26.1 – Coming Apart at the Seams

When Marty opened his eyes the next day, it was like pulling off a couple of old Band-Aids. His head pounded the way a bowling ball might feel after a long night knocking over pins, and his mouth tasted of used kitty litter. A pervasive smell of gym socks filled the air. Only the socks were real, and had rancid flesh in them belonging to Boobers, who was sleeping on top of the bed, with his feet in Marty’s face. Marty groaned as he slid out of the covers, while the floor dodged and evaded his step. He had a hangover that would have brought a whale to its knees (if it had any), and he half-crawled over a few sleeping bodies on the floor in search of a glass of water. The entire house was littered with discarded beer cups, empty bottles, and scattered human casualties, giving off a strong odor of sour beer and stale cigarettes. The Rusty Bucket Drunk Tank was going to need a hose! It took much longer to get to the bathroom than Marty anticipated. While relieving himself, he tried to ignore Rob, who was passed out next to him in the bathtub. As kegger parties went, Mike’s birthday turned out to be more like Gettysburg, and the troops sustained heavy losses. It took all day to clean up, dry out, and regain feeling from the neck up.

Monday at journalism class, Marty decided it was time to deploy an aggressive tactic, and ask Michelle to the prom. This year it was called the “Senior Ball,” and was going to be held in the grand ballroom of the St. Francis hotel in the city – a very swanky venue. He’d have to rent a tux, but it would be worth the expense. He came to that decision when she approached him to see if he was okay after the party. She was wearing her blouse tied in front, with velvet, hip-hugger slacks that covered her navel. His blood probably would have boiled, if it didn’t still have traces of alcohol in it. His skin was the color of pale pilsner, but it was rejuvenating to see someone so physically attractive.

“You were pretty drunk at that party,” Michelle observed lightheartedly, with a mock tone of admonishment.

“Yeah, I don’t usually drink that much,” Marty replied truthfully, “But you know, everyone was trying to cheer Mike up after the accident.” He played the sympathy card, hoping it would buy a reprieve.

“Oh, don’t apologize, my friends and I also like to… well, you know,” she blushed a trifle, and his heart warmed at her admission.

“Yeah, I guess we all like to party a little. What does your dad think about that?” Marty grinned mercilessly, and Michelle straightened up in her chair.

“Oh dear, he doesn’t know anything… I think.” Her face was turning crimson, and she deftly volleyed. “Your mom lets you drink beer like that?” She asked it as a question, but it was more a statement of amazement.

Marty parried with the official party line, “Well, she figures teenagers are gonna drink anyway, and we might as well be home.” Michelle pursed her lips doubtfully, so he added earnestly, “We really try to be safe about it – we had 22 kids sleep over that night,” and she finally cracked up. “It’s a new world record,” he added between giggles, and it was good to see the tension melt away.

“Oh Marty, you always make me laugh,” her melodic voice played a violin sonata, and she squeezed his arm playfully. There was a half-happy, half-sad look on her face that appeared to mask a deep-seated inner conflict, which was irresistible to his sense of chivalry.

Marty felt so vital and alive from the physical contact with his dream, and in that moment, he committed his heart to loving Michelle completely. All the frustrations he’d suffered – the sweetness wasted on girls who didn’t care for him, and the unrequited passions stored up deep inside – erupted unstoppably from his heart, as lava flows from a volcano. He nervously held his tongue, despite the urge to get down on one knee and propose that she come to the Senior Ball with him; right then and there. Marty’s heart longed to capture its prey, but lacked the courage to ask her in a room full of people. What if someone overheard, and laughed at them? Or if Michelle laughed at him? Or if he pounced on her passionately because she said yes? After all his past disappointments, his caution took the wheel and steered him away from bold action, until he could come up with a suitable plan.

Later, in art class, Chas announced that tomorrow would be a full moon, and invited Marty to join a night hike up on the ridge with Ent and Little Billy. A hike! That was it! He vaguely remembered inviting Michelle to explore the redwoods at the party, which would be a perfect time to ask her out to the Ball. But they’d have to be alone. It would be the crowning culmination of all his hard work and patience with her that year! He was certain that her parents wouldn’t let her go on a full moon hike, but maybe they could do something after school.

The next day, while talking with Michelle about how much space was left in the next issue of the Jolly Roger, Marty found an opening to remind her that she had agreed to take a walk in the redwoods with him. Before she could say anything, he put up his hand and offered to pick her up after school tomorrow. “But –” she tried to get a word in while he rambled on, reminding her it was May Day, a traditional time for honoring the nature spirits. She laughed at that, and politely interrupted his lecture, “But of course, I’d love to!” Marty’s lips kept on mouthing their rehearsed lines with no sound, as she added, “And I’d be delighted to drive out to your house so you don’t have to take me back home!” Her eyes glowed with wholesome verve as she exclaimed, “It’s so beautiful out there!”

“Y-you have no idea,” Marty stammered mysteriously, barely recovering his senses in time, “Wait till I get you get deep in the forest.” Then he blushed at his subconscious metaphor. Sigmund, your slip is showing!

