I Just Want My Pants Back Part 15

I don't know how much later it was, but all of a sudden that same Derek was manhandling me out of the bar and tossing me toward the gutter like I was a wet sack of trash. I was airborne and then I landed right on my coccyx, right on the corner of the curb. I let out a yelp and I saw stars and they were twinkling and then I wished I saw little birds like in cartoons and I might have just for a sec. I had walked up to that pickle chick and kissed her right on the mouth. Her tongue was cold and hard and wet, like a snail sh.e.l.l. Then Derek ripped me off her and here I was, Raggedy Andy.

I rolled over and looked up and Derek was standing almost on top of me. His ratty Converse were by my hair, the hem of his pants hung inches above my nose. The hem on one leg was flecked with white. White paint. f.u.c.k a f.u.c.king farmer!

"My G.o.dd.a.m.n d.i.c.kies!" I yelled. I grabbed the cuff and inspected it. Paint splotches all around, they were definitely mine! Crackling through my head came fractured images of how they arrived here, how they got on the legs of the dude who just trashed me. I saw Jane f.u.c.king Derek, doing all kinds of filthy things to him and his big black d.i.c.k. Yes, G.o.dd.a.m.nit-it was black, black as a chess piece. And big, the stereotype was true and everyone f.u.c.king knew it. I shared a high school gym locker with my friend Nate, he was black and I'd see his junk dangling, an elephant trunk searching for peanuts, making my Jew c.o.c.k, my Lil' Petey, my next-door-neighbor-that'll-give-you-a-ride-to-the-airport-in-his-unexceptional-but-reliable-Camry average-sized d.i.c.k look like an itty-bitty jalapeno pepper. I saw it all, first Jane wors.h.i.+pping Derek's monolith, and then her swaddling it gently in my d.i.c.kies.

I squinted up at Derek. "Where'd you get 'em?"

"What?" He looked down at me. He was smirking, the f.u.c.ker.

"These pants." I yanked on the cuff. "These f.u.c.king pants. Where? They're mine."

"Yeah, okay. f.u.c.k you." He put his foot on my chest and let a goober drop from his mouth. It splattered right on my neck.

"You f.u.c.king horrible piece of s.h.i.+t!" I let go of the d.i.c.kies and desperately wiped at the loogie with my hand. It was a snotty one, it felt like warm jelly, it was f.u.c.king miserable. Derek turned away and started back into the bar.

"Those are my f.u.c.king pants!" I yelled after him. "You c.u.n.ting f.u.c.k!" I tried to get up, and an excruciating pain immediately shot through my coccyx. I lay back down to ease it and slapped my hand on the curb. "You have to be f.u.c.king kidding me!"

I heard people laughing and then the bar door closed and it was all muted. I rested my head on the concrete, my a.s.s bone was just aching. I hoped I didn't break it. Not my sweet a.s.s, not my pride and joy.

I don't know how long I lay there, resting, afraid I might need some kind of truss. Some a.s.sholes walked past and said something I was pretty sure wasn't complimentary. All I could see was their shoes, and they had that sparkle too. I decided that gray was a really good color for cement, it suited it. Cement sounded gray. f.u.c.king Jane, f.u.c.king s.l.u.t, f.u.c.king wh.o.r.e, f.u.c.king thief, f.u.c.king chicken f.u.c.ker. s.h.i.+t, maybe Derek didn't even get the pants from her, maybe she'd had a lesbian affair and that girl stole them from her and then Derek slept with the new girl and got the pants. Or maybe Derek and Jane were married and she cheated on him with me, maybe I cuckolded him, maybe I f.u.c.king won, it could've been. The pants permutations were astronomical. Neon mathematical equations flashed across the concrete.

I turned my head the other way, toward the street. In front of my face were a bunch of b.u.t.ts scattered in the gutter. I stretched out and sc.r.a.ped up a few of the bigger ones. I put one that had lipstick on the filter in my mouth and imagined who had been sucking on it, what she looked like, how it tasted on her lips. Then after a little while, I slowly stood up. It hurt but I could do it. I patted my pockets until I found my lighter. I had a long walk home. I was going to finally learn to smoke.

