Box Cutter
Within the definition of "life" as doing interesting and fun stuff to ward off the potentially dangerous realization that our existence is wholly meaningless, I have not really been having much of a life lately. Not that I'm complaining, just thought I'd bring it up to myself to see what happens; what the hell I can say about it.
I could console myself by saying that I've been busy finally breaking up with Mandy (although we still live together), and buying and slowly renovating the new house and also that it was so hot this summer that what kind of life are you going to have anyway, sweating, and breathing air that has the weight of hot water on your lungs?
While I'm writing this I make a batch of bachelor's spaghetti (that's just regular boiled spaghetti but I cook the sauce in the toaster oven, wrapped in aluminum foil, to reduce the dirty dishes), and while in the kitchen making final preparations, Mandy comes home and right behind her is Heather in her school uniform. Heather at 15, (or 16?) has been a woman in the world of adult men for a couple of years now. She is quite pretty of face and figure and her school uniform, kept neat and clean and worn tightly as if painted on is the only symbol of childhood she can cling to. I'm pretty sure she doesn't spend much time studying either in or out of school, but the school acts as a central body for social interaction among a peer group, and she clings to it. She confronts me in the kitchen. She rarely asks me for money (I have made a point of telling all the children not to), and because of that I always give it to her. Her eye contact is telling me she's getting ready to ask something like that and I'm a little disappointed because the last time was only a couple of weeks ago and that would be her playing me for a soft touch.
She lowered her voice a little and softy said, "Mr. Jim, you gotta box cutter?"
"Why, so you can kill someone?"
"Noooo."
"So you can slit someone's throat and watch 'em bleed?" I know why she wants a box cutter and I'm not pretending otherwise. Heather has no interest in the labor of cutting up boxes.
"No, there's a (football) game tonight and just in case we get jumped."
And I had just earlier been thinking about the abuse of women by men and maybe this is what she wants to protect herself from, or maybe from another gang of girls, which as I write this I think is more likely, because Heather's purpose for going to a football game would be to cruise for guys, especially guys from the other side, but even though I know it wasn't strictly the right thing to do, I gave her one of my razor knives, and showed her how to lock the blade. Because if she does need to ward off a male predator, in this particular environment I want someone who is willing to use a weapon to have a weapon, not a whistle.
"You don't have anything smaller?" she asked. She wanted a bonafide box cutter which is really a mean device because it is virtually invisible to an opponent.
"No, that's all I have, and don't go thinking you have to use it just because you have it."
"Oh no, I won't, Mr. Jim."
On the way home from work today I saw a billboard advertising an upcoming free concert by the Village People out at the Treasure Chest Casino in Kenner. I haven't been to one of those things in awhile. Jesus, the Village People, that could be a real lark, watching, and being a part of a group that goes through all the letter motions when they play that huge hit of theirs, YMCA. I've seen those Metairie/Kennerites form those letters with their arms to taped versions of the song. How this same group would respond to the live act, hmmm, if I have the courage that day, maybe I could get a life.
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Within the definition of "life" as doing interesting and fun stuff to ward off the potentially dangerous realization that our existence is wholly meaningless, I have not really been having much of a life lately. Not that I'm complaining, just thought I'd bring it up to myself to see what happens; what the hell I can say about it.
I could console myself by saying that I've been busy finally breaking up with Mandy (although we still live together), and buying and slowly renovating the new house and also that it was so hot this summer that what kind of life are you going to have anyway, sweating, and breathing air that has the weight of hot water on your lungs?
While I'm writing this I make a batch of bachelor's spaghetti (that's just regular boiled spaghetti but I cook the sauce in the toaster oven, wrapped in aluminum foil, to reduce the dirty dishes), and while in the kitchen making final preparations, Mandy comes home and right behind her is Heather in her school uniform. Heather at 15, (or 16?) has been a woman in the world of adult men for a couple of years now. She is quite pretty of face and figure and her school uniform, kept neat and clean and worn tightly as if painted on is the only symbol of childhood she can cling to. I'm pretty sure she doesn't spend much time studying either in or out of school, but the school acts as a central body for social interaction among a peer group, and she clings to it. She confronts me in the kitchen. She rarely asks me for money (I have made a point of telling all the children not to), and because of that I always give it to her. Her eye contact is telling me she's getting ready to ask something like that and I'm a little disappointed because the last time was only a couple of weeks ago and that would be her playing me for a soft touch.
She lowered her voice a little and softy said, "Mr. Jim, you gotta box cutter?"
"Why, so you can kill someone?"
"Noooo."
"So you can slit someone's throat and watch 'em bleed?" I know why she wants a box cutter and I'm not pretending otherwise. Heather has no interest in the labor of cutting up boxes.
"No, there's a (football) game tonight and just in case we get jumped."
And I had just earlier been thinking about the abuse of women by men and maybe this is what she wants to protect herself from, or maybe from another gang of girls, which as I write this I think is more likely, because Heather's purpose for going to a football game would be to cruise for guys, especially guys from the other side, but even though I know it wasn't strictly the right thing to do, I gave her one of my razor knives, and showed her how to lock the blade. Because if she does need to ward off a male predator, in this particular environment I want someone who is willing to use a weapon to have a weapon, not a whistle.
"You don't have anything smaller?" she asked. She wanted a bonafide box cutter which is really a mean device because it is virtually invisible to an opponent.
"No, that's all I have, and don't go thinking you have to use it just because you have it."
"Oh no, I won't, Mr. Jim."
On the way home from work today I saw a billboard advertising an upcoming free concert by the Village People out at the Treasure Chest Casino in Kenner. I haven't been to one of those things in awhile. Jesus, the Village People, that could be a real lark, watching, and being a part of a group that goes through all the letter motions when they play that huge hit of theirs, YMCA. I've seen those Metairie/Kennerites form those letters with their arms to taped versions of the song. How this same group would respond to the live act, hmmm, if I have the courage that day, maybe I could get a life.
- jimlouis 10-06-2000 2:33 am