Joey Cloudy online

chapter 33.1

TRAMP: New years day January 1st, 2001 final edit

Mona and Nathan walked into the apartment a few minutes after midnight as Aaron and Ahmad sat watching the celebration on the TV live feed from New Year’s Eve parties all over the world. Nathan’s eyes were red and swollen from crying. Mona’s face was tight with anger. She slammed the door behind her, walked into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee before she planted herself in her familiar seat on her futon beside Aaron. He watched her as she set her cup on the floor, kicked off her steel-toed boots, then stoically sipped her coffee as she leaned back into the cushion, visibly upset.

I can’t fucking believe you! Whined Nathan from his swivel chair in front of his desk.

I was just outside! I would have been in on time!

You were sucking his cock you cum burping whore!

I was back on time! She sighed. Well, at least now he knew what was holding her up. Nat turned around in his chair and went back to his computer game, while Mona sat mutely, sipping coffee, staring blankly at the old floor model Zeineth Television. Ahmad sat in the ragged recliner, covered himself with a plaid Afghan covered with cat hair where he fell asleep watching the revelers on the television.

Aaron twisted up a fat joint and fired it up, hoping to relieve some of the tension in the room a little. He took a big hit, then passed it to Mona. She took a few hits, then passed it back to Aaron. He walked across the living room to the corner by the landing of the stairs, where Nat sat blasting away with a dark grey shotgun at his pixilated enemies. He ducked back into a room he had already cleared, then took the joint and took as big a hit as his lungs could hold.

Aaron returned to his seat on the far corner of the futon. The look on Mona’s face was one of twisted victory, as if she had planned the whole thing just to piss him off or maybe to teach him a lesson about the true nature of their relationship. It seemed ridiculously risky considering her state of permanent underemployment and the fact that Trevor obviously had no intention of ever letting her move in with him, let alone marrying her.

If Nat kicked her out on her ass, she’d be on the streets again. But Nat had no idea that she couldn’t move in with Trevor besides he didn’t want her to leave he just wanted her to have sex with him again more than he was he was more inconvenienced at the thought of having to not wanting to have to find someone else sick enough to put up with his particular brand of kink than he was jealous. He walked over to the futon, ignoring Mona, who took another hit of the weed, then went upstairs to bed. Mona looked at Aaron after he left the room as if he could save her from her own stupidity.

What do you think I should do?

You should move in with Trevor and stop torturing him this way.

He doesn’t want me to move in with him.

Well, since you’ve completely fucked up your living situation here, I think your only real option is to find a real job and get your own place.

Martin has an apartment for rent above his house.

How you gonna pay the rent?

Joseph offered me a job as a receptionist for his law firm.

It looks like you’ve been thinking about this for a while.

I know I can’t keep living here like this; it’s just that I’ve never lived alone.

Well, it’ll be good for you to get a taste of real independence and finally take care of yourself. He observed a shudder of revulsion that shook her entire body as the thought of having to work a regular 9 to 5 for a living slapped her across the face. He lit a cigarette as she puffed on the shrinking joint.

Don’t worry, he said encouragingly, you’re smart, you’re talented, you’ve been running your own business for years, you can do it. Aaron smiled, and Mona replied with a weak smile of her own. Neither one of them believed that she could do it, but still, she was in a corner; she had to do something before things with Nathan got any worse than they already were. Aaron sat at the computer, checked his email, then opened a notebook and began to type up a new poem. He saw Mona walk past him on her way upstairs

“Happy New Year” he whispered.

“Happy New Year.” Mona sighed as she trudged towards the bedroom as if she were a prisoner on a death march.

Wake up, son, we gotta get back to the room to get changed, then I gotta go cash my check so we can go to the movies this afternoon.

Do you have to work today, Dad?

No, but we’ve got to get back to the room to get cleaned up, and my check is stashed in the room hidden inside a book of Chinese poetry. They both smiled. You want some coffee? The ugly hate the beautiful, the fat detest the thin, the weak despise the strong, the ordinary loathe the extraordinary, and the stupid hate the intelligent. Those with some exceptional talent or ability often believe that they are just like everyone else, but they are wrong. Those who put in the extraordinary effort to make themselves better human beings are not like everyone else.

Aaron looked at the machines in the weight room located upstairs behind the office next to the pool of the Foxmoor apartment complex. In the two years that he had been living here, hitting the gym three days a week, he had never seen anyone else in the large room filled with exercise machines and free weights. At first, he thought that he was simply working out at an odd hour and was simply missing the other residents when they were using the facilities, but the thin layer of dust on the equipment was evidence of some other reason.