The stairs at 99 Perry were extra-steep, and tonight they seemed steeper than ever. My coccyx flared on every one of them. I vowed to call the landlord the next day and lobby for an elevator, an escalator, a ski lift, a rope tow, or a Sherpa-like person to provide piggyback rides. I held on to the railing with one hand and held a bag with two black-and-white cookies and a Gatorade in the other, courtesy of Bobby. The red neon Bud sign he had installed in the window was the most beautiful thing I ever saw, I kept telling him. I really, really wanted to lick it. I knew it would be delicious if only he'd let me try. He gave me the cookies for free, the first time he had ever given me something for free. I was pretty sure I kissed him on the cheek afterward, the handsome devil. He kept telling me to keep my voice down.

I knocked on Patty's door, the shave-and-a-haircut. She opened up after the second rendition.

"Want a black-and-white cookie?" I said, reaching into the bag and fanning out the two cookies in front of her face.

"I don't think so," she said, standing in a flannel nightgown, frowning. "It's a little late for dessert."

"It's never too late for cookies, Patty! Santa has milk and cookies in the middle of the night," I said, leaning against the doorjamb.

"Shh," she said. "Come in here, it's the middle of the night." I shuffled inside and she closed the door. She looked me over. "What are you on? You stink of booze, and something," she said.

"Cake," I said, mouth already full with a bite of cookie. We went and sat in her main room. Between bites of cookie and swallows of Gatorade, I explained my sweaty working day.

Patty rubbed her eyes. Her voice was raspy. "You're lucky that was so awful because you woke me up, and I was feeling a little bit of anger toward you for that. If someone doesn't answer after one knock, don't keep knocking for ten minutes."

"I knocked twice," I protested.

"Nuh-uh," she said. "Trust me." She stretched her arms behind her head, yawning. "You look like a homeless person. What's up with your hair?"

"I was a piece of cake all day. It's a demanding job!" I eyed the second cookie. "You want to share?" I said, holding it up.

"All yours," she yawned. "And stop yelling."

I ripped it open. "Sucker," I said. I took two big bites, one of white, one of black, for maximum flavorfulness. "It's good to get a taste of the yin and the yang at the same time," I said, crumbs falling from my mouth.

Patty eyed me, arms crossed. "So what's up?"

"What do you mean?" I responded, before taking a slug of Gatorade.

"I mean, you didn't pop in to chitchat, did you?" She gestured to the clock behind me. It was after four. She adjusted herself, leaning heavily on a throw pillow. She looked tired. Her face seemed to sway and the skin was sagging off the bone. But everything was moving around on me, really.

"Kinda," I said. "I thought you'd be up and we could hang. Or maybe go get a drink at that Gus's place?" I pulled out some moist, balled-up bills from my pocket and smoothed one. "My treat!"

"Jesus, Jason," she said, "you sure you don't want to talk about something? I mean, please tell me you want to. Because it's late and as you are well aware, I do tend to get a bit tired these days for obvious reasons." She pushed some hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. "And although I like to think I'm a pretty laid-back person, I think you know that no one is quite this laid-back. So spill it, or let me get back to bed."

I sat there for a second. "Seriously? I don't think I can be serious right now." I looked both ways, and stage-whispered, "I'm on drugs."

"Okay, hit the road then, Jack. I'm exhausted."

"Wait." I wiped the crumbs off my s.h.i.+rt. I swallowed and tried to pull it together. "No, um, I don't know. I'm having a tough time, I guess. The job thing, some other stuff. You know it all, Patty. It's been hitting me hard lately. My friends think I'm a bit of a f.u.c.k-up. But whatever, everything is fine, I think."

Patty leaned over and broke a piece off the cookie. White. She considered it, and then put it on the coffee table. "Well, Jason, I haven't known you all that long, but maybe you should listen to your friends. Maybe you've become something of a f.u.c.k-up."

I smiled at her but then realized she wasn't joking. Or done.

She continued. "I mean, I, for one, did not choose a life that was defined by what I did for a living, so I would never lecture you on that. But this is the cold hard facts of life, neighbor. You spend the bulk of your day doing something for money. Welcome to America. So start looking for what it's going to be. Who cares what it is? Find something that makes you happy, it's not a vision quest. And by that I mean, look harder than you are." She propped herself up on her elbow. Her skin looked translucent, like a jellyfish. I could see the muscles working in her jaw as she spoke. And I could see the sound waves emanating from her mouth, spreading in ever-larger concentric circles until they washed over me.

