Punk and Zen (20 page)

But it didn’t make sense. I mean it couldn’t be
biological, because, hell, on occasions, things did work—okay, not as well as
they worked by myself, but still, both those things proved that it had to be
something other than physical. Not that technique doesn’t count, of course, but
still…

Candace was gone, and even though we’d promised to
keep in touch, we weren’t anything more than friends. Trace was right here, and
even though it could have been so much more, it was never going to be. Dammit.
Had we both been sober this could have potentially been something amazingly
beautiful. And no matter who it was with, if I wasn’t doing it for myself, I
wasn’t getting off. Not that I didn’t enjoy and get really turned on, because I
did, but it was like no matter what anyone did, they just couldn’t touch me.

And if it wasn’t them—and I didn’t think it was—then
it was definitely me. And if it wasn’t biological, then maybe it was something
else. Maybe Trace couldn’t deal with being gay—maybe she needed to get drunk
and play all these games just to get to a place where she didn’t feel so afraid.
Oh, hell, maybe I just had to get my head together; maybe I was just coming (no
pun intended) from a different place. If it hadn’t been for the band, I
wouldn’t have done anything even remotely beneficial for myself for the last
several weeks. I’d been drinking too much, I’d been fucking around too much,
and nothing felt good. I was disgusted with myself. Okay, then. I had made a
decision.

I sighed and quietly slipped my arm out from under
Trace and got out of bed, careful to tuck the blankets around her. She might be
disappointed, but she wouldn’t be terribly surprised if I wasn’t there when she
woke. Plenty of times I’d left her place early to go for a run before she
opened her eyes. Usually, she’d meet me later upstairs and we’d eat together.
But not this morning, I thought with slight regret as I dressed in the early
morning light.

Maybe it was all in my head, and maybe it was my
environment. Maybe there was nothing wrong at all, and this was just not the
right place for me. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, I thought wryly.

I watched Trace sleep for a long moment, her lips a
perfect bruise in her pale face, soft and peaceful in the morning sun.

Moving carefully so as not to disturb her, I leaned
over and kissed them. Trace stirred. “Love you, Nina,” she mumbled sleepily and
kissed me in return, then settled back into sleep.

Stunned, I merely stood and stared a moment. “Love you
too, Trace,” I finally whispered back and noticed that my voice sounded thick
and harsh. Dammit. I was crying. About Trace. Again. I let the tears fall as I
padded to the door, and as I stood in the frame, I looked back at her sleeping
form.

“Bye,” I whispered in that same choked voice, and I
walked out, quietly closing the door behind me and careful not to make any
noise as I exited her apartment.

I had come to two conclusions: I had to leave. I just
really couldn’t take it anymore—not Trace, not Jackie, not even Cap, even
though he was well meaning when he wasn’t horny. I had to get away from all of
these places and these people and find out who I was, because I didn’t like the
person I was being.

And the other thing? I wasn’t going to even so much as
kiss another human being unless the words right before it were “I love you.”

That was it. No heavy making out, no crazy lines and
wild sex with what amounted to friendly strangers. Dates. I was going on dates
like a normal person, and if I liked them, there’d be another, and if there
wasn’t, well, hopefully I would have spent time with someone interesting. I’d
know the right person when I met them, I figured as I walked through the
corridor.

Instead of climbing the stairs to my apartment, I let
my feet lead me down. I meant it. I was going to Jerry’s Pancake Place to pick
up the newspaper and check out the adverts for, well, if not an apartment, then
at least a room.

I fumbled in a pocket and found my cigarettes, then
lit one as I went through the door, closing it behind me.
What if there
isn’t anyone for you
, my brain asked me;
what if you end up alone?

I pondered that possibility as I trudged down the
block I usually ran down. The answer was simple. There was a difference between
lonely and alone, and if I never met “my match,” well, I liked my own company
well enough. And with all the music and art I had to constantly work on, I’d
never have time to be lonely.

Okay
, my brain countered,
what about sex? What about
it?
I asked back. I mean, it’s not as if I enjoyed it too much. Okay, I
loved the thrill of the chase and enjoyed nothing better than reveling in the
ability to create all those delicious gasps and moans, feeling when a woman was
so ready to—okay. Stop there. Yes, I enjoyed that when it was happening, but
still, it left me empty. Besides, I told my brain as we entered Jerry’s Pancake
Place, it’s not as if I didn’t still have my favorite sexual partner—and I had
never let myself down.

No, we, meaning my brain and I, were going to get out
of there, focus on art and music and the things that were important. It would
be fuckin’ nice if I took some time somewhere and went to my favorite comic
book store, Universe, and picked up the
Love and Rockets
that I had
fallen so far behind in. It was time to get some clarity. Fuck it. I was
hungry, and after paying for the paper, I sat down and ordered breakfast—cream
of wheat with a soft-boiled egg on the side.

If I was never going to feel something, that special
pull, then I wasn’t going to settle for something else, either, I thought as I
spread the classifieds before me. I wasn’t going to waste my life pining for
things that wouldn’t happen, and I was going to take some responsibility for
who I wanted to be—someone honest and real. If I wasn’t going to settle for
less in myself, I wouldn’t settle for less in someone else, either.

I circled a couple of likely candidates for a place as
my food arrived, and as I ate in silence, I studied the want ads, too. Oh,
hell, maybe I’d just change everything while I was at it. Why not, right?

I found a few things that seemed likely. As soon as I
was done with eating, I would go to my apartment, shower, dress, and wake Nico.
Maybe he’d look at a few of these places with me, I thought; in fact, maybe we
could do that, then visit our parents and baby sister for a little while. Heck,
now that we were finally all talking to one another again, it might even be ABC
nice.

