a brief interlude...
It's time for the annual Nightmare Before Thanksgiving post! You'll never look at a turkey the same way again...





push play to complete the horror of this scene... enjoy!

---

"in the land of the blind..."
Part, the second...

I pulled one of the joints and my crumpled book of matches out of the pocket of my t-shirt. I wet it between my lips, cupped a match, lit it and took a good, long drag, and promptly started hacking, the smoke squirting out of my clenched lips and even my nose. I finally gave up, exhaled as hard and long as I could and sucked in a lung full of the warm, moist ocean air. I handed it over to Della, who I could hear was stifling a laugh.
"Cheap Mexican. Right. Are you sure it's really grass?"
She had draped her hand over mine in the pitch dark, slid her fingers down and snagged the joint and took it away. I looked over as she took a drag, the orange glow just barely lit her features against the night. She and Karen really looked so much alike, but Della's features were ever so slightly sharper, at least in this light and at this angle. No matter, they were both stupidly pretty. Not beautiful, not cute. Pretty. As the glow faded into an orange planet orbiting back in my direction in the dark, I couldn't help but wonder why she wore makeup at all. Karen never did. She didn't need it. I didn't think big sister did either. I poked around in the general direction of the glowing end of the joint, managed to snag it and brought it back to my mouth. I took a shorter, lighter pull this time and managed to hold it in. I pushed it back and realized that I was sitting on the two bottles of beer that were still in my back pocket, good thing we were sitting in the sand. I rocked to the right and pulled the first one out and when I rocked to the left, I bumped into Della, who was actually a lot closer than I thought.
"Sorry, I was getting the beers out of my pockets. You want one?"
"Hell yeah, gotta wash this crap down with something. You got a church key?"
Fuck. I should have grabbed my keys from the kitchen counter, I had one on there.
"Uh, nope. Sorry."
"No problem."
My eyes were either finally getting used to the dark, or the grass was having an effect on my pupils, but I was able to actually see something moving to my left, it was Della, getting up on her knees and pulling off her belt. She deftly pried off the cap on a bottle with her cowboy buckle, handed it over to me, popped the other one, dropped her belt in the sand and sat back down.
"Cheers", she said, "Here's to my kid sister's guy".
"And to you and your kid sister", I replied and sucked down half the bottle in one draught. Damn, that tasted good. Should have grabbed more than two. I sat the bottle in the sand inside my crossed legs, handed the joint back to her and took out my cigarettes. I shook one out of the pack, lit it and savored the first drag.
"Aren't you going to offer me one."
"Sure. Sorry, didn't know you smoked the real things. They're unfiltered, that ok?"
"Yep. We used to hock my dad's all the time. Old Golds. You think this grass is rough..."
I lit one for her and handed it over. We sat in quiet for a while, smoking and drinking and listening to the waves. A few hundred yards to the North someone had started a fire on the beach. I stared at it for a long time, watching the flames and sparks, watching it disappear then reappear as someone or someones walked back and forth in front of it. I also realized that I was pretty stoned, even after just a few pulls on that first number. I broke my trance with the fire, turned back to Della and said,
"So, we were going to talk, weren't we? I really can't think of anything to say, so why don't you go ahead?"
She drew in a deep breath and let it out, put her elbow on her knee and rested her head in her upturned hand, facing me.
"Ok. You know, I was only busting your balls back there, Buster. I've heard so much about you for the past eight or nine months that I think I know you better than Karen does. I think the longest she's ever been with a guy has been two or three months. You must be something special."
She let that hang long enough that it was a cue for me to say something, so I did.
"No, not really. If anything, I'm terribly ordinary. She, on the other hand, is something..."
"Yeah, that she is. What do you know about her? You didn't know about me, so I'm wondering just what she's deigned to tell you at all. Light another one, will you?"
"Mexican or Camel?"
"One of each, thanks. That shit really needs a chaser and I'm out of beer already."
I lit another joint, handed it over and lit another cigarette. We passed them back and forth for a few minutes, that rancid crap was damned harsh, the cigarette smoke tempered it a bit. I handed her my bottle, there was about an inch or so left in it.
"Here, you can finish this."
"Your looks belie you, Buster. The man on the street would think you were a hard partying, smoke 'em, hump 'em and run type with that hair and your clothes."
"Yeah, well the hair is a convenient security blanket, it helps me to blend in. As far as the clothes go, well, I wear what I'm comfortable in and, what's wrong with my clothes, anyway?"
"Oh, nothing... let's see... I think I remember what you're wearing; a green Army t-shirt with a Nixon/Agnew button stuck to it, a pair of jeans that could probably pass for a patchwork quilt, a bunch of knotted bandannas for a belt and a pair of work boots that are painted gold with a silver star painted on the toes of each one. And that ratty Stetson. Yeah, you blend in... I think it's the John Lennon glasses..."
I suddenly felt uncomfortable about myself and wondered what she was really thinking about me.
"The sartorial arts were never my forte."
"No shit. So, tell me what you know about Karen."
I laid back in the sand with my hands behind my head, my beat up Stetson on my stomach and looked up into the mist that seemed to be getting a bit brighter and bluer. I was wondering what time it actually was when Della picked up my hat, dropped it on her head, swung herself over me, dropping down with not much ease onto my middle, making me expel all my breath and a sound like a moaning dog. She leaned down to take my cigarettes and matches out of my shirt pocket. I tried to breath back in as I watched her light a smoke, shake out the match and drop it in the sand. She tilted her head back and blew the smoke up to join the salt mist. She put her left arm across herself, propped her right elbow on it so the cigarette was at mouth height, looked down at me and said,
"Well...?"

