Friday, March 28, 2008

THE CATALYST, CHAPT 20
(The following was based on an excerpt from the diary of Jonah Knolle CXX.)
4/3/09, Friday

Complexity is contagious.
And if unrequited love is the new starvation, I think I might just be anorexic. Because never in my life have I felt so empty as I do now. Now, when I’ve got an entire world of poetry and politics gleaming back at me, staring right through me, cutting me down to size. Now, when the only time I don’t spend thinking like her is thinking about her. Now, when all I can do is watch the nebula of passion and pessimism and participation as it glistens with the brilliance of everything that ever mattered, all the while knowing full well I’ll never be part of that of category.
It’s sort of like looking at the stars and the planets while your half of the earth is still cloaked in darkness: it’s luminous, it’s beautiful, but at the same time, it’s unsettling. It makes you feel so small, so powerless, so insignificant. Sure, it’s beautiful and you can’t look away, but at the same time, it’s so humbling.
And that is exactly what I feel when I read her words, her thoughts: So scared, yet so empowered. So pathetic, yet so blessed. And it makes me so hungry, so desperate for more, but in another sense, it makes me whole. It, my friends, has been my beloved drug for 2 solid years now. And she is my beloved dealer.
However, I’ve been ready to give up the ghost for about more than half of those 2 and a half years. Seriously. It’s been bloody maddening. Ever since I read those first few written comments of hers, I‘ve been thinking and feeling and saying things I don‘t have the slightest comprehension of. I haven‘t a single clue of who the hell I am anymore! Yeah, I remember when it all used to be so simple and shallow. When I was nothing more than just another juvenile, callous, superficial jack-ass out for a laugh and some pleasure at everyone else’s expense. Yeah, nothing but sin and satisfaction. It was perfect. A total devil’s paradise.
And then, I mutated into what I am now: an irritable, infatuated, oh-so-tantalized sack of hormones, nerves, and borrowed contemplations. This, of course, is all her fault. Her words are my drug and whenever I’m high, I always wallow in concepts far too profound and far too complicated for my understanding. And, being the complete, oh-so-obsessed addict that I am, I’m high pretty much all the time. Meaning, I’m miserable pretty much all the time.
So, in other words, yes, it’s true: complexity is contagious. Trust me. I’m living proof.
And the kabuki face paint-covered, blonde, oh-so-drag-queen-like emo boy cliché that was seated across from me a mere 95 minutes earlier is my living testimony. Or undead testimony, as he’d probably prefer, the little vampire-wannabe.
Yes. that’s right: Vash came to visit today. And this time, he couldn’t even be bothered to at least pretend to be moderately sane by entering using the door, the little freak! I swear…
There I was, just reading a copy of the latest narration of hers in bed, not doing nothing to nobody, when I hear this weird tapping noise come out of nowhere. Now, of course, I assumed it was somebody at the door like anybody would, because, well, what else would it be, right? But I was too lazy and far too engrossed in her writings to see who it was at the time, so I simply automatically called out, without looking up: “Go away.”
But evidently it didn’t want to. Because the knocking almost immediately came again, this time a bit more insistent. And irritating.
“Dammit, I said go away! I’m busy!”
But apparently not busy enough to be too busy for a quick, impromptu drumming routine, because this time I hear a repetitive, rhythmic, oh-so-demanding: “TAP-TAP-TAP-TAPPITY-TAHHHHHP-TA-TA-TAP!” over and over again.
So, with my unknown provoker still banging away on what I assumed to be was the wooden entrance, I irritably grouched over to the door, opened it, and saw that no one was there. Uh, yeah. So, of course, there I am, thinking it was either some kind of stupid prank or I‘m just going a lot crazier than I thought and am starting to hear nonexistent noises when there sounds an oh-so-unfortunately familiar cry of “Over here, Joey!” And so I turn around. And, guess who I see at the window. No, really, guess. Anyone? Anyone? ANYONE?? That’s right. Vashoutoh ---ing Malluste. My dear uncle-in-law. My dear, dear, over-affectionate-to-a-point-of-sexual-harassment, possibly bisexual, bleach-haired, paint-faced, ear-and-lip-pierced, serpent-eyed uncle-in-law.
