Evan

I was at a crime scene today. Well, sort of. This is how it started:
I was walking by the Charles river near the Harvard bridge when a young man sitting by a tree saw me and asked me, "Do you want a shot?" The first thing that came to my mind was Heroin. I said, "What? A shot?" He repeated, "Yeah...a shot of whiskey." I said no thanks. Then he talked some more. "I'm thinking about killing myself."
"Really?" I replied, realizing I had just stumbled upon an unforgettable situation.
"Yes," he coldly responded, pulling a whiskey bottle out of his black, felt backpack.
"When are you planning on doing it?" I asked him, still standing a few steps away from him.
"Tonight," he uttered in a matter of fact tone, drooping his head under the shelter of the leaves above him. The gray clouds and light sprinkle of rain was the least of my concerns in front of this mystery man, who was in the one place where nature could end his misery if a storm decided to strike the tree.
"How old are you?" I continued, still doubting the safety of the situation.
"27. Come on man. Sit down. Let's talk." Given that I had already almost left when I saw him reaching for the whiskey bottle, frightened he would take out a gun, I was trustful of my instincts and stayed standing.
"Sorry man. I think I'll just stay where I am."
"Ok. That's all right." I felt something profound was in play here and decided I would stay with him for a while at least and asked,
"Maybe you can call a hotline even though you might think that would be stupid." He did not reply and asked me to sit down again and join him in a drink of his tall, yellow bottle of depressing whiskey. I declined his offer once again. I continued with the curiosity and inquired, "What's bothering you? What's the dilemma?"
He said, "I know it's cliche but...there's no point."
"Yeah it's cliche but that's because everybody says it, because it's true. There isnt a point," I threw back to him without a thought to what the correct thing was to say. I wanted to be real, a fleeting friend.
"I don't have anything tomorrow. There's nothing for me," he droned, begging me for more conversation from his sunglass hidden eyes.
"Tomorrow's shit. That doesn't mean anything. A year is what counts."
"Are you a day by day kind of guy?" he asked me, seaming to contradict what I had just said.
"Yeah...sometimes. I climbed a tree today." Evan, whis is what I decided to call him later upon reflection of the moment, cracked a rare smile, giving me strength and hope to continue fueling his confidence or purpose or whatever the fuck was going on in his brain.
"Where?" he genuinely wondered of me.
"A little ways over there," I said, pointing away from the bridge, further down on Mass Ave and into Cambridge. "By a tall windowed building. I mean, who climbs trees anymore?" I observed, proud of myself for being honest and pouring my true self out to Evan (Evan Trevor is the full name I decided for him).
"Come on, sit down," he pleaded to me again. My trust for Evan had built up to a reasonably safe point by now and I saw little danger in taking a seat, but also keeping some distance from him. He offered me a drink again and I said no once again. "You don't drink?"
"No, I do. Sometimes. I just don't know you," I repeated, since I had said the same thing to him before when he had asked me to sit down for the second time. Before, he said, "Well I don't know you either." This time he only shook his head, not as much directed to me, but more so in the face of life and disapointments it had thrown to him over and over. "So what's your thing? What do you do?"
"I'm a musician. I'm a singer/songwriter. I go to Berklee College of Music," I told him. He seemed impressed.
"What sort of things do you write?" I talked about Hot Damn Got a Woman and how I like writing serious songs but also humorous ones. "How do you plan to get the stuff out there in a place like Boston?" he tested me.
"Well, I'm afraid. Some people pretend not to be but I'm scared so I'm thinking about mixing medias. I make movies too. Cartoons and movies. Why not double my chances and write music for cartoons? Something like that, you know?"
All he said was, "You're confused. You're confusing yourself. You sing right?"
"Yeah, and play piano," I responded, and that topic ended there. I said I loved writing so much and he said he loved writing as well. I asked him what he did specifically; did he write books, music, etc.? he said, "I write poems." I lit up and told him how great that was and how much I love poetry. He reached in his bag again and pulled out the bottle. I was still worried that Evan might pull out a weapon and decide to kill us both but this guy was proving to be only a desperate boy without purpose. Or that's what he believed. I still refrained form drinking with him; hell, what if he wanted to poison us both instead. His disapointment in my refusal surfaced again but I stuck to my decision.
"Do you go to college?" I asked him. he said no but that he did go to college before and that he majored in fashion design. I showed my honest interest in that profession, not personally but in the case of respect for art. Then he admitted he was bored of it. I told him it wasn't too late to start something else and he agreed.
"See, I'm glad we talked," he said. I felt the same way and let him know that. I was glad too. "You're not a mad person, am I right?" he asked me after I had said earlier that I like people unlike most and that I feel there is alot of good out there. I told him I am not a mad person. Somehow we got to the topic of beauty and agreed about how wonderfully stunning the Charles looks from the bridge when it's dark or in the morning. His thing was waking up at 5:30 am and looking at the Prudential and the John Hancock by the water. I didn't know what the John Hancock was but I agreed. I said I loved the ripples in the water and that I was on the way to the boat house to see if I could rent a boat sometime.  His eyes widened as if he thought I'd ask him to go with me. I did not ask him that but enjoyed his pleasure or the glimpse of it that I had just witnessed.
"Do you like...haha," he stopped and stumbled over his drunk words. "Do you like whatever?" 