---

"in the land of the blind...
the one-eyed man is better off keeping his fucking mouth shut."

Part, the first.

"So, yeah, I'm the guy that's banging your little sister."
"Hmmm... I guess I'm ok with that."
"Well, thanks. I'm really ok. Really. I'm not like that..."
"And just what is that?"
Luckily, Karen came back into the kitchen before I had to answer that one. She pulled back one of the chairs from the table, spun it around, sat down and rested her folded arms on the back and her chin on her arms.
"So," she said, "are we all getting to know each other better?"
"I'm getting the third degree", I replied.
Della looked at her sideways and said, "Only the second".
She turned her eyes back to me and smiled the smile that I'm sure was behind the mask of the executioner who really enjoyed his job too much.
"Della was asking about my character, I think this is a job interview."
They both laughed in that sister laugh, then it got awfully quiet. I think it was my turn to speak again, but I didn't know what to say.
"Della thinks my choice of men leaves a bit to be desired, but I told her you were ok."
"Yeah, I said the same thing. About me being ok, I mean. I think your choice in the area of male companions is excellent..."
That was humor there, girls.
"So, Del, do you think he's ok?"
I was beginning to think there was more in that question than the usual girl to girl banter. I sucked down the last of the tepid coffee in my mug, pushed back my chair and stood up.
"Anyone want some more coffee?", I asked with a bit of waver in my voice.
Karen shook her head no and said, "No, I have to get up really early tomorrow. There's an art festival on the beach and I told Jake I'd come down at five to help him open up to catch the coffee and breakfast crowd. I'm going to go to bed. You two can hang out and chat."
Great. I walked around the table to behind her chair as she stood up. She turned and put her arms around my waist and squeezed me hard. I rested my chin on the top of her head and squeezed back as best as I could with a coffee cup in one hand. She tilted her head back, looked up at me and drilled me with those deep, dark eyes.
"Give me a kiss good night", she half whispered, and I did. She let me go and side stepped over to big sister, wrapped her arms around her neck and said,
"I'm so happy you're here. I'm happy we're all here".
Then she leaned even closer and whispered something in her sister's ear, which was answered with a silent nod. She let go, then danced off to the bedroom, shut the door and that was that. Ok, let the awkwardness begin...
I sort of half shuffled over to the other side of the kitchen, re-lit the fire under the coffee pot and just stood there staring at the flame for a minute. Just damn. I guessed I should say something, but wasn't sure what, when I heard Della's chair being slid back and I turned around to watch her stand up. She turned around to face me, smoothed out her sun dress, folded her arms and leaned against the back of the chair.
"Here it comes", I thought.
I looked down at the floor. When I looked up, she was still there, staring at me.
She began the conversation.
"Well, Buster Brown, I guess it's just you and me".
She cocked her head a bit and looked me up and down.
"Do you smoke?", she asked.
"Yeah, I've got a pack in my bag. You want one?"
"I mean grass. Do you smoke grass?"
"Occasionally. Not a real big fan of it, but it suffices in times of no coffee..."
"I have some in my suitcase. Can you roll? Mine always turn out looking like a cat turd."
"Yeah."
She started to walk into the living room, stopped in front of me and put a finger in my chest. She looked at me with the same big, dark brown eyes and said,
"Good. We're going to talk."
She removed her finger, smiled at me, this time with a genuine sort of smile and went on her way.
"Don't be a fucker", that's what Jake said. I wasn't going to be a fucker, even if I had the capacity to be one, but, damn, I sure wasn't liking where I thought this was going. Karen was an open book. She said what was on her mind, always. Della, on the other hand, was a bit too cryptic for my liking. This was going to be an interesting night.