Oh, joy.
Me: [goes over to window] “What the ---- are you doing here, Malluste?”
Vash: “Oh, just hanging around. Here. On this towering, God-knows-how-many-feet-high house of yours. Very precariously. With nothing but this unusually slippery window ledge to keep me from falling to my death… Yeah, you know: The usual.”
(Oh, that reminds me: Did I mention my room is all the way up in the attic, at the summit of a possibly lethal, probably neck-breaking, estimated forty-something foot drop? Because, well, it is.)
Me: “How the hell did you got up here?!”
Vash: “Well, I don’t know, Joey, but if you don’t let me in, you’re going to see how the hell I’ll get down there.” [Gestures towards ground]
Me: [sighs warily] “Dammit, Vash…” [grabs one of his arms and starts pulling him inside]
Vash: [pulls himself up and into the room with the other arm, then “accidentally” falls on me]
Me: “WAH!” [is forced, crashing, to the floor, with Vash landing on top of me]
THUD!
Vash: [is smiling dubiously] “Whoops… Sorry.”
Me: [deep breath to keep from throttling Vash] “Okay. One: No, you’re not. Two: That BETTER be your life savings down there. And, three: GET THE --- OFF ME, YOU BASTERD!!!”
And then, of course, my mother, being concerned about the crash that had come from me room, with her impeccable timing, just had to pick right then to waltz into my room unexpectedly. (Uh-huh, yeah. Can you say “awkward”?) She was, as anyone can imagine, not at all pleased to find her notoriously evil, “bi-curious,” rockstar brother-in-law on top of her precious, oh-so-spoiled-by-her baby Jonah. But, oh-so-incorrectly assuming it was actually my will to have Vash on top of me, she dared not interrupt our “intimacy.” (No. Oh, dear Gawd, HELL NO. Never.)
Vash: [stares at the door in the wake of my mother, mildly bemused] “Well… That was awkward.”
Me: “…” [performs concentrated, well-aimed punch to Vashes stomach]
Vash: “ACH!” [rolls off me, doubling over in pain] “…Ow. Ow. Owwwwwww…!”
Me: [hastily gets off floor, fuming, stomps over to bed, and plops down indignantly] “Did you come over here just for a thrashing, Malluste? Because, really, all you had to do was ask.”
Vash: “Hey. That was an ACCIDENT, I swear! My foot slipped!”
Me: “Uh-huh. Yeah, sure. What the hell were you doing out there anyway? Couldn’t you have, like, I don‘t know, used the door?”
Vash: “Well, I figured entering via window was more romantic. Besides, I wanted to surprise you.”
Me: “Oh…” [reaches for the copy of the girls commentary to resume reading] “Well, I’m surprised. Mission accomplished. Bye, Vash. Don’t let the door--or window--hit you on your way out.”
Vash: [sees copy of commentary] “Oh, dear Gawd, boy! Are you STILL reading that poor girl’s diary?!”
No, of course I wasn’t. Technically, it wasn’t her diary at all, but a copy of an entry from her diary. Yeah, I know, that‘s just as bad, but ever since I sprouted a conscience, I don’t like thinking about things that make me feel guilty. And the fact that I’ve been reading my crushes diary for about 2 and a half years now without her knowledge much less her permission is one of those guilt-inducing things. But I wasn’t about to try to get Mr. Sold His Soul To The Devil For a Million Dollar Record Deal to understand this, so I just ignored him.
[INSERT 25-SECOND-LONG PAUSE HERE]
Vash: “Actually…” [sidles up next to my bed, and sits down in nearby chair] “I’ve got some news about your li’l girlfriend that you might find rather…. Surprising.”
Me: [Glares vehemently at Vash from beneath my eyebrows] “What’d you do to her, Vash…?”
Vash: [blinks at me in fake bewildered innocence] “What’d I do to…? Oh, Joey! [while laughing hysterically] What kind of monster do you think I am?”
Me: [still glaring] “The one you are.”
Vash: “Yeah, well… You’re a very smart kid. But this time the culprit seriously isn’t me. You remember that guy I used to work for?”
Me: “The albino?”
Vash: “Yeah, him. See, I’ve just heard from a very reliable source that he recently sent a cyber invitation to your girl to come down to his house in Chicago for a job offer.”
Me: [Is eyeing Vash suspiciously] “What kinda job, Malluste?”
Vash: “Um… One that wouldn’t exactly suit her. I mean, it’s not illegal, but trust me: You don’t wanna know the details.”
Me: [makes “incorrect answer” game show, buzzing/alarm sound with my mouth] “Nope, sorry, Vash. Too vague: Spill, Malluste.”
Vash: [sighs in fake dread and apprehension, pasting a perfectly martyr-esque, solemn grimace unto his face] “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya…”