I laughed and replied, "Yes. I do." After a while of thinking, I said, "I like spontaneity if that's what you mean."  He didn't hear me. Or at least he didn't say anything back to me.
"Have you seen Waking Life?" I wondered.  He said no. I was right to think he liked philosophy so I reccomended it to him. He asked me if I had seen a movie with Johnny Depp as a poet. The movie is called "The Libertine." He described it as sexual. Evan asked me over for drinks and music and said he lived right at the end of the bridge, on the Berklee side. I just made a "no" sound and avoided any response.

THEN the cops came. Well one came first. He asked Evan if he had said he wanted to kill himself and that he fit the description: a white shirt, 5'10" and 154 pounds. Evan claimed that he had the wrong guy and would not give the cop his name. He kept saying he was going to head home but the cop said he didn't have to worry because he could go soon. A cop car parked by a tree and a clown car amount of cops came out, gathering by Evan. The first cop asked him if he knew me and I'm glad he said we had just met. Another cop asked me the same thing and then he went over to Evan. The frist cop came over to me and asked me if Evan had said he was going to hurt himself. I said in a quiet voice, looking over at Evan to make sure he didn't see me and said he had talked about killing himself, and tonight. The cop brought me over to his car and wrote down my information. I waited with another cop after that and we talked about the situation. He, along with others, thought I had called the police about him. But I had not. I have no idea who did. He told me I could go. I walked away but came back, approaching the first cop, asking him if he thought I should go with "Evan" to the hospital. He said they were only going to see if he was fine to go free. I decided to leave and avoid any other complications. The cop thought that I thought they had written me up for doing something wrong. No no no I just cared for the guy and thought he was probably lonely. Another cop said that it's hard to know what's right in situations like this after I told him that I didn't know if I shoud have called the police or not. Honestly, it never even crossed my mind.

***

On the way home, I saw a group of people with a camera and they asked me if I would take a picture of them. I was more than happy to and they laughed and said they lived there and that this was just a paraody. I took the pic from way up high, exlaiming, "Oh yeah!" They asked me to take it from up high so I woud get the Mass Pike in frame. One of the guys laughed at me. I also noticed two guys singing and playing guitar near my apartment, under a tree. "What a strange but distrubingly wonderful day this has been," I thought to myself. I looked up, spread out my arms and let the rain tackle me. Well they were only sprinkles.
I do like whatever. I love it. And it's about fucking time to stop being confused.

GOOD LUCK EVAN!
THINK OF ME.

-Stoddy.

Midday Musings

I'm sitting in the living room of Whit and Kevin's apartment, listening to Whit say, "Yeah yeah yeah," over and over again. He's listening to his supervisor give him critiques about his student teaching.  Tonight Kevin wants to take me out.  Oh no.  He's napping right now and said he's gonna get up in a hour or so, do some homework and then discuss his plan with me.  I think Whit has to go to bed earlier so Kevin wanted to have an outing after Whit nods off.  Yeah I know, nice of him, right?  More details later.

I got back from Mother Bears with Whit and Kevin an hour ago.  It was SOOO good.  Whit and I shared a 14 inch pizza.  My side was pepperoni and cheese and whit's side was just cheese.  Amazing.

I like this whole blogging thing.  I was definitely inspired by Whit's blogs in Costa Rica.  I had only read like two of his entries before coming here but I wanted to be more knowledgeable when I got here so I could be in the loop once Whit started telling me about his experiences.  OH OH, that's what's happening tonight as well.  Whit's gonna show me pictures and videos from his trip.  I'm excited.

Star.

P.S. Check out Whit's blog at costa-rica-whit.blogspot.com.  It's very amusing and clever.

The First Morning

May 13, 2009

The First Morning

According to dreamviews.com, having your teeth fall out in a dream is a sign of “excessive worrying”.  Last night, I had a dream about that very topic.  Though I don’t necessarily believe in the complete accuracy in analyzing the meaning of dreams, I find it weird that it happened on the first night of eight that I’ll be staying at Whit’s apartment in Bloomington, Indiana.  By the way, I’m sitting alone in his apartment while he’s out doing his schoolwork.  No problem.  Every day, blogging is what I'll do to pass the time.  Along with preparing for my gig when I get back to Boston.

