12-12-12

[i]

Waking up at 1 p.m.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

Research.

Lentil Spread Sandwich with Tomato and Mustard. Goldfish Crackers. Honey Oolong Tea.

Watching a Vice documentary on Russia’s underground film industry.

Prepping the house for the most highly anticipated Show N Tell of the year on 12-12-12. People start to trickle in shortly after 7 p.m. and by 9 p.m. it’s a full house – trapped like sardines in a technicolored jungle. Many performances are given including raps, spoken word, songs, circuit-bent keytar demonstrations, painting of the TV Tower, etc.

[ii]

In light of the shocking shenanigans and particular events that take place through out the course of the evening I will consolidate everything into short stories.

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“Fireballs”

[Clonk!] Damn, somebody just threw a fireball at my head. I look around and observe the individually wrapped atomic fireball candies being slung across the room. That slam-poetry kid, Maxwell, brought a huge plastic container full of them. They’re a hit.

“The Flood”

At some point amidst the Americana jam sounds of Anthony’s guitar and Kevin’s violin Doug grabs my arm and explains, “Robert, you need to come see this.” There’s a look of sincere fear and concern in his eyes. I’m escorted to the dining room to find water, not dripping, but flooding through cracks in the ceiling. I run upstairs to investigate in the bathroom where most of the leak problems have occurred in the past. It’s apparent that some gremlin decided to clog the sink with a doll’s head and leave the faucet running, which caused the bathroom to flood and in return caused the leaks in the ceiling. Gratefully, a few volunteers help maintain the situation. Nobody can confirm whodunit. It’s like that board game Clue. Of course considering Jessa’s track record the majority of fingers point to her. I can’t deny the possibility nor can I single out any one person. It will forever remain a mystery.

“The Finch”

I keep hearing rumors of an unleashed bird in the house. I run across Rachel in the upstairs hallway. She’s terribly distressed and claims Jessa Potter is running around with a bird letting it flutter about. I locate Jessa in the kitchen. She’s cupping the finch securely in her hand. Eventually she places him underneath the plastic lid with the cake. I examine the finch – his tiny beady eyes – his bright red beak. He’s frightened by all the giants and the noise. The frosting sticks to his little feet. He doesn’t belong here. I scoop him up into my hands gently and walk outside near the big bush. It’s cold. The fog emits from my breath. He won’t leave my hands but instead flutters up and perches on my shoulder. “Aw. It’s okay. Don’t be scared,” I tell him. Then he flies off into the wild. Later I find out that this finch was purchased from the pet store by Jessa and wasn’t wild to begin with. I hope he remembers his natural bird instincts and seeks out food for himself. Along with that other people seem to be convinced that Jessa killed a bird in Kevin’s room. But they are delusional. That didn’t happen. My goodness everyone. Calm down. I freed him from unfortunate demise! 

“Plague of Crickets”

Kevin stomps down the steps looking angrily perplexed. He grabs my shirt and demands I come outside. He peers straight into my eyes and asks, “Did you know anything about the crickets?”

“The crickets? What are you talking about?”

He’s infuriated. Apparently there’re a hundred crickets hopping rampant in his bedroom.

I reassure him, “Dude, I honestly don’t know anything about the crickets. I promise.”

He screams out profanities that echo off the apartment buildings.

“Just calm down man,” I say.

“NO! I won’t calm down. I’m bout to fucking kill someone!”

I’ve never seen Kevin this enraged over anything in all the years I’ve known him. He paces back and forth, breathing heavily. Eventually, he just storms off down the street to release steam.

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The night took on biblical proportions as you can see. Was this triple 12 number a cause for all this chaos? Or was it just coincidence? It seemed to me to be an experiment in human behavior, a study if you will, on the psycho-trauma in communication – how facts and stories become skewed after being shared by multiple people (the telephone game) – the fire of the tongue and its deception – how easily confusion erupts from shocking events – how the blame is placed on others just by mere association. Anger seeks retribution immediately – it isn’t patient whatsoever. He said-she said-they said-I saw-we saw-bullshit. I think therefore I know. I assume therefore its fact. My God what a psychological mess.   

...

And to add to it quite a number of people misplaced their valuables (cameras, phones, purses, etc.) and some turned out to be stolen.

...

It’s important to mention a letter that I read into the microphone as an introduction to Show N Tell. I found a letter that Kenneth wrote to me dating back to February 27 2011. He composed it the day after a Show N Tell we had when we were living at the 1623 house. After reading through it again some people think it was an omen. Decide for yourself.

The circus and the mayhem finally come to a close. We kick everybody out around 1 a.m. I join up with William Clark, Sasha, and Tristan at Rick’s.

...

I feel utterly drained – sucked dry from everything. It’s a big responsibility hosting such a thing of that caliber but especially after dealing with so much nonsense. I order the Catfish Strips with Cocktail Sauce, Broccoli, Mac n Cheese, and Hush Puppies.

...

Sasha notices how tense I am and asks if I’m okay.

Me: “Yeah I’ll be fine. I just need to get something to eat. I’m kind of like a sponge. So when someone comes to me and they’re really frustrated with their life or they’re really angry I just feel that...I feel that.”

...

The conversation is fun and Tristan proves to be quite the entertaining smart aleck. In describing Kevin Will says, “He’s a good story but a better experience.”

Back at the house. I’m tired but don’t feel like sleeping knowing the house is such a mess. Tristan lends a helping hand and we clean up the party debris.

I tell Tristan, “We survived the flood. We survived the plague. And we survived another Show N Tell.”

Sleep at some ungodly hour.

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[i] Graphic and images by me. 
[ii] Photo by Jamil.