The Boy Who Cried Freebird (20 page)

It was just another lazy Sunday afternoon and Adam Coil was browsing a summer garage sale in his neighborhood. He asked the proprietor, “Any books or records?” That was his mantra when it came to this sort of thing. “Any books or records?”

The owner—an old man—pointed to the back of the garage. “There might be a few things left over there,” he answered. “You should have been here yesterday, one guy loaded up his car with all sorts of stuff.”

Adam winced and said, “That's what I get for waiting until Sunday.” He located a small stack of records, mostly timeworn junk in pretty bad shape and picked out a pair of albums by some forgotten group from San Diego. He also found some science fiction by writer Michael Moorcock and a dog-eared edition of
The Whole Earth Catalog
.

Then Adam noticed a gray-haired woman sitting quietly in the corner. She was surely the owner's wife, but the contrast between the two was striking. While the old man joked and was eager to make a deal on everything in the garage, the woman was silent and distracted. The look in her eyes implied both distress and complete self-absorption.

Adam wondered if she was an acid casualty, or perhaps senile. She
and her husband were once hippies—that much was clear. The garage was littered with pale remnants of a lifestyle from long ago. There were crocheted shawls, a “black light” with posters, a fringed leather vest, peasant blouses, and decrepit sandals. Adam smiled as he noticed the hand-painted Adam-and-Eve coffee mugs, withered headbands, patched-up bell-bottoms, a collection of tarnished incense holders, and some hand-carved Mersham pipes.

He stepped up to pay for his items and the old man began some preemptive haggling—a sporting gesture that Adam appreciated. After a quick back-and-forth, which amounted to a savings of a dollar fifty, the jovial oldster twirled what was left of his graying ponytail and said, “We're at $4.75, why don't you pick out a T-shirt and we'll make it five bucks even?”

“Why not?” Adam replied. He rustled through a carton of musty clothes on the makeshift counter. They were mostly faded concert T-shirts, but when Adam reached into the box, he grabbed something warm and tingly and pulled out a radiant, tie-dyed T-shirt. The shirt was an extra-large and looked like new.

When he placed the shirt on the table and pulled out his wallet, the old woman snapped out of her trance. She began speaking excitedly and Adam had a hard time understanding her. All he could make out was something about “bad karma” and a big mistake with someone named Sam. “Listen,” said Adam. “If there's any problem with me taking the T-shirt, just forget it. It's not important.”

“No, no, no,” insisted the old man. “There's no problem. Take the shirt—it's an original tie-dye and we want you to have it. The shirt is yours. Really, take it with our blessings.”

Adam peered at the old woman. She had reverted back to her distracted state looking even sadder than before. “Well, as long as it isn't a big deal,” he muttered shyly. “No seller's remorse?”

“Not at all,” replied the old hippie. “Here, I'll even throw in some incense…”

As he left the garage, Adam looked back to see the elderly couple speaking in hushed tones. But by the time he got home, he'd forgotten the sad look on the old woman's face. He threw the shirt into the washing machine and read a few pages from Michael Moorcock's
An Alien Heat
.

The next day, Adam called his girlfriend, Tina. She was younger than Adam, shared a high-rise apartment with a roommate across town, and worked long hours as a graphic designer. She was a conservative girl and much less spontaneous than Adam.

The couple had a highly structured relationship. For example, Tina never stayed at Adam's during the week, but she would come over every Friday and spend the weekend. It was an established routine and Adam took comfort in the dependable aspects of their relationship.

Adam was happy just to have a girlfriend, especially one as smart and pretty as Tina. She'd plan out their weekends: movies, shopping, and get-togethers with other couples. Adam cooked when they stayed home—she would read and they would watch TV together. They were what you'd call comfortable, but there wasn't much passion in their relationship and they only had sex about once a week, usually on Saturday.

On Friday, as usual, Tina came over after work. Their plan was to stay in that night, go to the mall on Saturday, and hit a museum on Sunday. Adam had cooked dinner, penne pasta with chicken, and Tina had brought an expensive bottle of wine. Afterward, they made love in a somewhat perfunctory fashion. “Well, that's it for the weekend,” thought Adam as Tina took her shower.