I turned around and turned off the stove, poured what was left of the coffee into my mug and stood there in the kitchen, seriously thinking I might just call it a night and wander back home and hang with Oliver, although, by now, if he was home, he was in the company of some lewd, loud and drunken barfly he picked up in town and coaxed into coming home with him for a night of who knows what drugs and noisy, annoying sex. He was into that whole scene. One night stands, punctuated with promises, chemicals, booze and one day, massive doses of penicillin... More power to him, I guess. And here am I, about to be drilled about the why, what and how about my relationship with someones little sister, even if only by seven minutes.
"There's going to be a story in this, one day", I thought.
Della eventually came back into the kitchen, she had changed her clothes. She was wearing a pair of ratty, patch laden jeans, cowboy boots and the pinkest, tightest t-shirt I'd ever seen. It was hard not to stare at her breasts. She was definitely the better endowed of the two. She'd removed her makeup, too and let her hair down from it's pony tail, into the same wild, black tangle of her sleeping sister. It was amazing how much alike they looked. She reached out to hand me a baggie of grass and a pack of papers.
"Sit. Roll. At least three. Maybe four, ok?"
"Geez, you planning on having a party?"
"No, it's just crappy Mexican. Ten bucks an ounce. But it does the job, after a fashion."
So, I sat at the kitchen table and rolled four nice, round solid joints, while she stood looking out the back door.
"Ok, locked and loaded", I said.
"Good. Let's go. I want to sit on the beach. I really love the water. Do you like the water?"
"Yeah. I like the water".
"I'm getting a jacket. Grab your cigarettes. And some beers. I bought some, it's in the fridge. I'll be right back."
She vanished into the living room again and came back with the ratty denim jacket that matched her jeans as I was fishing around in my bag for my smokes and some matches.
"Let's go", she said, opening the back door and heading out onto the back porch. I stopped at the fridge, fished out two bottles of beer, put one in each back pocket of my pants and followed her outside, locking and closing the door behind me.
"I hope you have a key, Buster Brown."
"Yeah, I have a key."
"I figured."
She headed down the back outside stairs. I followed. I had my smokes and our joints in the pocket of my t-shirt. I was holding two books of matches in my left hand and realized I was squeezing them hard enough to crush them.
"Calm down", I said to myself, I thought, but I actually said it out loud.
"Oh, I'm calm", she said over her shoulder.
Down into the back parking lot we went, then up the side driveway and out onto the front sidewalk.
"Where's a nice, dark, private place to go?", she asked.
"Oh, up North a few blocks, past the SafeWay market. That's no-man's land around here. Usually just the hard core stoner surfers and the sex in the sand crowd"
"Good", she answered. Nothing else.
So North we headed, side by side, in obscene silence, on the sea side of the street, plodding on the rumpled concrete sidewalk, into the circle of light of one street light, then back into the dark, then a circle of light, then dark, then light, then into that dark stretch of the ocean front, just South of the Navy beach, favored by those who wanted to be left alone, to sit in the sand, to smoke their smoke, play poke and hope in the dark, fall back and just listen to the soft little waves of the vast Pacific...
She groped in the dark for my hand, grabbed it firmly and peeled off the walkway into the sand and headed for the sound of the ocean. We scuffed through the sand for about thirty feet or so and she stopped, dropped my hand and sat down.
"Come on, have a seat", she whispered in the dark.
It was still pretty hot out, but she put her jacket on over her shoulders, pulled up her knees, wrapped her arms around her legs and commanded,
"Ok, light one of those fuckers up and let's chat."
And I did. And we did...


