Maudlin Street
Christopher Mccoy

 

Lyrics from "Late Night, Maudlin Street," by Morrissey. © 1988 by Sire Records Company. All rights reserved.

Winter coming
     Winter push on
     (push on)
     Oh, winter push on

     Winter is so long
     Winter moves on


1- Soft Drink Suicide

The last night on Maudlin Street
     Goodbye house, goodbye stairs
     I was born here
     And I was raised here, and
     ...I took some stick here


WE stand on the street corner watching the buildings burn. There is me, Steven, my brother Alex, and his girlfriend Susie. The entire block where we lived is aflame from the bottle of lighter fluid we had poured on our living room floor and lit. It was probably a stupid thing to do, and maybe tomorrow I will regret it, but right now it seems to be all right. I stuff my hands into my pockets and watch as neighbors pour out onto the street with their pets and infinitesimal yet nevertheless precious belongings. I smile at this, but smother it when Alex glares at me slideways. I look away and think about why we are here. It’s stupid, really, but then, isn’t life just that way?

“I’m going for a hot-dog,” I say. Susie nods, but Alex looks at me as though I am abandoning him in the middle of the desert.

“Why? What am I supposed to do when the cops show up?”

“Improvise,” I tell him, and start walking away. It’s a pleasantly cool night and I enjoy the cool breeze, which soothes my heated-from-the-fire skin. I want to laugh, but I smile instead. How utterly ridiculous! Oh well, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

I walk into the AM-PM and look at the cashier who is reading a Spider-man comic. He glances up, sees me, does not react and returns to his distraction. I go to the soda machine, grab a cup and pour myself a soft drink suicide. When I go up to the cashier he sets down his comic resignedly and rings up the soda.

“Anything else?” he asks like a McDonald’s employee.

“One hot-dog, please.”

He fixes it up, slops on relish I didn’t ask for and forks it over.

“$3.45, please.”

I hand him the money, take the change and walk out onto the street. There is a park near by and that is where I head now. It is dead save for a midnight dog-walker and I accept that no matter where I go I will never be alone. And that, in all its irony, is what gets me.

Perhaps now I should explain.

2- 1972, you know

And so we crept through the park
     No, I cannot steal a pair of jeans off a clothesline
     For you
     But you ... without clothes
     Oh, I could not keep a straight face
     Me - without clothes ?
     Well, a nation turns its back and gags...
     I'm packed


It was in the month of October that I met her. She was beautiful and intelligent. At least to me. We were in the eighth grade together, but we did not share any classes. I was having lunch in the cafeteria with my friends, but I wasn’t really paying attention to what they were saying. Not that I had any comment anyway. She walked over to a nearby table and sat down. I sat there, not eating, just watching her. One of my friends noticed I wasn’t paying attention and looked to see what I was staring at.

“You like her, or something?” He asked me.

“Well… Yeah, I suppose,” I responded, not having given it any thought. He smiled and stood up. He walked over to her table and spoke to her. He pointed at me, she looked over and smiled. I blushed, grinned, and looked away. Hell, I had never been in love, not the way a person is as they get older. Yeah, I had liked this girl in the third grade, but that was stupid. Hell, I never really talked to her or even associated myself with her in any way.

But this time was different. It was five years later, and although I was just as naïve, I knew there was something different this time. I could feel the emotional tugs around my chest and feel my head go light as though I were losing oxygen. Yes, I may not have known what I was getting into, but I knew that whatever it was, it was all right.

***
After we had introduced ourselves, we began to talk and hang out. At our school, everyone had to go out onto the campus during lunch. Well, we broke the rules and would sneak about the abandoned halls, ducking into a bathroom or into the elevator whenever a teacher came around the corner. It was fun, and we enjoyed ourselves, but the sad thing was that we were too young to do any of the things older kids did. Anything that had to do with physical contact. Gosh, we didn’t even hold hands!

A rumor spread about a week later that we had slept together. I shot that one down because I had not seen her in about a week. Sadly, even now I become obsessive-possessive about my girlfriends. I saw her later that day speaking to another guy and I was beginning to wonder if she had found someone else. You know, there’s nothing worse than suspecting someone of cheating on you. It’s a terrible feeling, no matter what Jerry Springer tells you.