Just as Adam was drifting off to sleep he heard Tina cursing in the bathroom. “Damn!” she whined. “I forgot my overnight bag. Now
I don't have anything to wear for tomorrow.” She stomped around the bedroom, “I need something to wear right now. I can't stand to sleep naked.”

Tina opened Adam's bottom dresser drawer and pulled out the tie-dyed T-shirt. “Hey, I've never seen this,” she said. “I guess it will fit. How long have you had it?”

Adam was tired and he knew that Tina would never wear something that he'd bought secondhand. So, for the sake of expediency, peace and quiet, he avoided telling her the entire truth.

“It was in a pile of old clothes,” he answered. “But don't worry, I just washed it with fabric softener. Besides, the colors will look nice on you. Just put it on and come to bed.”

Adam woke abruptly at two in the morning. There was music playing. What roused him, however, was Tina. Her hands were rubbing his back and her tongue was licking his neck. This time, their lovemaking was more passionate. Adam gasped as she straddled him. “Omigod Tina, what's gotten into you?” Her eyes were glazed, and she answered with a burst of pelvic thrusts. “Whatever it is, I'm not complaining!” he moaned.

Later that morning, Adam awoke again, this time to the sounds of Quicksilver Messenger Service's “Who Do You Love.” He noticed that the XM radio was set to “Deep Tracks” instead of CNN. Then he smelled breakfast. This was even more unbelievable than the sex, Tina was actually cooking! When he entered the kitchen there were pancakes, sausages, and hot coffee waiting for him. “Good morning, baby,” she cooed. “Sleep well?”

It was nearly noon and Tina was still wearing the T-shirt—and nothing else. “I was thinking,” she said. “We already slept late, what if we just stayed in today? Let's blow off everything and forget about the mall. Would that be okay?”

Okay? Hell yes, it would be okay.

So, the couple lounged around for the entire weekend. They watched old movies, had Chinese food delivered, listened to music, and had a lot more sex. Adam couldn't have been happier, and Tina seemed to be enjoying herself. She even stayed over on Sunday night, which meant that she'd be wearing the same outfit to work that she'd worn on Friday—yet another first.

There was no denying that Adam was pleased. In his mind, Tina had made some kind of internal shift and was more fun-loving than before. Later that week when folding laundry, he came across the tie-dye. For a moment Adam felt the same tingly warmth that he'd experienced at the garage sale.

For the next month, things proceeded in a similar manner. Then, Tina suggested that they “buy some grass” to smoke before going to bed. Adam wasn't much of a pothead, but he'd blown his share of weed. As far as he knew, Tina had never even smoked a joint all through college. Now, besides the sex—which was getting more frequent and a little kinkier—she wanted to get high.

And—whenever Tina was over at Adam's place, she wore the tie-dye.

There were other changes in Tina. She'd begun going to resale shops and vintage clothing stores, changing her wardrobe in a decidedly retro mode. Adam was enjoying the new, fun-loving Tina—she was more than he could have hoped for—that is, until she started making more willful changes.

Tina had taken to wearing the tie-dye under her clothes when she went to work. It was her shirt now—that much was clear. But wearing it seven days a week was a little too much. When Adam tried to talk about it with Tina, she would either get angry or change the subject by dragging him into the bedroom.

One day, when they were sitting around getting high and listening to Joni Mitchell's album
Clouds
, Tina got a frantic call from her roommate, Andrea. It seemed that Andrea's cat, Herman, had somehow hung himself on a beaded curtain that Tina had installed in their apartment. Herman the cat was dead and Andrea was hysterical. Tina said that she would come home immediately and bring something to calm Andrea down.

When Tina explained to Adam what had happened, he asked her what she was bringing home to calm Andrea's nerves. “Oh, just some Quaaludes that I have in my purse,” she replied.

“Quaaludes?” Adam shrieked. “Where did you get Quaaludes? I didn't even know that they still made Quaaludes.”

Tina looked wearily at Adam. “If you must know, I got them from this biker named Clem.”

Adam snapped in disbelief, “Clem? A biker named Clem? Are you kidding? Where did you meet a biker and what the hell were you doing buying Quaaludes anyway?”

