to thank you for helping me realize that."
Clark laughed to himself and watched a centipede being picked apart by a gaggle of fire ants. He thought about how he felt uncomfortable talking about himself to anyone. He even wanted to apologize to Sandra for just talking about himself. She would've told him to piss off.
"I'm dead, dude," she'd say.
The sky stayed blue, the birds still chirped as if singing for something beautiful, for something else. He told himself that the birds were made for this moment and suddenly the birds calling out to each other were in sync with how he felt.
"Alright, Sandra. I got work and everything. Thanks. I love you. I'll be better, promise."
Taking a turn into the freeway, Greg asked Clark what they do after funerals in America. Clark told him they ate Chinese buffet after Sandra's and then prayed for 40 days at Sandra's parents' place.
"She's filipina, so yeah that's good," Greg said. "In the Philippines, funerals are quite eventful. It's going to be weird not being there during All Saints Day."
"When is that, November?"
"November 1st," Greg replied. "Never really celebrated Halloween like you guys do. It'd be nice you know, my cousin says I'm too old to trick-or-treat but I've seen the movies with the Halloween parties. I want to have a beer in the kitchen with a girl dressed like a maid. I'll dress up like Cyclops in X-Men. Well I don't know what I'll be yet. What were you last year?"
"Oh I didn't dress up," Clark said. "I mean I just wore an afro wig and handed out candy. We watched scary movies."
"You're probably tired of Halloween, huh. I can't wait. We celebrated Halloween on the ship but we were working. I'm in America. I'm young and I want to have a keg of beer, but I think since I am so used to someone either getting laid or getting murdered at a Halloween party maybe a stupid part of my brain will think that is a chance. It'd be different than All Saint's I am sure."
"What'd you guys do during All Saint's," Clark asked. "Is it like another fiesta?"
"Kind of, I guess," Greg answered. "My family would take a trip to the cemetary and visit our grandfather We'd have a picnic. The whole cemetary is packed like a festival. Then we go to the cemetary of my mother's grandmother."
"Is it solemn?"
"What?"
"Is it a serious, mournful thing?"
"No, not really. We eat, we talk. It's just an obligation but it's an excuse to see family, you know. You should really visit the Philippines, man. My uncle and aunt are going there this Christmas. It's nothing like America but it's really laid-back and everyone is mostly chill."
"Are you going too?"
"I wish, I really do. But I'm illegal. I can't fuck with the government. But I really miss the hell out of it. There's no place like it. It's got it's negatives and things you might not be used to but it is accomodating, especially with your English."
"What do you mean, like I'll be treated differently?"
"No, I mean yes of course," Greg laughed as he said that. "You can fuck any bitch you want probably."
"Yeah," Clark said awkwardly. "I want to go. I think a change of pace would be great. My parents have always wanted to send me, yunno, to see my culture. They werent able to afford it."
"Just go with my relatives. They know who you are. They're glad I'm friends with you. When I first arrived they were scared I'd be fucking around. I played them Titanic again but they weren't sold. Telling them about you made them more relaxed. They want to meet you."
"Thanks Greg. I'll definitely look into it."
"You should. If you do go, I wish I could go with you."
Clark was semi-serious about going. He always wanted to go to the Philippines but it always seemed to fall into the inevitable list of wants such as becoming a neurologist or adding three inches more to his penis.
He had the engagement ring money, his parents were pushing 50 and still didn't have exposed symptoms. If they were to be diagnosed between two weeks out of the year would not conflict with his loyalty to take care of them. But he always wanted to go with them or Sandra. He didn't really know Greg's family, but they gave Greg a car after his surprise arrival so they couldn't be assholes.
At work, he talked about his fantasy football league with his co-workers, checked teh pictures Hannah took last night on his computer, overheard a co-worker listening toa book tape way too loudly and queitly farted while in an elevator with his boss. And he worked.
Towards the end of the day, a co-worker he hardly ever spoke to walked up to him to wish him a happy birthday. They talked about one minute a day, usually a polite greeting. He gave him a book as a present. It was called "The Anti-Failure Plan".
"Changed my life," his co-worker said.
"Thanks, dude," Clark told his co-worker. He didn't know his name.
On the way home, they went to a gas station. Clark was at the station's minimart to grab beef jerky, a bag of pretzels and a Dr. Pepper. Back in the car, he realized he forgot his wallet. He ran back into the minimart and rushed to the register, relieved to find his wallet. Walking out, he walked by a man whom he accidentally bumped into when sprinting to his wallet. The man was Filipino. He had a Filipino girl with him.
"Excuse me," the man said, with an accent as thick as Greg's. "Haven't you heard of of the words 'excuse me'?"