Of course it was all a paranoid delusion. She was merely chatting with a friend, signing a yearbook and receiving a note in return. I had no yearbook, and I wonder whether it would have made any difference if I had.

Our relationship, for what it was, ended the year I graduated from junior high. I never even thought about the fact that I had left her in the lurch. I heard years later in the tenth grade that she had become a slut, sleeping around. I wonder even now if I am to blame.

But before I graduated, we did something I will always remember. It was an afternoon in may, just after Spring had arrived. We got together during the Spring break and went down to the lake. We brought our lunches and sat at the edge of the lake, watching the light dance upon the water like electric sprites. The weather was a bit chilly, but it wasn’t bitter cold. We didn’t say anything for a long time.

Then she decided she wanted to play. She stood up and took my hand, pulling me to my feet. I followed her into the patch of trees which wrapped around the lake. She took me to a secret place where no one could see us. I had no idea what she was planning, and as I have said, I was too naïve to think of anything deviant. She stood me up against a tree and looked into my eyes. Before I could do anything more than return her gaze, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine. I closed my eyes, but before I could fully respond, she stopped. I looked at her, not knowing what to say or how to respond. She grinned at me and pulled off her shirt. I felt the heat blast through me and I broke out in a sweat. She laughed and stripped. She ran away and jumped into the lake. Fortunately for her- or maybe me- there was no one around to see.

“Come on!” she called to me. I stood there for a moment, not really wanting to expose my self, but when she began to get impatient, I said, “Fuck it,” and pulled off my clothes. I walked out from the trees’ haven and walked into the water. She laughed and started pushing me about the water which was hideously cold. I was gasping for air, hoping to God that I didn’t drown (I’ve always liked jumping into the water and climbing out, but I can’t swim or keep myself upright).

We started to splash around and I, for one, got so into it that I didn’t notice the people who were beginning to arrive. It was not until the police siren grew up out of the distance that I stopped. It came to the edge of the park and stopped. Two police officers got out and came down to the lake.

“Having fun?” asked one of them. He was dressed in a suit which looked as though it had come straight from the dry-cleaning cover.

“I’m sorry, sir, I…”

“Get out of there.” He looked at her. “Both of you.”

We got out and wrapped around us the blankets the uniformed officer handed us. The suited man grabbed my girlfriend’s arm and took her off to the cruiser. I moved forward to stop him

“Inspector - don't you know ? Don't you care ? Don't you know - about Love ?”

He glared at me.

“Get your clothes and come with me,” was what he said. I dashed off to the tree where our clothes were spread about, the uniform behind me. I dressed and brought her clothes to the car.

“Get in,” the uniform said, trying to sound firm, but being no less than caring. I got in and handed her her clothes.

***

They dropped me off at my house and took her away. I was not sure what they would do to her, but most importantly, what would I tell my folks? I waited till the car was out of view and went inside the house.

My parents were in the living room, and when I came in, they looked over at me, the look on their faces that says, “We expect a good explanation; what do you have to say for yourself.”

I stood there in the doorway, not saying a word, the only escape for me blocked by my mother’s form.

“So…” said my father. “Where did you go today?”

“To the lake,” I said. “Where’s Alex?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” my mother said. “Besides, you know he’s at summer school.”

I eased over to the couch and sat down. I sat there, knowing damn well that I had to tell them what happened. But how would they respond when they found out my girlfriend was black? It wasn’t a racist period of time, but the concept of inter-racial relationships was still a new, raw concept which the public was not accepting easily.

“What did you do at the lake? Why did they bring you home in a police car?”

I looked up at my father, not wanting to meet my mother’s analytical and judging gaze. I told them what happened. I don’t feel comfortable speaking of love to my parents- never have. But when I was finished, they merely nodded and left the room. I sat on the couch, listening to their voices coming from down the hall where their bedroom was.

When they came back, they wore their coats.

“We have to go shopping now,” my mother said, extra happy. “Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

After that day, I never spoke to my girlfriend. I saw her on graduation day, sitting in the back of the auditorium. To this day I regret all the things I never did.