He found it hard to believe that in a complex filled with over a thousand residents that he was the only one using the facility. But the machines were always set to the same settings that he had left them on during his previous workout. The free weights were in the same place where he had dropped them after his last workout. The people who worked out that lived here probably worked out at one of the more fashionable gyms, like Bally’s or Gold’s, or some other hip place to socialize and meet up with the opposite sex. He wasn’t upset by the gym’s emptiness; he enjoyed the solitude, the silence, the easy access to whatever piece of equipment he wanted to use without having to wait in line. It was time to leave. He would miss this about the place, but it could not be helped; he was too far behind on his rent to ever catch up.

The only break that he had caught was that the manager liked him. She had just started working there when he moved into the complex five years ago, and he had, up until recently, always been on time with his rent. But, with the layoff, the roommates bailing, his unemployment being cut in half, and the restoration shop not paying him enough to cover his expenses, he had no choice but to put everything he owned back into storage and go live with his newly divorced cousin Robbie in the Grove (Pleasant Grove).

He was done with the shop; he had worked there long enough for free, and the apprentice bullshit was old; he was generating income with his labor and skills, but the old kraut was a stingy old cunt who didn’t want him to make it. She seemed to have some fantasy of him taking up residence in the spare room or turning the garage into an apartment, but he was finished with that antiques restoration bullshit.

They had made more than enough money for her to pay him as per their agreement before he returned to work with her but the old lady was buying exotic dogs and wasting days visiting her old friends rather than working on the jobs that they were already in the middle of restoring at the shop, witch he thought was rather hypocritical considering what a cunt she had been the day he had brought Mona along to help him out one day at the shop located in the front of her wood framed house in oak cliff. Of course, it didn’t help that after a few hours of watching him work that Mona had to go into the house and lie down to rest. Still, that didn’t give her the right to behave like such a self-righteous cunt. Christ! No wonder she had been divorced five times; no man could tolerate her bullshit for long, and even her own son wouldn’t work with her. Yvonne was a real bitch.

The electronic key card didn’t open the door. He felt a sickening wave of nausea as the realization of what was happening gripped him. That motherfucker Ernest hadn’t paid the rent. It was his week to cover the rent, and that useless cunt of a dope fiend brother of his had smoked up his paycheck, son of a bitcth, so they were locked out of their room.

What’s wrong, Dad?

I’m not sure, let’s go to the office and see if we can get the manager to let us in the room so that I can get my check and head to work. Ahmaad followed his dad towards the front of the residential hotel to the manager’s office, not quite sure exactly what was going on but certain that something wasn’t right. The manager was a petite blonde who would have been attractive if it weren’t for the haggard look of perpetual worry etched into her face. She was only thirty years old, but she looked at least a decade older. She wore rectangular glasses with black plastic rims and kept her hair cropped short enough to style or wash and wear without having to bother with rollers or curling irons. Her blue eyes looked tired in her round face. She managed a weak smile as they entered the office.

Good morning, how can I help you?

Yes, my name is Aaron Moore, I’m in room 1169, and my key isn’t working this morning.

What’s that last name again she said as she keyed his information into the computer. Aaron Moore’s room 1169, the one in the back corner on the first floor.

I’m sorry mister Moore, but there’s nothing wrong with your key. The computer disabled your locks automatically this morning for non-payment of this week’s rent.

I’m sorry, but I share that room with my little brother, and he assured me that he had the rent this week. I talked to him yesterday before I left work, and he told me he had already paid it.

I’m sorry, sir, but I have no record of his doing so, and I’ve been here every day for the last week.

Ok, listen, I left my paycheck in the room. If you could let me in, then I can get it cashed and pay you after I get off work tonight. I don’t believe this. Can I use your phone for a minute to call Ernest?

What’s the number I’ll dial it for you she said as she passed him the receiver. He noticed how tiny and pale her hands were; she was as small as a child. 214 428 7598 666 that’s his beeper number, he’ll know it’s me and call right back. Put in the number here and three sixes that my code so he’ll know that it’s me calling. Aaron smoked a cigarette while Ahmaad sat in one of the chairs and read a gardening magazine that he found lying on the end table. Halfway through his cig, the phone rang. Penelope is what was etched on her gold name tag. She answered on the second ring

Hearthside Inn, Penelope speaking, how can I direct your call? Yes, yes, he did, he’s right here just a moment.

What up nigga’?