"And let me ask you this, I'm just going to say it. Why don't you ever date a girl? It's none of my business, but I don't think you have ever told me about one girl you've dated, like, a few times. Think about that. It's not normal. I'm not someone who's for normality necessarily, mind you, but still. It's something you might think about next time you're doing some self-examining-which should be soon, Jason."

"You're really hars.h.i.+ng my mellow, Patty," I said, blinking, trying to grin.

She yawned, and scratched her pale cheek. "Humor is an excellent defense mechanism, neighbor. I know, I use it all the time. Especially these days." She picked up the broken piece of cookie she had left on the table and popped it into her mouth. "Ugh, it's stale." She swallowed and cleared her throat. "Look, we never got real deep about this, and shoot, I can't even tell if you're really hearing me right now anyway, but when you're in my 'situation,' you tend to look back across your life, and you get a good sense of where you got it right and where it could've gone righter. Maybe that's why I'm so worked up. I think the world of you, Jason. You know that. You could be a star. You could also end up a cynical New York a.s.shole-you know, you see them on the train, a really intelligent, really bitter nothing who's forgotten how to smile." She shrugged. "I'm just saying. Maybe your friends have a point. I don't know, maybe they don't." She dropped her head down to her chest. "Maybe we're all full of s.h.i.+t." She stopped, and put both hands to the side of her head and rubbed her temples. "I'm exhausted. I have to get back in bed. Could you help me, please?"

I took her arm and helped her up and we walked, her leaning against me, over to her bed. She sat down slowly and then carefully lay back onto the pillow. I helped her swing her feet up onto the mattress. "It's so warm these nights that I never even use a blanket," she said, grunting. She reached for another pillow, I grabbed it and put it behind her head. "You know what it is, Jason? You're neither here nor there right now, you're just floating between ports. And it probably feels sorta nice to be between, right? Because you only have to think about yourself." She looked me in the eye. "Yes, neighbor, so you're a little lost. So what? You should be, you're young. Believe me, you'll miss it when you're found. Knowing the answers, or more of them anyway, is boring." She adjusted herself a little to get comfortable. "Hit the lights, okay?" she said softly, eyes closing.

"I'm sorry, Patty," I said. "I didn't..."

"Shh," she whispered, eyes still closed. "Save it for tomorrow. I love to wake up to flowers, you know."

The room was starting to tilt and spin on me. I backed up, hit the lights, and started out. "And, Jason," she called out to me, "forget being a f.u.c.k-up. Not everyone can wear it like Serge Gainsbourg."

17.

I unlocked my door, stepped inside my s.h.i.+tty little apartment, and sat down on the couch. I wasn't tired. My heart was racing, it was thumping in my chest like an oversized subwoofer in a Toyota Tercel. Maybe it was the E. My eyes flicked around the room. I stood. I felt panicky. This was not the place for me. I rummaged through my silverware drawer. I knew I knew I knew I had some dope in there. I found a sizeable roach and a lighter and like that I was the f.u.c.k out the door and on the empty street and I was smoking and I was alive. That was something, wasn't it? It was still pitch-black out and I walked west to make the night last as long as it could.

It was too late for bars and too early for coffee shops. I walked a few blocks, smoking the joint, getting to know the concrete, until I was more or less smoking my thumb and forefinger. I didn't feel much from it, but my brain might have already been at full capacity. There was no traffic, so I strayed from the sidewalk into the street. I could see all the way to the river from there and I aimed my body toward it.

I was utterly alone. I didn't think there had ever been another time that I had seen absolutely no life in the city-no cars, no one sleeping under a stairwell, nothing. It was impossible to be alone here, you got used to doing private things in public. You had no choice. We all got to see everyone else's business and everyone got to see ours, so we were all even. n.o.body had anything on anyone, at least not for long.