3- Strange Pills

And I know
     I took strange pills
     But I never meant to hurt you
     Oh, truly I love you
     Came home late one night
     Everyone had gone to bed
     But, you know
     No-one stays up for you
     I had sixteen stitches
     All around my head


My father died when I was twenty. It was the year 1978. My brother, then fifteen, was starting high school and I was in college at CCSF. I was a contributing writer for the school newspaper (I had a column relating to book and music reviews). I was taking astronomy and psychology. But I had begun to drift off from my family like a crumbling chunk of dirt from an island. I would stay out late and hang out with my friends, boozing, toking, and bowling. Yeah, bowling. Sounds weird to say I did something like that. I mean, most everyone was out at the disco clubs getting funky to sly and the family stone. Of course, Elvis was still king; but then he died, so what difference does it make?

My home life had begun to fall apart. Alex had become the chosen one by our parents and I was often accused of not being responsible the way he was. I was twenty years old, for Christ’s sake! Hadn’t I reached an age where I could be responsible for my own actions and behavior? Wasn’t I old enough to know not to get into trouble? Ah, but hell, it was the turn of the decade and if those years are anything like the ones around the turn of the century, then people are often overly paranoid and bitchy.

I said I toked. Yeah. But even then it was not really a habit. I associate marijuana with socializing. I mean, there’s a difference between that and say speed. Speed gets your adrenaline going, and if you don’t get into a creative trance, the way some do, you can do some pretty crazy and violent shit. Marijuana, though gets you so down you can barely move. You don’t feel like going anywhere; you just want to sit around, giggle at television or converse philosophical.

At least, I did anyway. Most of the time my friends and I would go to one of our cars, get high and go off to Rock and Bowl, this bowling alley at the end of Haight street. It was just silly shit we did to pass time. I have never been a fantastically talented person- I write poetry, but that’s where it ends, and my products are never very good. No meter, no rhythm, nothing but nonsensical words stapled together in a screwy form.

And life went on like that for months. I paid no attention when my father was diagnosed with cancer. It came as a surprise to us, for there were no reasons why he might have it. Turns out it was a hereditary disease (great, so that means I will probably get it someday. Oh, the joys of heritage!). I tried not to be sad, tried not to be angry, but when you shove those emotions down and swallow the regurgitations, they only build up, and while they one day explode in your face, crashing into reality like a bad come-down, your behavior and actions begin to take on a solemn ambiance.

And that is what happened to me. I was at the Rock and Bowl with my friends, and we were having a good time- I for one had bowled a turkey which the others were trying hell-bent to top. It was my turn to bowl and These guys, buff looking assholes in leather jackets like they were Mongoloid rejects from Hell’s Angels, walked up and snatched the ball from me.

“Hey, asshole,” said this skinny dude with a scraggily goatee, “Mind if we join you?”

My friend Terry stood up. He was lean, but had some muscle on him. “Actually we do,” he said.

The goatee kid smiled and looked down. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a switchblade.

“Then I guess I will have to take something for collateral.”

I backed up a step, but Terry stepped forward and grabbed his empty hand. Goatee slashed out with the blade and sliced a gash in Terry’s forearm.

“MotherFUCK!” Jeremy, a friend of mine from the newspaper, screamed. He leapt forward, knocking Goatee to the ground. One of Goatee’s boys, who looked like a miniature version of Mike Tyson threw his arms down, picked Jeremy up by his arms and slammed him into the electronic score-keeper. Jeremy let out a groan and slumped to the ground.

There was only me and Franklin now. Franklin was a Tackle for San Francisco State. He was a friend of a friend and we had been introduced two weeks ago. Terry held his hand to his wound and looked paranoid at our attackers. Mike Tyson turned to face Franklin. Franklin crouched down, waiting for Mike to make his move.

“Heh. Guess we got ourselves a fruitcake,” said Goatee getting up. He backed off to where his two other boys stood, two gangly-looking jerks who were probably degenerates. Mike laughed and swung at Franklin. I grabbed his arm and yanked it as Franklin slammed his body against his attacker. Mike flipped over Franklin and slammed spread-eagled on the floor. His eyes bugged and he gasped for air.

While Mike quivered spasmodically, The degenerates stepped forward and pulled knives from their pockets. Franklin smacked one of them so hard his head snapped back. The degenerate swayed and fell to the ground. The second degenerate came at me, slicing away, and when I tried to duck, the blade sunk into cheek and slashed upwards to my temple. I slammed my hand to my face and stumbled away.