And then the over-dramatic little gender-bender tells me, as if this is the worst, most grisly, heart attack-inducing news ever shared, that his ex-boss wants the girl to be the co-lyricist for his world-famous rock band.
Me: “Okay. And…?”
Vash: “What do you mean ‘AND’?! YOUR [would be] GIRLFRIEND IS GOING TO BE HIRED BY A GANG OF MUSICIANS THAT YOU’VE NEVER EVEN MET AND WHISKED AWAY TO HOLLYWOOD!! ISN’T THAT HORRIBLE ENOUGH?!?!”
Me: “Er… Not really. It actually sounds like the perfect job for her--her lyrics rule!”
Vash: “Yes, but do you honestly think SHE ‘LL think that? I mean, from what I’ve heard, she’s so conservative and withdrawn and understated, she’s practically Amish! Why, she would never have anything to do with something as famous and public as the music industry!”
Me: [sniggers coolly] “Yeah, and what’s your ex-boss gonna do about it? Kidnap her?”
Vash: [looks at me very grimly, speaks in a low, dark, sage-like voice] “Jonah, the question isn’t whether or not he’ll kidnap her. The question is, what will he do with her once he has her?”
Me: [smirk evaporates, narrows eyes to 2 suspicious slits] “You’re bluffing.”
Vash: [raises eye-brows challengingly] “Am I…? Because if I’m not and you don’t find out until too late, well… I’ll leave the consequences up to your imagination.”
At this, my insides froze.
My stomach lurched. It felt like I’d just been kicked in the kidneys, as the full meaning of what might happen to my beloved dealer sunk in. I can still see it now: Her, locked up in a dark, damp dungeon of a basement, slowly fading away into lifelessness from the maltreatment and malnutrition, exploited over and over again for the perfect verse, the best chorus, the hottest track. Her, being driven slowly--oh-so-agonizingly slowly--insane in her isolation and anguish. Her, with a razor sharp pencil, stabbing herself over and over again, too desperate for words, begging for death to save her. I nearly threw up just thinking about it.
Vash: “Joey…” [Watches my face pensively, automatically knowing my thoughts]“We can’t let that happen.”
Me: [nods slowly, still too sickened by lingering mental images for words]
Vash: “But we can’t depend on the police, you know. Wenterz, [my ex-boss], hasn’t got a criminal record of any kind: We’ve got no way of proving what he’s bound to do. And he’s so hard to catch that once he does it, it’ll be too late. They’ll never find her until he lets her go. So… We’ll have to take care of it ourselves, I‘m afraid.”
Me: [raises my anxious eyes to his yellow, serpent-like gaze] “How…?”
Vash: “What do you mean ‘how’? Boy, you’ve practically got an entire army at your disposal. There are at least a thousand ways to insure the girl’s safety.”
Me: [shrug] “I could lend her a legion of body-guards.”
Vash: [shrug] “Yeah. You could. But what happens if the so-called ‘body-guards’ get caught following her around? I mean, the girl doesn’t know she’s in danger and therefore wouldn’t realize they were just trying to protect her. And if the police find out her would-be stalkers are connected to you, well… That doesn’t help anybody, does it?”
Me: “But how do you know they’ll get caught?”
Vash: [snorts] “Well, no offense, Joey, but they’re not exactly ninja’s. I mean, they’re about as stealthy as a rabid bull in a red china shop.”
Me: “Okay… So what do you propose I do?”
Vash: “Well… I’ve got this one idea…But I’m gonna need you to lend me a generous fraction of your li’l army.”
Me: [rolls eyes warily] “What’re ya gonna do and how many Supreme Court Justices will I have to bribe?”
Vash: [chuckles dismissively] “Oh, relax, Joey! Trust me! I’ll behave. I mean, really, what’s the worst I could do with only a 10th of a legion of Euro-trash mob goons in a nice, secure little suburb like this?”
Ehheh. Yeah. He just HAD to ask.
FOUR DAYS LATER….
4/7/09, 8:10 AM
Me: [is sitting at dining-room table, pensively gazing at today’s paper]

Newspaper Headline: “PERRY HALL HIGH-SCHOOL MASSACRED, HUNDREDS KILLED, THOUSANDS WOUNDED, ALL TRAUMATIZED; KNOLLES MAFIA FAMILY SUSPECTED”

Me: [silently reaches for phone, dials Vashes cell-phone number]

Vashes voicemail: “…. So, please leave a message after the beep and I’ll get right back to ya. Thanks.” BEEP.

Me: “Hey, Vash? Go fuck yourself.”

CLICK.

And that, dear children, is why you never trust your evil, rockstar uncle, who is probably immature enough to be treated like your cousin, with a small faction of your family’s ungodly powerful army of mass murderers.
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