After class, Marty’s brain set its timer to count down the 30 hours before their date, and he was grateful for the prospect of a “warm up hike” during the full moon the night before. He met Chas and the others at the McAuliffes’ house after dark. The moon wouldn’t be rising for another hour, which gave them plenty of time to get up on the ridge for the show. Once again, Marty was amazed at how quickly Ent’s long legs ate up the ground. Chas easily kept pace, while Marty and Little Billy scurried along on short legs, with the enthusiasm of puppies following the big dogs, as they climbed the switchbacks on the fire road that led to the top of the Bolinas Ridge. Spirits were high, aided in part by the magnificent bud they had shared before leaving the Lag. They brought flashlights, but didn’t use them, preferring to let Ent guide them confidently through the shadowy woods. At the top, he found the best vantage point from which to watch the moon rise in the east. They settled down on a fallen tree, and passed the pipe around again in anticipation. There were a few patchy clouds drifting among the stars overhead, which reflected a pale glow that was surely coming from the luminous orb itself – but she was not yet visible.

There was no sound except the night birds in the underbrush, and the soft rustling of mice in the bracken. Gentle breezes caressed Marty’s hair, still carrying a remnant of warmth from the sun. A rich, earthy bouquet rose from the ground beneath the log where they sat. The hills all around were emerald green with new spring grass, but they couldn’t see the colors – they could only be felt. Marty’s heart unexpectedly expanded with a great release of all his trials and tribulations, as if an immense weight had been lifted off his chest. He had never felt so connected to all of creation before. Love itself is purely an act of creation, he realized, wholly enraptured and feeling the sustaining force of the universe.

“Look!” Chris was the first to spot it: the silver edge of the moon, rising through the trees behind Mt. Barnabe. The four friends were transfixed where they sat, completely absorbed in the moment, and communing wordlessly with the movements of the spheres. The lyrics of a recent George Harrison song came to mind:

“Looks like a little brother to the sun
Or mother to the stars at night
And here it is and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon…”

Marty hugged his knees with intense longing, wishing Michelle was with him at that moment to share the deep communion with eternal affection that he felt in his bones. There was an undercurrent from the sight of the full moon that allured his senses with its gentle gravitational pull. He wished he could exist forever in that ethereal twilight, where there were no bright lights or colors. With diminished external features no longer distracting his attention, it was just Marty and Luna, sailing through the cosmos together in an eternal dance of spiritual union. The moment was timeless, as time makes memories of moments, and he regretted that he had to go back to his real life after nirvana.

The four of them wandered all over the ridge that night, with a queer ability to see for miles in the moonlight. Trees and other plants took on a serpentine caste, with just enough light to capture the essence of their color. Marty’s scientific curiosity wondered if any photosynthesis was taking place from these second-hand photons bouncing off the lunar surface and beaming down to the dark side of the planet. His friends kept conversation to a minimum, so Marty had plenty of time to plot and plan how he was going to ask Michelle to the Senior Ball tomorrow… or was it later today? Time was of no longer of any importance. He could forgive the past and plan for the future, while simultaneously existing fully in the present moment. It was as if the bonds of space and time had loosened, freeing up his mind to wander among the stars; with a heavenly body as his guide.

The next day at school, Marty changed his plans a little when Michelle couldn’t remember where he lived, but insisted on driving her VW out to his house anyway. He reckoned she needed an escape capsule to feel safe in a strange new world. He invited her to meet him in the Cala parking lot at Fairfax after their last class, and she could follow him there. He sat in the Apollo, and waited for what seemed like an hour. He was starting to worry, when Michelle’s orange VW beetle turned off the road and pulled up next to him. She rolled down the window to greet him, revealing that she had sensibly changed into sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. “Ready?” Marty asked, and she nodded and beamed her radiant smile at him. Her whole face flushed with anticipation for a new adventure. She exuded the charmingly naïve enthusiasm of Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. It was difficult for Marty to drive the familiar route home, because he spent most of the time admiring her bright and shining face in his rear view mirror.

At the Rusty Bucket Ranch he guided her car away from the remaining mud puddles, and hopped out of his truck to escort her down to the cabin. Before, when she showed up at Mike’s party, it was dark. Now it was a bright, beautiful spring day when the earth reveled in its own loveliness, and Michelle’s head was on a swivel, drinking in the natural beauty of the setting. “You’re right,” she gushed, “It does look much better in the daytime.” She turned in a complete circle, then her eyes came down and danced with his. “It’s absolutely beautiful!” she exclaimed with flushed sincerity.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Marty replied graciously, and she blushed a bit… or was that a look of concern? “You make this day complete, Michelle. I can’t wait to share it with you.” She smiled at him indirectly, which he interpreted as shyness, and she accepted his hand to help her (quite unnecessarily) over the rough spots in the path leading down to the cabin. Once inside, Marty opened a few windows to let in the delicious spring air, and showed her around the house. She marveled at the antique, hand-blown glass windows and skylights, politely overlooking the cobwebs, dingy furniture, stained couches, and lingering smell of stale beer and cigarettes from Mike’s party. He showed her the room he shared with his brother, and had a vision of sharing it with her instead. She was bending over enticingly in her smooth sweatpants, peering out at the pretty creek flowing by just outside the windows. Michelle’s eyes grew wide and played an electric guitar solo on Marty’s heartstrings, as he described how high the water got in winter. He warmly wished he could absorb her excitement into every cell of his body. She sensed the change in temperature, and glanced towards the door, breaking the spell. “Well, let’s go,” he said happily, grabbing a small pack he had prepared in advance.