What up? I’ll tell you what up nigga’! I’m in the office couse me and my son are locked outta the goddamned room! That’s what’s up nigga’! Now why in the fuck did you tell me that you had already paid these motherfuckers when you know you aint did shit?

Ah dawg look uh listen I was going to but my boy ride broke down before we could get out there’ and do dat so I was just gone hit ’em up first thang in the morning.

Nigga is you crazy? It’s eight fifteen AM your lying ass done spent all your money, ain’t cha.

Naw dawg, look, I lost my check, is all I…

Mother fucker don’t tell me no more of your bullshit assed lies bitch. I’m standing here with my son it’s fucking snowing outside, and we in the goddamned office, locked outta the motherfucken room because you spent last night sucking on a glass dick!

Man I…

What the fuck am I supposed to do, Brother? You tell me. I can’t even get in the room to get my fucking paycheck couse the mother fucking computer automatically locks you out when they don’t get no ends.

I’m sorry… You sorry, alright motherfucker. I can’t fucking believe I let your dope fiend ass talk me into letting you stay with me. First, you pawn my TV, then claim you dropped it, then replace it with this one, half the size of the one you stole

I really did drop it, we didn’t pawn it…

Whatever, dope fiend. Listen motherfucker I’m going to work and see if I can get these Jews to cut me another check, and then I’m coming back here to pay my rent. When I get back, you need to come get your shit outta my goddanmed room.

Where am I supposed to go, dawg?

I suggest you take your ass back home to that fat cunt you married. I don’t give a fuck if you live under a bridge or in mother fucken cardboard box. Just get the fuck outta my room tonight nigga’! I’m sick of your lying ass. And all of your rock head bull shit! Aaron slammed the receiver phone down on the cradle and took a deep breath. Then he noticed Penelope’s face was streaked with tears.

I’m sorry, he said, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that my little brother has some problems, and there’s just nothing I can do to help him. Every time I try to look out for him, he fucks me over.

Penelope handed a key to Aaron. Here she said my husband’s a junkie too, he’s the maintenance man here. Aaron took the key

Listen, I promise that I’ll be back here as soon as I cash my check. I get off at five, and then I only need to get a ride to the southside with one of the girls from work to cash my check, then I’ll be back here, thank you. Penelope waved goodbye as she stood behind the counter, sobbing, her face contorted with grief. It was all just too much. It was all too familiar.

The key worked, and Aaron called Jennifer. It was eight twenty-five. One of her roommates finally picked up the phone, and Jennifer eventually mumbled hello, yeah, I’m going in today, thanks for calling and waking me up, or else I woulda been late again, yeah sure let me shower, I’ll see you in twenty minutes. Bye. Aaron went to the fridge and grabbed a beer, then picked up a half-smoked blunt from his stash box in the dresser drawer.

You need a bath, son.

No, I’ll just put on some clean clothes and brush my teeth.

What about you, Dad? Are you gonna take a shower?

Naw, I’m gonna smell like I feel today fuck ’em. Jenn will be here in about twenty minutes, so eat a bowl of cereal to hold you until we get to work, then we’ll grab some Starbucks or something, ok.

Yeah.

Aaron sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulder slumped, and he lowered his head, closed his eyes, as his hands trembled with rage. It startled him at first when Ahmaad hugged him. He had been so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice him walk up.

I love you, Dad. Don’t worry, everything’s gonna be all right.

I love you, too, son. Now, get changed and brush your teeth because you got puppy breath. He mussed his hair as he headed to the bathroom to get changed. He was right, they’d been in tighter spots than this before, and somehow they always made it through. He put out the blunt and finished the beer in two long swallows. Burped so loud that he made Ahamaad laugh in the bathroom.

Excuse you.

That ain’t bad manors he shouted at the laughter coming from the bathroom that’s good beer. It was one of his father’s favorite lines; he loved quoting his old man. He remembered how proud he was of his father when he was his age. He wondered when he would become disillusioned with him and think of him as a dreamer and a failure like everyone else in the family. Oh well, there was no use in worrying about that now, right now his son loved him, and that was all the love in the world, that was all the love that he needed.

Don’t worry, little man, I ain’t gonna let nothing happen to you on my watch. Ahmaad turned on the radio; the morning DJs had stopped babbling long enough to play some music, the Red Hot Chili Peppers Under the Bridge. They both sang along with the radio. After work, Stevie Nixon gave them a ride to the parts house to cash his check, then she dropped them off at the hotel. Aaron paid the rent and had his brother’s name taken off the rental agreement.