My dream:

I’m picking at my teeth, noticing that there’s a small, sharp area on one of them.  I go to the bathroom and notice a hole in the bottom front tooth where the permanent retainer is (it actually broke recently!) and run out in front of the people in the living room.  I distinctively remember Dad, Whit and a girl being there but there are a lot more I don’t remember.  They are gathered around me in a wide semicircle.  The girl is the nearest to me, to the left.  She’s a girl I’m interested in.  I don’t think at first that she is there and whisper to myself, “I really like Emily”.  Then I see her to the left of me (there is not an actual Emily that I like – I fabricated her in my dream) and am scared that she heard what I had said.  I announce to everyone, “I think I’m missing some of my teeth!  Well, there’s a hole in one of them!”  I put my hands up to my mouth and suddenly a big molar and a couple little teeth land in my hand.  People gasp and hold back their laughter.  I’m devastated that people think this was funny even though in a movie it would be funny.  Cause I did just say, “I THINK I’m missing SOME of my teeth!” which was incredibly understated.  I freak out and more teeth pile into my bowl of clenched hands.  I move my jaw to make sure that this is actually happening and it feels like there are only three or four  teeth left.  Dad looks at me and starts messing with me.  “Stoddy, there is a specialist that I know who would be happy to help you…” continuing with almost sensible things but saying them in a mocking voice, like a James Bond character or something.  I yell at him that this isn’t funny at all and Whit stops me, “Stoddard, he’s just making things easier!”  And so on.  Yeah, a nightmare complete with public humiliation and deterioration.  Not fun.

I took a shower this morning and was thrilled by the showerhead’s power.  It felt as though a thousand cartoon needles were massaging every corner of my body.  Very nice.  But then I ran into a dilemma after coming out of the shower.  A towel had fallen on the ground without me noticing it.  Now, in the circumstances of being a guest at another apartment, the worst thing that can happen is this very thing.  Especially when there is not a washer and dryer in the apartment and it is raining hard outside.  The first thought that goes through your mind is, “Oh no, I should pick that up,” but then you realize the paradox.  If you hang it up again, the owner of the towel will not know that it had recently been on the floor, now covered in small hairs, dirty water and whatever else grows in the grout between tiles.  In essence, you are deceiving them.  This action you will have to secretly regret, since they will probably never find out that they dirtied themselves up because of something you did.  The other option is to keep the towel on the floor to avoid towel deception.  This move will blow up in your face immediately because the owner will come trotting in and think that you had used their towel, leaving it on the floor afterwards like an insensitive jerk.  That or they will assume you knocked theirs off the hook and were too lazy to pick it up but forget to realize the consequences that would have ensued for their own hygiene if you had in fact did that.  So there really is no way out in this situation.  In my case, I hung it up.  I could just tell Whit what happened to rid him of the deception entirely. 

In other stories, I just heard the biggest thunder strike I have heard in years.  And immediately following it, a car alarm went off.  Ooooh, did a car cut in half???  That’s what I kind of hoped.  Speaking of that, yesterday Whit picked me up from the airport and we had a nice long drive since he took us in the wrong direction for a few miles I think haha.  Don’t get me wrong, it was a fun drive and I wouldn’t have asked for it to be shorter.  We talked about music, the funny jokes we have with our roommates, Costa Rican ketchup (it’s pink!), other shit and I told him about a funny-as-fuck event that took place only a few days ealier.  Would you like to hear about it?

I was sitting outside a Berklee building on Thursday, May 6th when a random, not-so-attractive and overweight man with bad teeth came up to me and blurted to my face, “WHATEVER!” in a sarcastic tone.  He followed with a laugh and the statement, “Don’t ever say that, all right?”  I paused and said, “Yeah, ok hahaha.”  He then walked away and told me a very “beneficial” piece of advice: “Stay on track,” laughing afterwards as well.  I humored him by continuing to laugh.  He finished with, “Thanks,” which I assumed was an appreciative thanks for listening to him and tolerating his serious fucked-up-ness.

When we got home, Kevin, Whit and I played a couple rounds of Halo then went out to a restaurant called Scotties where I got a spicy burger, Kevin got a pizza and Whit got a burger too, I believe.  Whit told me to get the waffle fries with cheese on them (nacho cheese to be specific!) and it was AMAZING.  After we got home, we got ready for bed and then we played more halo haha.

Oh and by the way, there was no relation to the thunder strike and the drive with Whit.  I was just trying to link the two topics so I didn’t have a random, one-liner about thunder that didn’t belong, squished between all the other fat paragraphs.

Star (as Kevin, Whit's roommate calls me because in high school, Whit's and my jazz band leader misheard Whit when he mumbled my name, "Stoddard!")