I smiled as I got myself together and went to the
counter to pay. I counted my change and, paper clutched under my arm, took a
moment to just feel the air around me when I stepped back outside. Yep, I
agreed as I smiled back to the brightly shining sun, today’s a brand-new day.

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

Just
Add Water

Somebody tell me where to find the things I had before

I never asked for nothing much but now I’m needing
more

Than a slap on the back or a kick in the teeth

and a look that says that I should go

Now I’m dressing in black and I’m dragging my feet

and I feel like I’ve got nothing to show

“Just Add Water”
—
Life Underwater

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

Nico did come along with me to check out a couple of
places, though he didn’t say much. He would look around and nod judiciously. I
agreed.

Nothing knocked me out either until I finally found
it—a huge one-room studio not too far from High Rock Park, a nature preserve
right in the middle of Staten Island. It wasn’t right off the park, but only a
few blocks away—perfect for my morning runs—while the yard in the back had
plenty of room to work out in—it was time to revisit my martial arts training.
Heck, the room was large, especially compared to the closet I’d lived in.

In short it was perfect, and except for the excited
sparkle in his eyes, Nico and I managed to contain our excitement while I
worked out the rent details with the landlord, Mr. Rabbitz—the place would cost
less than the space with my roommates.

I handed over the money and got my keys.

“Where to now?” Nico asked as we got into the van.

I had lots to do and lots to think about, but first—
“Let’s make a quick stop at the hardware store?”

“Done, chief.” Nico smiled at me. ABC “Dude,
you’ve got some beautiful space in there. What are you going to do with all
that room? And did you check out that incredible light?”

“Oh, yeah! I think I’m gonna…” and we discussed the
possibilities on the way to the store.

“This is for you,” I told him as we settled back into
the van, “’cause if my mama is your mama, then
mi casa es su casa
.” I
handed him a copy of my new key on a red carabiner key chain.

Nico’s eyes went wide with surprise, then he grinned.
“I’m so glad your mama is my mama. Sperm to worm?”

“You know it. Womb to tomb, bro, womb to tomb.”

I celebrated my twenty-first birthday by taking a
single trip with Nico’s van to get all of my stuff—clothing, books, and
instruments—and another trip to Jerry’s Pancake Place for fuel and to beg for a
bunch of old milk crates. Sunlight streamed in on two sides of my room most of
the day, and, using crates for book shelves, I had two completely separate
areas—one for my bed, the first one I’d ever bought. It might have been cheap,
but it was new, clean, and mine, all mine.

I kept my guitar in a stand right next to it, while a
trunk at the foot of it held my notebooks, my letters, everything important to
me, such as postcards from Samantha before we’d lost touch, my yearbooks,
things like that.

The rest of the area, separated by a bookcase I’d
created out of the milk crates, housed my equipment and my art supplies, while
a nice-sized closet contained all of my clothes.

Mr. Rabbitz, an older bachelor, shared the house with
his nephew. At one point, the house had been a funeral parlor, so it had two
kitchens, living rooms, libraries, one on top of the other, with a small barn
in the back that had been converted into a garage with a loft on top. While
both my “room” (which was on the second floor and directly above the library)
and the loft were big enough to have the entire band over with equipment for
practice, the loft over the barn was almost four times the size and would make
a great complete living space. It needed fixing up, but as soon as I had the
cash, I was going to inquire about maybe renting that part and doing the
repairs. Hey, I’m a lesbian—I know how to use a hammer!

But since Christmas had come and gone a bare month
before, my cash supply was a little lower than I normally liked. I’d started
working a new job right before the holidays, because I really needed to just
get away from Staten Island and the whole gang. Yeah, I maintained my DJing
status most Friday and Saturday nights at the Red Spot, but I was getting sick
of the whole scene and trying to slow it down. However, the more coldly polite
I got, the more persistent everyone became.

I got offers to do private parties, including a few
great gigs at NYU’s legendary Fiji House, with their very well-deserved and
many-times-over earned reputation as the all-time best-time party house
around—when a Fiji party gets louder than it ought, the mayor knocks on the
door in his bathrobe.

Stephie and Jerkster came with me to one of them so we
could throw in a little “unplugged” performance—test the water, so to speak.
After, we decided to grab a bite and walk around the Village, to enjoy the
twenty-four-hour surround-sound scene.

Buddies that they were, they figured it was time I saw
a gay bar that wasn’t the depressing dive on Staten Island. Oh, hell, maybe
what I needed now was to be more heavily involved in gay culture or—more
specifically—lesbian culture.

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made.
Maybe part of the problem was that I was inundated with straight messages, on
every level. Besides, part of my new rule was “Don’t mess with straight
chicks.” Yeah, they seemed to like me, but they were nuts (um, Trace,
remember?).

Anyhow, I’d walked into the bar with the band, had a
cranberry and orange drink (I’d already had some alcohol—I didn’t want to get
wasted, at all), and looked around. Crowded—and way after midnight, too. One
bartender in the front. One bar and bartender in the back. One bouncer by the
door. No waitress—anywhere. They needed help, in my humble opinion. Hmm…

The bouncer was a big, and I mean big, woman. She was
at least 5' intimidating 10". The arms crossed against her chest, spiky
haircut, and the set, straight line of her mouth didn’t do anything to add
warmth to her, and the scowl she wore as I approached wasn’t encouraging, but
hey, what the hell, right?

“Hi there, I’m Nina,” I said, and held out my hand
with a smile, “and you are?”

Her scowl deepened and her arms flexed before she
uncrossed them to shake my hand. “Jen,” she growled at me finally.
“Whattayawant?”

“Nice to meet you, Jen.” I smiled even wider as I
shook her hand. Okay, this wasn’t someone who believed in social niceties. I
took a breath. Straight to the point, then.