92
R. Linda:
I sat in Tonya's apartment with Argiebelle sitting almost on me lap, her feet tucked up in the cushions sporting pink fuzzy slippers. I was thinking the odd thought, how can she dance ballet in those? I was mesmerised with the slippers, they were this feathery stuff that moved with the slightest breeze, just like I envisioned Argie's brain swirling around in that empty head of hers.
Tonya had presence of thought to stick a Jamesons in me hand. It was neat, straight up stuff that I began to sip like it was going out of style. Now I be not a whiskey drinker by any means, but the more Argie talked, the more sips I would take.
Tonya was curled up on the loveseat opposite the couch where I was stuck with Argie. She had been sipping as well and her eyes were starting to roll back in her head after an hour of listening to Argie rattle on. I willed her with me mind not to pass out. I didn't want to be left alone with the weirdo and her little dog too.
Over and over in me mind I was thinking, this can't be happening -- why me?
Finally it was one in the afternoon and Tonya's eyes opened wide like she had just realised something and in fact she had. Peter Flanagan had just come in. She was familiar with the sound of his footsteps because Alison had got to her with that story of Timothy O'Malley being dead in the freezer. Tonya had listened for Peter's approach and she had got quite good at identifying his footfalls in the brownstone. In her drunken stupor she had tuned out Argie and was picking up anything outside the babble.
Tonya sloshed her drink as she tried to place it on the coffee table and stand up at the same time. She missed and the tumbler fell to the floor. She was mumbling, "No time, no time . . ." and looking at me almost cross-eyed, she grabbed for the rock tumbler in me hand, missed and tried again, this time sloshing the whiskey all over both of us as she lifted it to her level. She slowly placed the glass on the table with a pointing finger at it, as if ordering it not to drop. I had no clue what she was doing or why.
I was too gone to realise something was up. She was gesturing to me to hurry, get up, come on. It took a few minutes before I realised what she meant. She had me backpack slung over her shoulder, handed me the luggage and pointed to the carryall because she couldn't not slur her words to sound out carryall. Meanwhile, Argiebelle was watching all this, her wee mutt was barking and Tonya and I were both trying to open the door at the same time, only to hit ourselves in the face with it.
Suddenly Argie was standing up, hands on hips, looking and sounding like Cyndi Lauper as she had figured out where we were going. I could almost hear that song playing, you know the one, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.
"You both are sodded to the gills. Do you think Mr. Flanagan is going to think this is a good first impression Gabriel? How much you both wanna bet you (she pointed at me), end up sleeping on the street tonight?"
"Good point," Tonya was saying as we two were leaning on the half open door trying to not fall down. "Maybe we should, I mean (hiccup), you should, sober up before you go down there," Tonya suggested to me.
"Un huh," was all I could muster. We dropped the bags, and Argie wiggled her way between us, leading us back to the couch where she sat us down, her between us. She talked about the saving merits of black coffee, but made no attempt to make some. Tonya basically groaned and crawled her way into the kitchen to make a pot.
Around three in the afternoon, I was fit to go met Peter Flanagan. Preface this with I was also deaf from Argie talking me ear off. Me shirt was dried of the whiskey on it, but Tonya made me change into another so I was presentable and not presenting as a drunken Irishman. Tonya opted to stay in her apartment and "sleep it off" while Argie guided me and me bags down to the second floor. I think the truth was, Tonya had had enough of Argie.
"Step left, step right, step left, step right," Argie was whispering all the way to Peter's door. She had me under the armpit like she was bracing me up. I didn't need the help. I tried to hush her but something stupid overtook me and I started laughing. The stupid thought was I could hear Cyndi Lauper in me head singing, girls just wanna have fun, and well . . . it wasn't funny, it was insane, and I couldn't stop laughing.
"Look you, he'll think you're a moron you keep laughing like that. Stop it."
I did. As suddenly as the laughter came on it disappeared. Why didn't I notice the resemblance before? Argie looked so much like Cydni Lauper she could have been her twin. I was focused on her face struck with that thought, but Argie thought I was admiring her. Oi!
We got to the door and I told her I thought it would be better if I was the only one at the door. For some reason, she decided to honour that and left me on me own. She was standing at the top of the stairs where Flanagan wouldn't see her. I had to be happy with that much, so I knocked.
The door slowly opened to reveal one washed out blue eye and a hunk of red hair. There was a pale patch of skin between both and for a moment I thought I was at a speak easy and needed a password. There was an "Oh," and the door swung open wide revealing the mysterious Mr. Flanagan.
