Inexperienced at love and relationships, Marty had lost the ability to separate his experiences from his heartache, and everything he touched, saw, heard, or even smelled reminded him that he was alone. The pain was always there, the way a man who lost a leg might feel a ghost of its sensation from time to time, as if it was still part of his body. The emptiness in Marty’s heart had become an expanding black hole that threatened to swallow everything in its path, including him. He couldn’t tell anyone about this, because it had no actual form or presence that could be described. If he couldn’t understand it himself, how could he explain it to anyone else? It seemed as though a palpable absence had been with him all his life; a dismal paradox that he had never been able to define.
At the pet store that afternoon, Cap’n Hook was obviously ill. He grafted himself onto his perch and fluffed up his feathers, ducking his head between his wings and wheezing. Marge called the vet, who dropped by and recommended tetracycline, which turned the parrot’s water the color of urine. Marty tried to give Hookie a few drops in his mouth with an eyedropper, but he didn’t like that one bit, and Marty wasn’t willing to lose a finger (or a hand) for the effort, so he gave up. “He’ll either die or he won’t,” he shrugged abruptly, and walked to the darkest part of the fish room, where, with one swift kick, he smashed the glass of an old, empty aquarium on the floor.
Marge came running to see what happened, but Marty was already cleaning it up, muttering about all the loose wires. “I guess I’ll miss that old buzzard,” he whispered hoarsely to no one in particular. Maybe the tetracycline will work, he mused as he swept up the broken glass, or maybe it’s not just the bird who needs healing. Marty was becoming adept at medicating the fish for a variety of ailments, and sometimes took their meds himself when he’d had a cold too long. Amoxicillin was great for earaches and chest congestion, but did nothing for a broken heart. The packages had warnings that the stuff wasn’t safe for human consumption, but the vet laughed when Marty asked him, because after all, it’s a toxic chemical compound. The objective with most antibiotics is to poison the microbes in a controlled dose, and stop before it kills the patient.
After work, Marge announced she was “going out with some friends,” and Marty just stared at her with disbelief until she flustered, “What? I’m not going to drink, okay?” It immediately struck him how she had become the rebellious teenager, and he was the responsible parent in their relationship.
He waved her off dismissively. “Have fun! ‘Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die,’” he quoted sarcastically. Marge looked at her son quizzically, but took advantage of the easy exit. She had her priorities.
Marty didn’t want to mope alone at home on a Friday night – it was Memorial Day Weekend after all – so he hung out at the Parkade in Fairfax with Mike, Annie, and Boobers, while they all waited to find someone who would buy beer for them. The night was young, but Marty felt very old and tired. He wore the insulation of his melancholy like a coat of loose feathers, and hunched his shoulders in imitation of a sick parrot.
“What’s wrong, man?” Boobers nudged Marty with his elbow as they leaned on the burly fender of the Apollo.
“Just girl problems. Nothing a beer can’t solve.” Marty followed the tradition of party people everywhere by avoiding the problem.
“Women.” Boobers agreed, shaking his head with fraternal sympathy. They had smoked a joint not too long ago, and long sentences were becoming difficult anyhow.
Mike waved down Dennis cruising by in the Enterprise. He was old enough to be cited for providing alcohol to minors, but often did it anyway. To refuse to buy up was “tight” in the slang of the day, and they all needed to “get loose” instead. The gang drove up a steep local street and parked, then carried their supplies to the top of Cala Hill. The lights of the metropolis known as Fairfax spread out feebly before them, like someone testing old Christmas decorations to see if they still lit. Dennis had joined them, and was now engaged in a bona-fide downhill pissing contest with Mike. This is going to be my life after high school, Marty thought disconsolately. Getting old enough to buy beer for younger kids, pissing down a hill, and working in a pet store until I wind up in the freezer with the dead rodents. Annie was yelling at Mike to stop, and he laughed so hard that he peed on his own foot. That was an exceptionally strong joint they had smoked, and a few beers compounded the effects considerably!
They polished off the brewskies, and Marty collected all the empties before the guys could get bored and start tossing them down the hill. There used to be a radical dirt bike ramp at the bottom of the front side, because the hill was totally steep. Now it was strewn with broken glass and not used by bike riders any more. Marty nearly lost his balance and slid down the slope when he had to go pee, and that would not have turned out well at all. The party caravan soon left to get more beer. “All night long! All night long!” exhorted Joe Walsh and the Eagles on the tape deck. With a fresh stock of cold ones, they zoomed up the twisting, turning road all the way to Alpine Dam, and parked their cars on a turnout for another pop-up party. Rob, Dave, and Terry had met up with them downtown, and now there was a righteous bash happening. As they all drank beer and tried to talk above the loud music from the car stereos, Marty asked them what they were going to do after graduation. He pounded the rest of his Michelob and grabbed another.
“We’re joining the Marines!” Rob boomed so he could hear the echo from across the lake. Marty looked to Dave and Terry for confirmation, and they nodded enthusiastically.
“Semper Fi!” Dave saluted, and chugged an entire bottle of beer, while Rob and Terry screamed at each other with fanatic frenzy; their faces just inches away from each other. Whatever trips your trigger, Marty mused. Maybe they could rescue the hostages. He pondered the insanity of devoting one’s career to killing, and counted the signs of the apocalypse. War, pestilence, hunger, and greed. Iran hostages, Jonestown, Afghanistan, and the constant threat of total annihilation of all life as we know it on this planet. When will people learn to direct their incredible energy towards something useful? Marty reasoned that dying in a war was one way to punch your ticket out of a self-destructive society. When faced with such atrocities, what rational being would go on living, when it had the power to make it stop? It is only love that makes any of it bearable. Without love, the living world isn’t worth fighting for.
“Join up with us, Marty!” Dave exhorted, putting his arm around his shoulders, “We almost died together up in Trinity! We’re soldiers already!”
“No man, that’s not for me,” Marty answered with conviction. Somebody had to stand up for human decency in this world. “I know a lot of guys who were in the last war, and they’re all fucked up.” He had to talk tough to stand up for peace, but in truth he was getting quite dizzy. “You shitheads are probably dumb enough to get off on it, though,” he teased, and they pushed him playfully into the lake. It was cold, and the bank was steep, and Marty crawled out like a drowned rat, laughing hysterically and crying at the same time.
The next thing he knew, he woke up in his truck, chilled to the bone. His socks and underwear were uncomfortably damp, but his outer clothes had dried. The windows were all steamed up, though. Marty opened the door to see where everybody was, and did a double-take when he discovered he was parked in the driveway at the Rusty Bucket Ranch! Omigod, did I drive home? He had no idea what time it was, but it was pitch dark except for the porch light. His legs felt numb, and didn’t follow instructions, but he stumbled down the familiar path without falling more than a couple of times. Once he reached the deck, he just crawled the rest of the way into the house, and fell onto the couch. Better to crash here than up against a tree, he thought dimly, and passed out.