Not long after, sirens blared into the air and police officers rushed into the building. They pointed their guns and threatened to shoot us if we didn’t freeze. Oh, we froze all right. I, for one, passed out and fell against the wall.

***
My parents came to visit me. I felt a twinge of guilt, being in this position and all. They wanted me to be responsible and act like an adult and here I had put myself in the hospital. My mother came to my side and put her hand to the bandage on my face. It still hurt like hell, even though the anesthesia was rushing through my veins. It would have been a nice trip if my cheek didn’t itch like hell.

My father stood in the doorway, leaning on his cane. Since the diagnosis, his body seemed to be falling apart. I hated to see him sick and wounded, for he had always been a support in my life. I closed my eyes and tried to let the drugs pull me down to their level, try to block out the annoyingly melodic and strangely comforting words of my mother. Unfortunately it wouldn’t work. That’s the way life seemed to be. It went the way you wanted it to when you had nothing to do with yourself, but just when it seemed to go right and everything was great, it ground up like an overused break pad and kept things from being a perfect flow.

Alex stood next to our father, trying to look concerned, but looking more lost than anything else. My father looked tired, just staring blankly at my mother, wanting to send his emotional value into her words, but not trying very well.

“I’m sorry, son,” he said when my mother paused. “It’s a terrible thing to happen, but I hope you’ll be okay.”

That seemed to be all he could muster. I thanked him, and after about ten minutes my family left. I was thankful to see them go, not wanting to dump myself upon them like this. I closed my eyes and dreamed.

The dream wasn’t anything, really. It was just me sitting on a park bench down at the lake. I am alone and the park is empty, even though it is peak time at noon. I am looking out at the lake, watching the sunlight reflect off the water. It’s quiet and peaceful and even though I am alone, I am satisfied. Someone comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder. I don’t jump, but I don’t look to see who it is. They sit down next to me and don’t say a word. We sit there in silence, enjoying each other’s company and the way life happens to be at this moment.

***
When I got out of the hospital, it had been a week. I was still a little woozy from the back up drugs they were feeding me. The bandage had been removed, but the stitches were still there. I looked like the fucking Frankenstein monster and felt like the body parts he had been made from. I got into the station wagon my mother had arrived in and sat beside her, not saying a word, just wanting to go home. I was disoriented and didn’t recognize the city. My mother jabbered away the whole time and she didn’t stop till we got home. Alex came out of the house and greeted us. He snickered at the stitches, but I was too tired to smack him.

My father wasn’t there, and when I found out what had happened, I got really scared. It turned out that the cancer had been in his body longer than anyone thought. It had gotten a hold of his legs and he had been taken to the hospital. As it turned out, he would spend the rest of his days there. But none of us knew that just yet. I was disappointed to learn the news. I became very silent as the days progressed. I would be taken with Alex and our mother to visit him during the evening and weekend afternoons. It was pretty pathetic, really, to sit by his bed watching him slowly waste away. I hate to think of it now, just because it is so depressing.

***
I went to a party a week before my father died. I was invited by Terry who lived down the street. I went over in the evening without a word to anyone and met him on his doorstep. No one had arrived just yet, it being only 7:00 and all. We went to the garden out back and smoked a joint. Feeling really good, I pulled out a notebook and started writing.

“What’s that?” Terry asked. It was something I had started doing since the fight at the bowling alley. The notebook was full of poetry, mostly about how I felt about my current position in life. I didn’t want to show it to anyone, but Terry snatched it from my hands and started going through it. I didn’t try to get it back, only sat there, hoping he thought it was good. He got about halfway through and handed it back, not saying a word. I looked at him, but he just got up and entered the house. I took my pen and continued writing.

At eight thirty, people started to arrive, hands filled with six- and twelve-packs of beer. I went inside when the music began to play and tried to mingle. I wasn’t so good at it, so I just ransacked the brew and got drunk. At around midnight people began to leave. I wasn’t so sorry to see them go, and it was nice to have space. I sat on the couch and listened to Green Day, not really hearing the words, just grooving to the music. A girl sat down beside me and I looked over. I was surprised and a bit stunned to see who it was.

“Hello, Erica,” I said. She looked over, not surprised, and smiled.