The man was agitated and confrontational. He had a rat-tail and a thin mustache, rail-thin and sporting a black jacket. His chubby girlfriend tried to diffuse the situation, apologizing to Clark while tugging at her man's jacket as a gesture of disapproval. Clark looked at the man straight in the eyes, apologized and hustled back to the car.
The walk to the car had Clark imagining a different scenario where he explained to the guy that he was sorry but hopefully he understood he thought he lost his wallet. He imagined the guy lunging at him and he using judo (a skill he didn't posess) to take him down.
In the car, he tried to justify why the guy was being a jerk. Maybe he had a bad day or he was rushing home to watch basketball or just wanted to pick a fight. He felt that by backing down it showed he had no backbone. He tried to dismiss even the thought of that non-event but it still lingered. He'd forget about surely when he woke up the next day at the latest. In the car, he was bitching to Greg about what an asshole that guy was.
At the house, he sat down with the book his co-worker gave him. Regarding a present after about year of just arbitrary greetings, Clark felt compelled to read a book he had no interest in. The Anti-Failure Plan was gaining momentum amongst the self-help book crowd. Clark read the back of the book.
Carly walked into the living room.
The world is not rocket science. You are either a success or a failure. Dr. Milton Hines has used his vast knowledge in the field of psychoanalysis to gain insight into the psyches of successful people, both in the world around them and the soul inside them.
"Leave rocket science to the Rocket Scientists," says Dr. Hines. "And leave life ultimately to you."
"You actually bought that," Carly asked.
"Why are you surprised," Clark asked. "Because it doesn't have pictures?"
"No, just because you once told me self-help books only help the publisher."
"Yeah I didn't buy," Clark said with a laugh. "Some dude at work gave it to me. I'll be polite and give it a shot."
"My mom read it," Carly said. "She gushes about it. She seems more optimistic, which is a good thing. She still smokes a pack of Reds a day though so it didn't completely help her."
"Maybe we'll have something to talk about aside from you future next time she visits," he said.
"Thank God," Carly said. "You guys can talk about stuff like if you act like a success then you will be a success or that anyone that feels like a bum is a bum."
"Groundbreaking stuff," Clark answered.
"Hey," Carla said with a smile. "Sometimes the most obvious advice can reach a person as opposed to the Clark Kent Henry philosophy of focusing on the peripherals of life. Simplicity can reach people. If Shel Silverstein was filed under Self Help would you meet him with the same resistance."
Clark nodded, understanding her point.
"Let's see then," he said. "I won't hold my breath thoough if this book can hang with The Giving Tree."
"Blasphemy," she mockingly exclaimed.
"You made the comparison, not me."
"I'm just saying," Carly responded. "Because it's not our thing doesn't mean it's not effective for others."
"I agree. Maybe it'll even be effective for me. At least in occupying time I'd spend watching ESPN Classic."
"Good luck with that, Clark."
She went to meet up with Elden for a late dinner. She asked Clark if he wanted anything from the Italian restaurant hey were going to. Clark politely declined. When she left he got started on the book.
Dr. Hines read like a man with a very deep, authoritative voice. The picture of him in the back sleeve was like a very serious Sears portrait. He wore a suit and tie and his hair was gelled to the side. He looked borderline sleazy, but attempted to look serious. Clark wondered if he had a very overwhelming prseence in person. If he was content on the inside and successful on teh outside, then Clark thought his own judgement of character was unfair. Clark imagined Hines confronted with the angry Filipino guy. He was sure Dr. Hines would've calmed the situation down and maybe they would share ice cream after, but a thought in his head also crept in that the good Doctor would do that tought guy thing where you put your hands up defensively, walk up to him while apologizing and when the pinoy kid least expected it he'd headbutt him inbetween the eyes. This made Clark laugh.
Barely reading the preface, he closd the book and called his parents to confirm if they were coming over for dinner tommorow night (they were) and proceeded to watch videos on the internet before getting back into the book. One page later, he fell asleep.
He had a dream that night. He was at the mall. That girl from the bar on his birthday was there, too. Her name was Holly, he remembered. They were both in line at a submarine sandwich shop, she in front of him. The line was long and they were at the back end. Clark tapped her on the shoulder.
"Is this were we met before," Clark asked.
"I don't think we met," Holly replied.
Everytime he stepped forward in line, the innocuous mall music was interrupted by a woman speaking over a PA system. She would speak in tagalog but he didn't understand what she was saying.
"Holly," he called out.
She turned around.
"I have to ask you," he continued. "Do you think I didn't feel guilty enough that night? Because I wanted to sleep with you."
She looked at him in the eyes and held his hand.
"You were drunk," she said. "Your sex drive isn't dead."
"Sometimes I feel everything is," he said.
The line moved forward. The woman spoke serenely again over the loudspeakers. The closer they got to the end of the line, the calmer the woman spoke.