When they went into the room, all of Ernest’s things were already gone. The sob had come while he was at work. At first, it looked like everything of his was still there, then Aaron noticed that his bible size hardbound collected works of Octavio Paz was missing, well, at least the junky mother fucker is stealing poetry. They laughed, sat down to relax, and played Jet Moto on the PlayStation as they jammed to DMX. While they figured out what they were going to do for dinner.

How does Chinese sound tonight? The hotel’s TV screen was split in half vertically. Aaron’s weight-hover bike launched high into the air after clipping a stump in the swamp. They were racing each other and a half a dozen other racers controlled by the computer. The yellow and black machine completed three back flips before it landed just in front of Ahmaads heavy weight bike that stayed low to the ground when running over small obstacles it sacrificed agility For stability but the triple had given his dad a fresh supply of turbos to compensate for the one he wasted using the stump for a ramp and so even though Ahmad had a higher top end on his machine it was difficult to grab enough air on this course his only hope now would be for the Oldman to blow it on a crash he had two turbos left he burned one and rammed the yellow machine from the right side hoping that he would crash into the wall and it would take him too long to remount and reenter the rase. But the ultra-light bike popped a turbo and rocketed away from his green machine like Bruce Lee’s ghost.

You only got one turbo left; they both knew every rut and stump in the course, and memorized every curve and straight. Ahmaad opened up the throttle, and the big green machine rode out the course leaning tight into the curves sling sling-shotting out and staying as close as possible to the yellow machine that still had several turbos left for the back half of the muddy course. The big machines had plenty of ponies to catch the little one, and every time he got too far ahead of the old man, he’d burn a turbo to close the gap. Popping cork screw wheelies, barrel rolls, and back flips off of muddy ramps that rose up out of the mire to refill his turbos. Before the final stretch, the yellow machine nosedived, attempting a forward flip off the last ramp.

Shit! Aaron shouted. Ahmaad laughed as he burned his last turbo sprinting over the finish line.

Good race, dude. It felt good to beat his dad because he knew that when he beat him, it was a real victory. He didn’t let anybody win. The only way to beat him was to get better. Aaron took a break to order Chinese food for dinner. Ahmaad continued to race against the computer. As soon as he hung up the phone, it rang. He thought it might be the restaurant; it was Jen. She was on her way to Dallas and wanted to hang out tonight.

Great, I’ll see you later. He hung up the phone.

Who was that, Dad?

It was Jens, she said she’s coming by later.

Yeah!

You like her, huh?

Yeah, she’s really nice.

Aaron looked at the two paintings that she had given him the last time he’d seen her. They were good therapy but terrible art; still, he displayed them proudly on the dresser. He wondered if she was someone he could have a real relationship with and build a life and a future together, or was she as screwed up as all of the rest of the women in his insane life.

You were right about the poetry reading, Dad. Those people can’t write very well. They keep reading the same poems over and over again, or they read their new stuff, which is just awful. It used to be good, but something’s not right with the reading anymore; it doesn’t feel good to be there anymore.

Yeah, I’ve known it for a while, but I was hoping it was just a slump.

What’s Tavah up to tonight?

She called me at work today to wish me a happy New Year, but I don’t think that we’ll see her tonight. I think she has a date tonight.

You know, Mom said I looked like a bum in the trench coat Jen gave me? They both laughed.

What did you say to her?

I told her it was a London Fog, but I don’t think she knew what that meant.

Don’t let it get to you; you lookin’ sharp in that coat, son. It sounds like she’s just a little jealous.

Yeah, she’s always asking me about your girlfriends and who you’re seeing, what they look like, how old they are, and stuff.

Really? I didn’t know that.

Yeah, you never ask me anything about who she’s seeing.

We’ll that James guy seems alright.

He said that you’re homeless, and he’s always bagging on you with mom.

I’m sorry to hear that. I still contend that he’s the only decent guy that I’ve seen your mom with in her entire life, other than me, of course.

Of course. You’re a good dad. Ahmaad said, his face breaking into a broad grin.

Nobody else seems to think so.

Doesn’t matter what other people think. I’m the only person whose opinion matters. Ahmad continued to put his skills to the test on the PlayStation as he maintained a commanding lead over the computer-generated opponents. Aaron looked up from where he sat on the edge of one of the beds, staring at the floor at his youngest child.

You’re an old soul, son.

Thanks, you’re a good Dad.

-about the author JD Cloudy’s poetry has disappeared in the literary journals: Fatfizz, Mad Swirl, Texas Beat Anthology, Danse Macabre, Du Jour, and Death List Five. He has won no literary awards, entered no slam competitions, and never completed college. He lives to write in Dallas, TX.