"

---

"three of a perfect pair..."*

The 4:34 local bus was, for a Friday night, unusually empty. Just me, the driver and a few assorted blue collar types like myself, making our way home at the end of the work week. The driver, a middle aged black woman, almost too short to see over the wheel, was singing along at the top of her lungs with The Silhouettes "Get A Job" on the radio, which was turned up loud enough so everyone, inside and outside the bus could hear it. It was contagious... by the time we were crawling up the Eastern side of the bridge, leaving San Diego behind, our little motley crew was howling right along with her. It was just one of those odd moments that will forever live in some closet of the mind, just ready to be pulled out when you needed a smile. We crested the bridge and started down the long decline into Coronado as the song ended. She looked up into the big mirror mounted over the windshield, smiled at us and said,
"Yeah, you's guys is OK! Hey, hippie, Avenue D comin' up!"
That was for me. I'd been on her bus many times and she always dropped me off at D, even though it wasn't a regular stop. I stood up as she started to slow down and did the drunk walk to the front of the bus, hung onto the pole by the door and put my hand on her shoulder.
"You know, you're OK by me, ma'am. And, I'm not a hippie..."
"Well, watchu doin' wit dat long hair, den?"
"It gets me laid..."
"Heh. Well, if dat's all it takes, den I guess you's doin' OK, huh?"
She laughed out loud as the bus came to a halt and I swung down the steps and out the door.
"Go get'm, hippie", she called after me.
"See you Monday", I called back.
I flashed a peace sign over my shoulder as she pulled away.
I headed East on D, toward the harbor, and what was supposed to be my home. I was rarely there any more, it had turned into a place to be when I needed some alone time and when Karen told me I needed some alone time. For the price, which was $23.00 dollars a month, I couldn't beat it and it wasn't worth giving up. Not that I had any place else to go. I suppose I could have moved in with Karen, but we weren't quite there yet, and I wasn't sure enough of it being the right and good thing to do, nor let such a cheap rent go. I was sharing the third floor of an old Victorian with my friend Oliver, who I'd know in high school back in Jersey. After we'd graduated, he and his family move out to Coronado. His father was a Navy Commander who retired while Oliver was a senior and as soon as he was done with school, they packed it up and headed West. His father bought a small print shop in San Diego, on 5th Avenue and a year afterward, Oliver called me and asked me if I was interested in moving out here and working for his Dad and him at the print shop. I figured, sure, what the hell. I was a decent pressman, I'd been doing it since I was a sophomore in high school and I was always up for an adventure. Besides, he caught me at a bad time. I was reeling from the after effects of an abruptly ended first love and needed to do something different than sit around and stew, so I packed it up and took off for California.
Oliver's parents had bought an old Victorian home that was literally spitting distance from the harbor beach on Coronado in which he lived in the top floor, in what was originally the servant's quarters when the house was inhabited by the owner of the ferry company that carried everyone and everything back and forth between Coronado and San Diego back in the heyday. His parents charged him $46.00 a month rent. How they came up with that figure was never clearly explained to me, but half of that was certainly manageable, so I moved in with him. For a Navy brat, he was an odd duck. Total stoner, total loner, total nerd. I guess all those years of moving around caused that. I don't know how we hooked up in school, we were the exact opposite. I looked like a freak, but didn't mess around with drugs, had a shit load of friends and was, in my own mind, quite worldly... but friends we became, none the less. And good friends. We played off each other. We'd go on all day Saturday road trips in his beat up old Dodge and have the grandest of times, getting lost, finding cool places and having the most obtuse conversations. Opposites attract, I guess. Anyway, where the hell was I? Oh, yeah...