But now it was just me. The rest of the city was home dreaming about this or that or up worrying about something or taking a Xanax or a Tums or having a half-asleep pee or getting the s.h.i.+t f.u.c.ked out of them or wis.h.i.+ng they were getting the s.h.i.+t f.u.c.ked out of them or whatever it was people did in apartments other than mine late at night or early in the morning. What a bunch of s.h.i.+t was flowing through my head. I crossed the highway and then the jogging path on the side of the Hudson and then walked all the way out to the end of the pier that jutted a hundred yards into the river. It was as far as I could go.

I leaned on the rail, looking across the water to Jersey. There was a strong breeze. The wind came off the water and I was the first person on the island of Manhattan it hit. It had traveled great distances to suddenly encounter me, the immovable object, which it flowed over and around and possibly through and then re-gelled on the other side off to somewhere else. What the significance of that was, I had no idea. I ran my hands through my crackly hair. I desperately wanted to think deep thoughts but they weren't coming. I wanted a f.u.c.king moment of clarity, an epiphany, something, I needed something. I screamed as loud as I could. I considered jumping into the water but that seemed stupid and dangerous. I didn't know what to do. It wasn't coming. Ordinary people don't turn on a dime. All I felt was sick and detached. I tried again, I tried to focus on Patty's words, on me, but everything was fuzzy. Even the water looked fuzzy. I took off my gla.s.ses, they were filthy. It was like I was practicing for cataracts. I spat on the lenses and cleaned them with my s.h.i.+rt the best I could.

And then I got tired. My jaw ached and the only real thought I had was that I had to pee. I let my water join the river's and then I lay down, carefully, on the concrete pier. My a.s.s bone was still tender as f.u.c.k. Maybe something would come to me in a dream.

I woke up, the sun in my eyes, and I had it, I had my deep thought: Sleeping outside was a f.u.c.king r.e.t.a.r.ded thing to do. My back was stiff, my head was throbbing, and my a.s.s was a lump of pure pain. I got up and hobbled toward my house. woke up, the sun in my eyes, and I had it, I had my deep thought: Sleeping outside was a f.u.c.king r.e.t.a.r.ded thing to do. My back was stiff, my head was throbbing, and my a.s.s was a lump of pure pain. I got up and hobbled toward my house.

I stopped in some deli and saw that it was eight-thirty. I wondered how long I had slept out there. I bought a five-dollar bunch of tulips, bad ones dyed blue, the only ones they had, and a bottle of water. I was glad to see that I still had my wallet. The deli dude gave me my change and a look, so I gave him a look in return. I got back to 99 Perry and climbed the stairs. I looked at my door and I looked at Patty's and then I went over to hers. I shave-and-haircutted it.

No answer. I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice so I started to shuffle over toward my place when I heard something. I went back to her door.

"Patty? You up?" I asked, ear to the door.

"Come here," she said.

I tried the door. It was locked. "The door's locked, Patty."

"Jason." A pause. "I need help."

Everything happened in a blur from there. I ran down to the first floor and banged on the super's door for what seemed like a century and he went upstairs in his robe and tried fifteen different keys until he got Patty's door open. I went in and she was in bed, pale and crying, and I called an ambulance and they took her and they wouldn't let me in the back.

18.

I sat on a plastic chair and breathed in the hospital smell and read a Marie Claire Marie Claire someone had left behind. Every once in a while a middle-aged nurse would walk by and ignore me. I thought nurses were supposed to be super-s.e.xy; I mean, a nurse outfit was always the s.l.u.tty Halloween costume choice for girls who wanted to get laid. Looking at the opaque-hosed, orthopedic-shoe-wearing nurses here, I wasn't sure how that outfit ever became known as erotic. someone had left behind. Every once in a while a middle-aged nurse would walk by and ignore me. I thought nurses were supposed to be super-s.e.xy; I mean, a nurse outfit was always the s.l.u.tty Halloween costume choice for girls who wanted to get laid. Looking at the opaque-hosed, orthopedic-shoe-wearing nurses here, I wasn't sure how that outfit ever became known as erotic.