“It’s been a while,” she said. It had. It was not until she leaned over and took my hand that the flow of ages washed over me. I took her hand and we sat there, just looking at each other. I wanted to kiss her so badly, but I knew it had been too long to think anything good could ever come of it. She kissed my cheek and stood up. She said words I could not make out and then turned and left. It was good to see her, and I hated to watch her go, but there was nothing I could really do about it. I just sank into the sofa, closed my eyes and let the Sandman take me away.

“even”

“What?” I asked, coming to.

“Wake up, you gotta go.” This was Terry speaking. I was laid out on the couch, sprawled, really, and when I opened my eyes, I saw Terry standing over me, his mother behind him. I sat up and tried to stand, but I swooned instead.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Five in the morning.”

“Damn. I better go.” I made it to the door somehow and Terry let me out onto the street. He handed me a pill and I popped it into my mouth. I smiled at him and turned, going home. As I walked, the world swooned and fell. I saw lollipop people walking around, and living in marshmallow homes. Licorice cars and twinkie busses passed on the street. I stopped before a streetlight that glared down in molasses waves, and tried to focus on a red hot lady bug flying by in the night. I somehow made it home, staring at the peanut brittle sidewalk as I walked to the house that gingerbread built. I reached for a key that seemed to exist somewhere else and opened the door which yawned before me. The house was silent and empty and still and I could do no more than find my way to bed and fall asleep.

4- A Half-life Half-lived

I am moving house
     A half-life disappears today
     With "every hand waves me on"
     (secretly wishing me gone)
     Well, I will be soon
     Ooh, I will be soon
     I will be soon
     I will be soon
     Will be soon, I will be soon
     Mmm ... I will be soon, I will be soon


My father died and my mother died, but not all at once. It was my father who went first. When I awoke the next morning, I had a vicious hang over and had to sleep most of the day away. The rest of the week was kind of strange, me doubting the existence of most of it. But when the effects of the drugs finally passed, I discovered my father had passed away. I was not sorry to see him go. After the pain he had endured, I was glad he was finally dead. It was good that Fate had helped him to where he was supposed to be. My mother didn’t take it so well. She slipped into a severe depression and I was almost embarrassed. I didn’t want her to be this way, and I am sure father didn’t either. So why didn’t she just try to act like nothing was wrong? That’s what I did. It was 1997 and life was about to change for all of us. Alex was 24, I was 29, and mom was getting pretty old. Hate to make her sound like a dog, but she had seen a lot of years, more than I had now than her when I was born.

So we tried our best to be a happy family. I had moved out and found a girl. She was really nice and she treated me like a human being. Alex was finishing up college, and it seemed that he would be moving out on his own. I can’t really think of the rest of what occurred up until mom passed away, but when she finally kicked the bucket, it was pretty sad. I was down to visit her in the hospital, where she had ended up due to fractured hip bone. It was not likely that she would be able to walk again, and while that was a sad fact, I was glad she had survived at all.

But unfortunately there was a blood clot located in her pelvic area, and as I would later learn, the fracturing of the hip caused the clot to move up to her brain. It was very unfortunate to learn this news, and after loosing dad, I became very suicidal. I took an overdose of Nyquil, and when my brother found my unconscious form lying on the bathroom floor, he rushed me to the hospital.

Life never seemed to get much better. I ended up loosing my marriage and I moved in with Patrick. He was living at home with his girlfriend now, not really knowing what to do with the place now that our parents were dead. I tried to make the best of it, but it never really seemed to improve.

Then we decided to torch the place. It seemed to be the only logical thing to do. We had enough money between us to get another place, and this old house held such terrible memories. So we pulled everything out onto the front lawn, set fire to the living room and went out to the street to watch it burn.

I feel kind of strange now, thinking back to all this. I can’t say I am entirely sorry to end my past this way, but with the way things turned out, I figure my life can only improve. We will find a place soon, I am sure, and when the firemen and police come, I am not sure what we will tell them. Turns out there was a fierce wind which sent the fire down the street. I think I may find another place all right. Jail. Yeah. But then, I don’t really think I care enough to really give a shit. But like I said before, I will probably regret this tomorrow. We will see…

***
I took the key from Maudlin Street
     Well, it's only bricks and mortar !
     Oh, oh, truly I love you
     Oh, wherever you are
     Wherever you are
     Wherever you are
     I hope you're singing now
     Oh, I do hope
     I hope you're singing now


THE END

 

 

Copyright © 2000 Christopher Mccoy
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"