They walked past the China House, waving at Buster-or-Baxter working in the yard, and when they reached the Inkwells, her mouth gaped in genuine astonishment. “I never knew this was here,” she exclaimed, gazing in wonder at the moss-covered rocks and gushing cascades. “My family drives past here all the time on the way to the beach.” Michelle hesitated to cross the pipe at first, but once she was on top, it was no problem – her natural athleticism took over, and she practically skipped across in gleeful defiance of the danger. They crossed the highway, and returned to the dirt fire road where Marty had walked in the dark just a few hours before, but now the cathedral forest was radiant with green light filtering through its stained glass windows. They held hands for a while, sauntering side by side, but he kept glancing at her lovely porcelain doll face to observe her reaction to all the beauty. “This is all so close to your house, and it’s amazing!” she exclaimed with the sparkly-eyed, wholesome exuberance of a Mouseketeer. The enthusiastic travelers lightly rubbed shoulders as they walked, sharing their secret garden together… but in different ways. For one of them, the path was a climactic destiny, but the other wandered aimlessly, without a destination.

It was getting warm, so Michelle stopped and peeled off her long-sleeved shirt and tied it around her waist, delightfully revealing she had worn only a tank top underneath. Her arms were exquisitely sculpted, her shoulders strong and perfectly proportioned, and the sunlight gleamed off her supple neck. The curve of her unrestrained breasts fogged Marty’s eyes until they steamed-up like the back seat window at a drive-in movie. He was intensely aware of being in a dazzling setting, close to the object of his affection; enchanted by the warm breezes wafting sweet fragrance from the forest.

Exhilarated by the closeness of her vitality, and the electricity he felt in that moment, Marty stopped and faced her, holding both of her hands in his. Michelle stared at him frankly, somewhat quizzically, but willing to listen to whatever he had to say. In a flash, Marty envisioned embracing her in a full-body hug; meshing perfectly the way a clarinet fits in its case. It was the moment for which he had planned to speak his line, and he delivered it with flawless tone and cadence: “Michelle, I’d be honored to take you to the Senior Ball, if you’d like to go with me.” Abruptly, like a switched off light, the smile disappeared from her face, and she subconsciously pulled back her hands. The moment screeched to a halt, the way a phonographic needle slides off a record; scratching the sylvan setting with jarring discord. Instead of the enthusiastic “Yes!” and the kiss for which Marty had hoped, she looked around worriedly, as if seeking a door through which she might escape. Needless to say, he was very alarmed, and asked her what was wrong.

She struggled to meet his eyes as she apologetically replied, “I’d like to, but Mark already asked me and I said yes.” Instantly, all the birds and insects in the surrounding forest froze in midair, and the water in the creek stopped flowing. The air hung still and apprehensive. Instead of receiving a nice kiss, Marty’s face stung with rejection. A thermonuclear bomb of psychic pain exploded in his head. There was a brilliant point of light that expanded all at once, melting his eyeballs and skin. Michelle was mouthing something placating, but his eardrums were already ruptured from the deafening roar of the explosion that came, as the shock waves blasted his body, incinerating his clothes until he stood naked and burned before her; completely obliterated.

“Oh,” was all the pile of ashes that used to be Marty could mumble, with aftershocks of emotion bursting in his mind. Mark?! Are you fucking kidding me? When did he ask you? Why did you say yes? I thought with all we shared together this year, it would be a foregone conclusion that we’d go to the Senior Ball together! Who is the one who loves you truly and deeply as a person and not just a trophy? What the hell is the matter with you?! The mushroom cloud of his disappointment burgeoned upward and outward, until it threatened to envelop the entire forest. “Oh,” he squeaked again, partially regaining awareness of the present moment, with her concerned face hovering in front of his; looking guilty for the devastation she so obviously wrought.

“I’m sorry, Marty, I didn’t know…” She whispered, her face pinched with concern. Michelle’s confusion and discomfort shut down her social operating system, and she started to cry.

Standing there, knee deep in the radioactive fallout of a catastrophe he should have seen coming, Marty felt no pity for her. He felt nothing at all; the way an atom ceases to exist after its nuclear bonds have been broken. He searched for cue cards telling him what he should say or do, but there was nothing except for the chuckling sound of running water, and the snickering of leaves as they swayed in the breeze. She continued to sob silently; turning away from him towards some real or make-believe world of pain only a woman could understand, and Marty was utterly lost.

“Can we go back now?” she sniffled. It wasn’t a question.