[i]
DREAM: Watching a scene where a woman is swimming in a bay. A man opens the back door to a house to find his lover bloodied from something as if she was severely punctured. She’s in shock and starts to whimper in a repetitive baby-like tone. The man doesn’t know what to do. I’m forced to watch the scene again but now I’m actually standing there on the porch. This time the girl jumps up out of the water and runs to the garage. Her walk is in slow motion and I can see the details of the wounds. Her face is flat as a pancake and enormously long. Eyes caved in. Still bloody. A grotesque and terrifying image. Ghostly. She’s more like an evil spirit. I attempt to taunt this monstrosity by making my presence known. She immediately charges in my direction. I cower and am forced to close my dream-eyes to try and wake myself up.
...
Half awake now, I feel a pulse beating rapidly in my right arm where it’s tucked away under Margot’s head.
Getting up around 11:30 a.m.
Instant Maple Brown Sugar Oatmeal. Coffee. Biotin.
In route to visit my dad in Goldsboro, North Carolina. It’s about a 4-hour drive. The GPS suggests I95 but I prefer to take VA-17 because it’s more scenic and nostalgic, as well it is less stressful. Masta Killa and random oldies on the stereo.
Egg Salad Sandwich with Tomato. Potato Chip Trio. Honey Green Tea.
I pull up into the driveway of my dad’s big green house, custom-built. He’s lounging in a lawn chair with his neighbor buddy, Keith, sipping on beers. I haven’t seen him a long time, normally it’s once a year and his first words are, “Why you got purple shoes?”
He’s disappointed I didn’t bring my “geetar” as he likes to pronounce it. So I’m sent off to a pawnshop with Erika, his young Honduras wife, to retrieve a $50 one (she pays). Even though she’s not well versed in English, she’s quite a talker. She’s got a sweet demeanor and provides the classic supportive wifey role for my dad.
Back at the house. Keith takes my dad and I to his garage next door. Two shiny Harley Davidsons parked side by side. Vintage motorcycle brand and motor oil company posters with busty women in bikinis on the wall. He offers me a shot from a jug of moonshine he got from a friend. Between 150 and 190-proof, he says.
Keith: “White liquor is pretty smooth. But I’m gon’ tell ya. It’ll creep up on ya and it’ll knock your dick in your watch pocket quick...I mean, I drink it like it’s water...A whole jug’ll put you in your grave. But a whole shot...in 45 minutes you’ll be in pretty good shape. You’ll be loose.”
...
My dad invited some other neighbors and friends over...
Out on the back porch. Ribs slow cooking on the grill. Mexican beers. Wine. More moonshine.
Joe, a neighbor of my dad’s whose a Vietnam veteran recalls, “My daddy used to have a jug of it sittin’ around all the time...One time I got a little messed up in Nam and uh, I shot six elephants. Cause what happens is, in the highlands in Vietnam, they had red clay, right? So the elephants went and layed down and rolled around in it. And we were pretty messed up with five back. And one other guy goes ‘I see pink elephants!’ So I shot the damn things. Rolled them up with an M60 iron pound.”
Keith: “No wonder they didn’t get you for killin’ elephants.”
Joe: “They tried to do anything to me I’d shoot them too.”
[haha]
...
Talking about the old wooden rollercoaster that used to exist in an amusement park in Ocean View.
Me: “Yeah they blew it up in a movie...in the 70’s.”
Dad: “That was the first rollercoaster I ever rode on.”
...
Eating a bunch of tasty well seasoned Ribs with Butter Beans. Chugging Tecate and Dos Equis.
Summertime-like weather with a cool breeze—nothing at all that resembles Christmas. Carolinian southern twang hot in the air. Alcohol buzz in my blood. My dad’s been off work for a week or two so I guess he’s trying to enjoy himself. He’s always been one to facilitate liveliness even in his 60’s—he loves music even though he can’t play a lick on any instrument or sing all that in tune. But this is the reason the “geetar” was a must. I’m provoked into playing a bunch of tunes. Christmas songs. Oldies. “You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog...” Even Weezer and The Shins pop up somewhere in the mix. Eventually, the stereo is cranked up with classic songs from whatever decade seems appropriate. More Oldies. Swing. 80’s Rock. I smoke a Black & Mild off to the side and watch Erika and a Puerto Rican lady of similar age (early 40’s) shake and twist and dance without inhibitions. My dad and I join in. This is the opposite of what I expected when I came to visit. Not the demographic I’m used to partying with but it’s the same spirit of LIVE, just within the constructs of an older generation. It’s good to see my dad happy and enjoying himself.
After this realization I announce, “The older you get, the younger you stay!”
...
Unwinding with 4 slices of Pumpkin Pie.
...
It’s not even midnight and I can’t resist the urge to take a nap. I’m beat. That moonshine and those beers put me out.
Sleep 3:30 a.m.
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