He gestured me in and started to move past me to the hall to pick up me bags, but I caught him before he could see Argie (dressed as Cyndi Lauper) and mutt (dressed Lauper's dog?). I told him I had everything, I traveled light, ha ha. He didn't laugh.
He took me directly to "Tim's old room" and I dumped me bags. He then showed me the place. I was so taken with his strangeness I hadn't noticed me surroundings. Let me first describe Peter Flanagan. He has pasty white skin that is almost transparent. You can see the veins under his skin and that creeps me out. He is tall, thin, with a lot of red unruly hair that is curly and sticks out all over the place. I swear it has a life of it's own and I be scared of it.
He has massive big legs for a skinny man, and bigger feet with yellow toenails. He was wearing sandals, cargo shorts and a wife beater undershirt. He is oddly built for a thin man, with those big feet, skinny arms and these killer legs. It is like someone played Mr. Potato with his body parts.
Once I was over the initial shock of what he looked like, I took a sobering look at the abode. Wowey, wow, wow! It was done in neo-nazi red and black, there was a giant picture of Tao and another of Ho Chi Min. The entire place was filled with Oriental furniture which would be fine if I wasn't over six feet tall. Everything is made for small framed people. Peter, sat cross-legged on the floor and did not use the furniture and why? Because he is too over 6 feet tall and he can't fit comfortably in the chairs, how dumb is that? He is into Zen and Communism. For joy. What a combination, huh?
He was cooly polite and asked me if I would join him in an afternoon cup of tea. What could I say, no I had a pressing engagement with his freezer? I sat on the floor and watched him perform a Japanese tea ceremony over a stubby table with hardly any legs. After I hoisted meself up off the floor, I took meself to me room to quietly bash me head against the wall. When I actually looked at the room, I realised me bed is a palled on the floor! There is no mattress. I went back out and asked him about this because that was distinctly not to me liking. He told me that he and Tim were into Japanese Samurai culture and that they had sold or traded their old furniture for Japanese. Oh, and hadn't Alison told me that?
No she had been too busy telling me you murdered Tim and stuffed his body in the freezer overlooking this small detail. No, I didn't say that, but you know I was thinking it.
So one of me priorities is to go out and buy a decent bed, or a mattress at the very least.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I sat in Tonya's apartment with Argiebelle sitting almost on me lap, her feet tucked up in the cushions sporting pink fuzzy slippers. I was thinking the odd thought, how can she dance ballet in those? I was mesmerised with the slippers, they were this feathery stuff that moved with the slightest breeze, just like I envisioned Argie's brain swirling around in that empty head of hers.
Tonya had presence of thought to stick a Jamesons in me hand. It was neat, straight up stuff that I began to sip like it was going out of style. Now I be not a whiskey drinker by any means, but the more Argie talked, the more sips I would take.
Tonya was curled up on the loveseat opposite the couch where I was stuck with Argie. She had been sipping as well and her eyes were starting to roll back in her head after an hour of listening to Argie rattle on. I willed her with me mind not to pass out. I didn't want to be left alone with the weirdo and her little dog too.
Over and over in me mind I was thinking, this can't be happening -- why me?
Finally it was one in the afternoon and Tonya's eyes opened wide like she had just realised something and in fact she had. Peter Flanagan had just come in. She was familiar with the sound of his footsteps because Alison had got to her with that story of Timothy O'Malley being dead in the freezer. Tonya had listened for Peter's approach and she had got quite good at identifying his footfalls in the brownstone. In her drunken stupor she had tuned out Argie and was picking up anything outside the babble.
Tonya sloshed her drink as she tried to place it on the coffee table and stand up at the same time. She missed and the tumbler fell to the floor. She was mumbling, "No time, no time . . ." and looking at me almost cross-eyed, she grabbed for the rock tumbler in me hand, missed and tried again, this time sloshing the whiskey all over both of us as she lifted it to her level. She slowly placed the glass on the table with a pointing finger at it, as if ordering it not to drop. I had no clue what she was doing or why.
I was too gone to realise something was up. She was gesturing to me to hurry, get up, come on. It took a few minutes before I realised what she meant. She had me backpack slung over her shoulder, handed me the luggage and pointed to the carryall because she couldn't not slur her words to sound out carryall. Meanwhile, Argiebelle was watching all this, her wee mutt was barking and Tonya and I were both trying to open the door at the same time, only to hit ourselves in the face with it.