I had been waiting about three hours to get in and see Patty. I kept being told "in just a little while." One of the nurses had asked me if I was family, and it struck me that I had no idea if Patty even had had family. I should have lied and said yes, I probably could have been in there by now. All they had told me was what I already knew, she was weak from cancer. I couldn't get anything more in-depth than that. So I waited in the plastic chair, trying in vain to find a comfortable position, wondering if I should get my bottom X-rayed. My phone still had one bar on the battery, so I squeezed out a few texts. First to Tina: family. I should have lied and said yes, I probably could have been in there by now. All they had told me was what I already knew, she was weak from cancer. I couldn't get anything more in-depth than that. So I waited in the plastic chair, trying in vain to find a comfortable position, wondering if I should get my bottom X-rayed. My phone still had one bar on the battery, so I squeezed out a few texts. First to Tina:

in hospital with patty. ick.

Then to Eric.

in st. vincent, patty very ill. advice?

Finally I was directed down a hall into an elevator, up three floors, and then down another hall to Patty's room. It was tiny and there was another bed in there, but it wasn't occupied. She was lying under the covers with some tubes up her nose. The TV was on and I took that for good news. I figured they didn't let you watch The Bold and the Beautiful The Bold and the Beautiful if things were too serious. But maybe it was the opposite, maybe they let you do what you wanted because you were too far gone. "You want bacon and ice cream and an opium suppository and some unfiltered Camels and a German s.h.i.+za DVD-sure, what more harm could they do?" if things were too serious. But maybe it was the opposite, maybe they let you do what you wanted because you were too far gone. "You want bacon and ice cream and an opium suppository and some unfiltered Camels and a German s.h.i.+za DVD-sure, what more harm could they do?"

Patty's eyes opened as I pulled up a chair and sat next to her. "Hi, neighbor," I said, smiling. "How're you feeling?"

"You look like h.e.l.l," she said in a scratchy voice just above a whisper. She blinked a few times, slowly.

"Yeah, and I think I smell too. You should be glad you have that oxygen supply-I still haven't showered."

She laughed weakly. "So. I owe you an apology, Jason."

"What? I owe you one. I did have flowers for you by the way, but I left them in your apartment." I hung my head. "Sorry about last night, and all."

"That's itty-bitty. I owe you a big apology. See, I told you a lie." She stopped to take a breath. "A whopper."

"About what?"

"Getting better. I'm not. I have lung cancer for chrissakes, Jason." She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Her skin looked like old, delicate parchment. "You know, you are terribly gullible." She adjusted herself ever so slightly, then reached out her hand. I took it. "Sorry about that, neighbor, I just wanted us to have some laughs. I didn't want to be remembered for being a buzzkill. I've been working on that, you see."

I swallowed even though my mouth was pretty dry. "So wait. I mean, like, what's the prognosis?"

"Death. Relatively soon." She coughed lightly. "Don't be upset. I've known for a long time. It's not going to be like tomorrow, don't freak out yet." She stopped and took another breath. "Do you still have that card I gave you, the lawyer?"

"Yeah."

"Call him. I gave him a list of everyone to contact. He knows what to do."

Her hair was all caught up in one of the tubes that went to her nose. I leaned in and gently untangled it, smoothing it back. "What can I do?" I asked. I hadn't the first clue.

"Want to stay with me for a little while? I may nap, but it'll be nice to see a friendly face when I wake up."

"Sure." I gestured to the soap opera on the TV, and tried to smile. "Only if we change the channel, though."

"Ugh, just turn it off."

I found the remote and took care of it. I grabbed another chair to rest my legs on, maybe I could get some sleep myself. I was so tired. It didn't make any sense. Patty had just told me she was going to die; she was going to die relatively soon. And all I could think was how much I wanted to shut my eyes. I didn't want to cry or scream or run down the hall, I just wanted to lie down, just for a little. All I really felt were crus.h.i.+ng waves of exhaustion. I curled up on the chairs. It was so quiet in there.

"Jason."

"Yeah?"

"Is there anything you want me to tell G.o.d for you?"

I giggled. "Shut up."

"You sure? You don't want three wishes or something?"

"This is so weird, Patty. I feel like we're just hanging out. I can't get my head around it," I said.

"Hanging out is the best part." She coughed. We were both quiet for a bit. Patty's eyes closed, and then so did mine. I floated just above sleep.

"Want to hear something funny, neighbor?" Patty whispered.