Tina had already pulled her poncho over her head and was headed toward the door. “I don't have time for this crap,” she said angrily. “Andrea needs me. And don't
ever
talk to me like that again—you're really bringing me down!”

With that, Tina walked out of Adam's apartment, slamming the door.

Adam didn't know what to make of her behavior and couldn't believe that Tina was using drugs. She was a conservative yuppie who'd grown up in central Iowa. When they first met, Tina was afraid of public transportation—now she was consorting with bikers.

Adam was angry but he was also worried and called Tina's cell phone repeatedly. She didn't call him back for three days, which was the longest time they'd ever gone without speaking since they first started dating.

When Tina finally called back, she was apologetic and humble, “Can I please come over on Friday? I have something special for you.” Adam felt a flood of relief as well as a little excitement.

By Friday, Adam had rehearsed his questions about Clem and the Quaaludes. But the moment he saw Tina he forgot everything—she looked so good in her hip-hugger jeans.

After a candlelight dinner, a joint, and a bottle of red wine, Tina took something out of her overnight bag. “This is for you,” she whispered. “I embroidered it myself.” It was a blue-jean jacket with a yellow sun emblazoned on the back.

He tried on the jacket while Tina lit some patchouli incense. “Now, here's your other gift,” she said as she handed him a color-illustrated copy of the
Kama Sutra
. “Isn't it groovy? There's this new position I've been dying to try…”

By Monday morning Adam felt completely wiped out, and his apartment was a total mess. The weekend was a blur, and as he stumbled around he found a note from Tina saying that there was another gift for him out on the balcony. He squinted into the sunlight and stepped outside to find a macramé plant holder hanging above the railing with some beautiful trailing begonias in a huge clay pot.

Despite the gift, Adam felt lousy. It took him all afternoon to clean the apartment, and after four cups of coffee he still couldn't clear his head. It was more than a weed and booze (and sex) hangover—he felt as if he'd been drugged. Adam wondered if Tina had slipped him a Quaalude. When he called Tina she was cold and distant. She said that she had to spend more time with her roommate, who was still upset about Herman the cat.

The next Friday, Tina canceled their weekend plans, saying that she had to stay home with Andrea. Adam pressed her to come over
but she refused and said that he was being insensitive. Adam thought he heard a motorcycle revving in the background.

Another week went by before Tina came over to Adam's place. He hardly recognized her. Her hair was now straightened and parted down the middle. She wore a pale shade of lipstick and thick dark eyeliner.

Tina had brought him another gift. “I baked some brownies last night,” she giggled. “Want one?”

Adam reached for the plate and then thought better of it. “Maybe later,” he replied. “I thought we could have some dinner and talk.”

“Well, actually, I can't stay,” Tina answered. “Andrea and I are going to the movies. She's still having a really rough time.”

Adam barely restrained his frustration and squawked, “What about
our
relationship? I thought we were going to spend some time together. I haven't seen you all week.”

Tina responded with a fury Adam had never seen. “Our relationship? I'm tired of you hassling me about our relationship! My life doesn't revolve around you. I have other friends, other interests. You're turning into such a bummer! Maybe we should just take a break. I need some time to sort things out.”

So, Tina left quickly and Adam threw her brownies in the garbage. He wondered if there was anything illicit in her recipe. “I bet she's seeing that biker guy,” he thought. “Someone has to be responsible for all these changes in her.” Adam shuddered as he imagined a burly, tattooed biker screwing Tina from behind.

He decided not to call Tina for a while; she wasn't interested and he wasn't going to beg. But Adam sank into a funk that lasted almost two weeks. The only thing that shook him out of his depression was a freak accident. At least Adam hoped that it was an accident.

He'd been sitting around the house going stir-crazy and decided to go to the corner store to get some groceries. On his way out, he
stopped to chat with the doorman, a nice gentleman named William who loved to talk. That was all it took. Adam immediately blurted out all of the problems that he was having with Tina.

Adam had just gotten to the point in his story where he said, “So I thought—forget the crazy bitch, she's nothing but trouble anyhow,” when suddenly, a large object came hurtling down from above, narrowly missing Adam and crashing between the two men.