Suddenly Argie was standing up, hands on hips, looking and sounding like Cyndi Lauper as she had figured out where we were going. I could almost hear that song playing, you know the one, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.
"You both are sodded to the gills. Do you think Mr. Flanagan is going to think this is a good first impression Gabriel? How much you both wanna bet you (she pointed at me), end up sleeping on the street tonight?"
"Good point," Tonya was saying as we two were leaning on the half open door trying to not fall down. "Maybe we should, I mean (hiccup), you should, sober up before you go down there," Tonya suggested to me.
"Un huh," was all I could muster. We dropped the bags, and Argie wiggled her way between us, leading us back to the couch where she sat us down, her between us. She talked about the saving merits of black coffee, but made no attempt to make some. Tonya basically groaned and crawled her way into the kitchen to make a pot.
Around three in the afternoon, I was fit to go met Peter Flanagan. Preface this with I was also deaf from Argie talking me ear off. Me shirt was dried of the whiskey on it, but Tonya made me change into another so I was presentable and not presenting as a drunken Irishman. Tonya opted to stay in her apartment and "sleep it off" while Argie guided me and me bags down to the second floor. I think the truth was, Tonya had had enough of Argie.
"Step left, step right, step left, step right," Argie was whispering all the way to Peter's door. She had me under the armpit like she was bracing me up. I didn't need the help. I tried to hush her but something stupid overtook me and I started laughing. The stupid thought was I could hear Cyndi Lauper in me head singing, girls just wanna have fun, and well . . . it wasn't funny, it was insane, and I couldn't stop laughing.
"Look you, he'll think you're a moron you keep laughing like that. Stop it."
I did. As suddenly as the laughter came on it disappeared. Why didn't I notice the resemblance before? Argie looked so much like Cydni Lauper she could have been her twin. I was focused on her face struck with that thought, but Argie thought I was admiring her. Oi!
We got to the door and I told her I thought it would be better if I was the only one at the door. For some reason, she decided to honour that and left me on me own. She was standing at the top of the stairs where Flanagan wouldn't see her. I had to be happy with that much, so I knocked.
The door slowly opened to reveal one washed out blue eye and a hunk of red hair. There was a pale patch of skin between both and for a moment I thought I was at a speak easy and needed a password. There was an "Oh," and the door swung open wide revealing the mysterious Mr. Flanagan.
He gestured me in and started to move past me to the hall to pick up me bags, but I caught him before he could see Argie (dressed as Cyndi Lauper) and mutt (dressed Lauper's dog?). I told him I had everything, I traveled light, ha ha. He didn't laugh.
He took me directly to "Tim's old room" and I dumped me bags. He then showed me the place. I was so taken with his strangeness I hadn't noticed me surroundings. Let me first describe Peter Flanagan. He has pasty white skin that is almost transparent. You can see the veins under his skin and that creeps me out. He is tall, thin, with a lot of red unruly hair that is curly and sticks out all over the place. I swear it has a life of it's own and I be scared of it.
He has massive big legs for a skinny man, and bigger feet with yellow toenails. He was wearing sandals, cargo shorts and a wife beater undershirt. He is oddly built for a thin man, with those big feet, skinny arms and these killer legs. It is like someone played Mr. Potato with his body parts.
Once I was over the initial shock of what he looked like, I took a sobering look at the abode. Wowey, wow, wow! It was done in neo-nazi red and black, there was a giant picture of Tao and another of Ho Chi Min. The entire place was filled with Oriental furniture which would be fine if I wasn't over six feet tall. Everything is made for small framed people. Peter, sat cross-legged on the floor and did not use the furniture and why? Because he is too over 6 feet tall and he can't fit comfortably in the chairs, how dumb is that? He is into Zen and Communism. For joy. What a combination, huh?
He was cooly polite and asked me if I would join him in an afternoon cup of tea. What could I say, no I had a pressing engagement with his freezer? I sat on the floor and watched him perform a Japanese tea ceremony over a stubby table with hardly any legs. After I hoisted meself up off the floor, I took meself to me room to quietly bash me head against the wall. When I actually looked at the room, I realised me bed is a palled on the floor! There is no mattress. I went back out and asked him about this because that was distinctly not to me liking. He told me that he and Tim were into Japanese Samurai culture and that they had sold or traded their old furniture for Japanese. Oh, and hadn't Alison told me that?
No she had been too busy telling me you murdered Tim and stuffed his body in the freezer overlooking this small detail. No, I didn't say that, but you know I was thinking it.
So one of me priorities is to go out and buy a decent bed, or a mattress at the very least.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