"I can't tell if you were being nice or interested," he said. "You played with your hair, I was drunk, probably glossy-eyed. Why would you be interested?"
"It was a Tuesday night. We were both drunk. It was your birthday. You were able to hold a conversation, albeit blitzed out of your fucking mind. You were interesting."
The lights dimmed, like a slow dance on Homecoming Night.
"It just feels weird," Clark whispered without knowing why he did. "It's like when I'm making a decision it's not just that one specific decision that I'm making. It's that decision plus the path that potentially follows it."
"I don't quite follow you," Holly replied.
"Ok," he said. "When you look up front of you there's a menu. Do you know what you're going to get?"
"Yeah, the meatball sub."
"Yeah me too. What chips?"
"No chips."
"I'd like to have your willlpower. I need those stupid multi-grain chips. But I digress," he said with a laugh. "Obviously I don't stress the food order that much. A little bit, but not that much. But anyways, that decision is minor because I'm ordering a sandwich. You eat it and digest it, but it determines paths which might include getting the runs and missing parts of a TV show because you gotta take a dump or going out on a date and farting at critical point where she'll like me.
But for each decision there includes a series of events that involves different paths. With lust, there is a series of events that can involve sex, what happens after sex and on-and-on-and-on: Relationships, broken hearts, herpes, a baby, misread signals of commitment, etc. etc."
The register guy interrupted them. They were now in front of line.
"Excuse me," he said. "I'm ready to take your order."
The lights started getting brighter. Holly ordered and then Clark ordered (changing his to a seafood salad sub).
Are you sure man," the guy asked.
He must have been 17. He was freckle-faced with blonde feathered hair.
"Yeah," Clark replied. "Seafood Salad sandwich."
The clerk chimed in.
"Maybe the problem is that you only know what you don't want," the guy said. "What it does is it shortens your options of what you want but you still don' t know what that is."
The lights were getting overwhelmingly bright now, as if someone was raising the tint on the remote control to the point that everything was fading to white.
"Maybe I'm holding your order against you," the guy continued. "We shouldn't do that. The truth is we're out of seafood salad."
Clark couldn't see anything but the an empty whiteness. He closed his eyes to ease the pain. It felt like he was blind. A hand grabbed his shoulder, made its way to his arm and down to his hand.
"Follow me," Holly said.
The woman in the PA said Clark's name. He stopped, Holly's hand insisted they went.
"Don't listen," she said. "Just follow me."
There didn't seem to be any panic in the mall.
"Watch your step," Holly said.
This time, she wasn't the only one who said it. The lady in the PA system also spoke the same words, in sync with with Holly. It wasn't as glaringly bright as before, but it was still white. Silhouettes were visibly parading in front of him.
"Escalator coming," both ladies said, in perfect stereo.
Clark felt for the conveyor hand-rests and slowly made his way onto an escalator descending. Downstairs, Holly's hand was tightly gripping his. There was an urgency in their steps. He could see in his distance a vertical rectangular shape that was presumably a door. As they inched closer to exiting, the PA speaker was crackling and buzzing, struggling to convey its message over the muszak. The lights slowly turned down to visible levels. The outside was a mere stone's throw away. Holly pulled a gun from out of nowhere and shot the locks. Clark kicked the door open and they rushed outside.
It was dark out. They were still holding hands. He put his arm around her. A bunny rabbit showed up in front of them. The stars were getting bigger, encapsulating the night sky into on blank canvas. The rabbit had fangs. Soon, more rabbits arrived. Holly had disappeared. He could her the PA speakers from outside the mall. They were playing Boyz II Men. The rabbits were ready to attack. He saw Holly's gun on the ground, picked it up and shot at each rabid bunny advancing. He kicked off the ones on top of him, shooting them as well. Some slipped through and managed to gnaw on his leg before kicking them away.
They were multiply at an accelerated rate, piling on him. He couldn't breath. The woman on the PA system squawking in the background.
"Don't blame yourself," she said. "Don't blame anyone. No one is destined, they just reach destinations."
He tried one last swing, a hammerfist with his right hand. A couple bunnies flew off. The rabbits were shearing his flesh. His body lay limp, accepting this destination.
Clark woke up, screaming and drenched in sweat. His lights were still on.
At least once a year since he was 18 he had a dream that ended with killer bunny rabbits attacking him. It never recurred enough for him to think much of it, so he didn't document any patterns of his life when they showed up.
Clark turned the lights off and turned the radio on to a classical music station. The alarm clock read 3:47 am. His eyes soon read the back of his eyelids. Another dream came to him. He was a guest of a talk show host named Tyrone McGregory-Day.
The alarm came on. He hit the snooze button. The bunny rabbits, Holly and the white-light sky were all but forgotten.
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