After I got off the bus, I headed to the house, climbed the three flights of outside stairs to the side door and went inside. Oliver was still in the city, he was big on the Friday night bar scene. I grabbed a quick shower, got dressed, packed a bag for the weekend and headed out on my walk across Coronado, West, to the ocean side, to that mystic place over Jake's Cafe... to her.
It was a nice sojourn, even in the July heat. Coronado was a pretty lively place, there were always people out and about, no matter what the time of day or night, especially when the weather was good. It was just about dark by the time I made it to the Pacific shore and I walked to the beach and stood looking at the last glow of the sun, which was now well below the watery horizon, beaming down on tiny island worlds and mysterious Asia... The beach was still full of people, some of which were winding down their day and some who's day was just starting. It was a world of coast people. As Jack Spicer said, "There is nothing out beyond us, but ocean." Damned right. Life on the left coast.
I wandered back across the ocean front street into Jake's, where I grabbed my usual single by the door and dropped my bag next to my chair. Karen must have been in the kitchen, she wasn't out front, dancing between the tables. I sat there for a few minutes and Jake came out, spied me and walked over.
"Hey, man. Karen's not here. She's upstairs, took the day off. You want something?"
"She ok?"
"Yeah, she's fine. Her sister came to visit so she took the day. Coffee?"
I must have had a bewildered look on my face, because he stood there staring at me and said,
"You ok? You look like you're going to hurl!"
"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. Yeah, coffee is good. What's for dinner?"
"Fried clams."
"Just coffee, thanks."
"You sure you're ok?"
"Yeah, just some coffee..."
He turned back to the kitchen and I sat there staring at the greasy poster taped to the opposite wall announcing Jimi Hendrix at the Filmore West, June 22nd, 1967... Ok, she had a sister. She never told me she had a sister. I guess I never asked. Then again, I never talked about my family much, either. This was monumental. And nauseating. I was considering the situation when Jake returned. He set down one of his mammoth mugs, filled to the top, pulled over a chair from the next table and sat down across from me.
"Man, you look like your dog just died. What the fucks wrong?"
"I'm just a little surprised. Didn't know she had a sister. Did you?"
"Nope"
"I wonder if I should go up there, I mean, it's pretty personal, having a visit from your phantom sister and all..."
"You're such an ass, man. Listen, she really, really likes you. When she's not bitching about the music I listen to, or having to deal with some stoned out surfer asshole, she's yammering on about you. Got it? She likes you. Muchly."
I blew across the mug and took a sip of hours old coffee. Nothing went to waste at Jake's place. Not even day old coffee. He was at least sixty years old. He wore a gray ponytail down to his ass and had been around the track more than a few times. I liked him. I think I saw a bit of my own future in him, god help me. He was a good, honest soul. And he cared for Karen as much or even more than I did.
I looked over the mug at him and asked,
"Do you think so? Really? She really came at me from out of left field, I mean, we have a good thing going, but sometimes, I'm not sure what it is."
"Look, man, she's a good person. I wouldn't let her get involved with someone I didn't like, I mean, she's like a daughter to me and if I thought she was into something bad, I'd toss your ass out of here faster than you could say 'Jack Shit', but you're ok, too. Drink your damned coffee and go up and meet her sister. I think you'll be surprised. Gotta run. Don't be a fucker, man."
"Ok, I won't be a fucker. What do you mean, you think I'll be surprised?"
"Heh. You'll see. Don't be a fucker, or I'll kick your ass."
He could do it, too.

I took a few more sips of my coffee, then got up, walked over to the service counter, dropped a dollar down, said "Good night", to Jake. I picked up my bag and went out the front door. I considered walking back across the street and hanging out with a bunch of surfers who had a considerably large and illegal bonfire going on the beach, wiling away the night and contending with things in the morning, but instead I forced myself up the front stairs to Karen's place over the cafe, opting for the front door, rather than just barging in the kitchen door from the back stairs in the parking lot. I stood and stared at the door and listened to the unusually loud music inside, it was The Beatles "Revolver" playing and I could hear talking and laughing, but I couldn't make out what was being said. I opened the ratty screen door and wrapped with my knuckles on the glass of the inside French door. Nothing. I waited a minute and tried again. Still nothing. Ok, fucker, time to cut and run. Be a coward, nothing new...
As I was standing there, staring at my forlorn reflection in the glass, the door was pulled open and these she was, although I hardly recognized her. She was wearing makeup. I never saw her wear makeup. And a sun dress. I never saw her in a dress before. And sandals. She always wore sneakers. High tops. Always. When she wore shoes.
"Uh, hi."
Something just wasn't right.
"Can I come in?"
"I don't know. Who are you?"
Ok. What the fuck. My first and almost overbearing impulse was to turn and run down the stairs and hope that when I got back to my rented place that there wasn't some big green pod waiting for me...
"Uh, it's me..."
Well, that was stupid.
She turned and yelled over the music into the apartment,
"Karen, I think it's for you!"
Ok. What the fuckity fuck fuck... "It's still not too late to jump off the porch into the street below", I told myself, "Maybe you'll get hurt, or maybe you'll get killed, but you've got to get out of here. NOW!".
But I didn't jump. I just stood there with my mouth open when yet another Karen walked up behind this one, looked over the first Karen's shoulder, started to laugh and said,
"It's ok. Let him in. Just don't stand between him and the coffee pot."
I couldn't move. Seriously, I was physically and mentally paralyzed...
"Is this your boyfriend?", Karen number one said.
"Yeah, I'm sorry to say, it is", Karen number two said.
"Are you going to come in?", asked number one.
"I think he's gone dumb", said number two.
Number one grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. I still couldn't speak. I just kept looking back and forth, trying to figure out just what was going on.
"I think we've harmed him," said number one.
"He'll be ok", said number two.
Number one stuck out her hand and said,
"Hi. I'm Della, Karen's sister. Nice to meet you."
I took her hand and mumbled something about it also being nice to meet her while I stared at Karen, or number two, or whoever she was.
It was sinking in. She was one of a perfect pair. Twins. Just fucking damn.
"Uh, you never told me you had a sister... You look... alike."
Number two replied,
"Yeah. That happens with twins. I'm actually cuter, though. And younger. Della was born seven minutes first. Are you really ok?"
"I'm not being a fucker. Yeah, I'm ok."
"Ok", said Della, "what ever that means, I guess it's good."
'She Said, She Said' was being sung by John Lennon.
"I need some coffee", I chimed in...
"Della, be a dear and put on a pot, ok? I think I need to hold his hand until he comes around."
"Fucking bookends...."
"Yep. I never cease to amaze you, right?"

"Right..."

Della returned from the kitchen.

"So... you're the guy who's banging my little sister, huh?"

"Right..."

She said, she said...

---

*with apologies to King Crimson...