Ladyboys Moving to Thailand and my first Ladyboy
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My wallet so deeply offended my posterior sentiments on the ride from Atlanta, that I am forced to clean it out. Leaving only the most very necessary elements, I discard a 2000 school ID, a Brasilian bus pass, a bank receipt for $400 and a six month old Durex condom in a purple wrapper. Tossing them in the middle of a train station parking lot for vagrants to look and wonder. Good littering contributes to a greater universal weirdness.
And Alabama and Mississippi admirably approach an aesthetic vacuum. Thickets bestrewn with carrion, pool tables and rusted sheet metal carcasses once prompted my traveling companion, one Mr. J.W. Gerrity IV, to explore notions of emigration.
‘This is not the America you ever see’-he looked up from the Terry Schiavo edition of the New York Times- ‘This is bumfuck nowhere.’
This emerged on a train en route to my ‘city of sabbaticals’. Where the big river flows from America’s southernmost and oldest orifice lies a booze puddle, there only alcoholics sleep in the streets. There awaited my fate, in a cyclical academic oil spill.
And a life in three weeks of dirty laundry on Manhattan-stained sheets, amongst the books of merit beneath those I actually read, within sauce-stained Styrofoam containers, inside a small cache of Skittle-colored pharmaceuticals, on a hotplate, cast in the shadow of a choirgirl intimacy primarily based on chemicals and supplemented by inborn mental imbalances.
Is not each poet led by libido, or more specifically: its non-fulfillment? No. Being queer, I write through ennui though each poet lies. I lied on a pool table before that voyage. A memory quite beer scented and decrepit whose sensual nuances I immediately regain based on the visual stimuli across the glass.
Sunday, somebody said:
‘Somehow cast adrift, we were confined to our flotation device for three Sundays since our second meeting…’
But as the liquor-stained pool table was not a life raft, inflatable and buoyant, I feared naught. We stared up and out through the glass façade at the twilight diffusing into the clouds. Laid face down, I could not hear her next to me. Hair covered my ears.
‘How far could we float into the night if we stayed here?’ was what she asked the ceiling. I caught the third repetition.
‘Well, we could drift as far as we cared, not budging an inch.’
Such riddles and puns never fail to confuse & delight me. We played such nonsense for some hours. My misled brothers interrupted occasionally and abashedly excused themselves-unaware my intended intercourse was aural.
‘What’s the most important thing to you in the world at this point?’ she mused, her lips flushed.
‘Aesthetics.’ I said, blowing smoke upwards.
‘My senses are really all I have, no faith in this memory, just the immediate five stimuli and a reverence for that which overwhelms it. It’s like quantum foam or Karma, you know, all around.’ I scorched my nose, unseen in the dark.
She brushed hair from our faces, ‘For most animals it’s sex, us included, but I feel you.’
‘Do you?’
‘I want to, but I can’t lie here anymore.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Let’s do something right now.’ she whispered, tapping her fingers rhythmically on my belt buckle.
Indeed, the dope controlled the situation by now.
‘Let’s smoke and make music, chill?’ I mumbled through the clouds around my head,
‘I’ll sing of the moment, will you strum the box?’
Grasping the Gibson by the neck, she started plucking an F minor chord. Silver saxophones chimed in my mind and I drawled about every just beast, leaving, where I lived, a mountain range and jaywalking. With each chord change and repetition, my voice stuttered-subtle slips betraying my lyrics I no longer understood.
Weary around 3 am, we blazed a trail towards my room. She was too tired to attempt the trek back to school she said. Not touching is a tremendous trick, two people to a single bed but I did my best that night. It was unnatural laying stiff. And she fidgeted in her sleep ceaselessly -drawing breath in uneasy cadence. I never sleep much anyhow.
Abandoning the exercise, we both left the bed early, long before sunrise.
‘I need to change. You can chill, but the bathroom is down the hall if you need to freshen up.’ I said.
I went towards the door but she refused to leave. She sat at my desk and turned on my computer.
‘I’ll just check my email while you do.’
So she stayed and I stood befuddled in the rear of the room. My stare never parted the back of her head while I was naked…
On Monday.
I attended multiple classes that one day on the week in question. As I approached siesta afterwards, hellish ringing chided me. I thought of cellular phones: I never need immediate contact with anyone. Calls stuttered terribly, static pock marking each syllable. With accumulated rage from half a dozen such predecessors, (each more functional than the next) I examined the concrete eighty feet below my window each night. Adrian’s was a uniquely welcome call and her plan to barhop my way with her sisters sounded kosher.
I was expecting a midnight summons.
‘I’m wasted and can barely walk, baby, will you take care of me?’
Hatred of The Boot notwithstanding, a delayed beckoning found me inside seventy minutes into Tuesday. After speaking briefly, Adrian excused herself to egress for an hour in the lavatory. Then I bore her, bubbling, to my eighth floor corner window.
After two hours of vomiting and unconsciousness she seemed chipper. And I had planned on sleeping. She told me to turn off the television, the finer points of R.P. Mc Murphy and Nurse Ratched escaped her. I closed the window and my roommate stirred slightly. I watched her lying on my bed, shivering.
‘Do you have a blanket?’ she pleaded with her arms massaging goosebumps.
‘You’re on it, fool.’ I smiled and changed my shirt.
Somehow she managed to wriggle beneath the comforter and sheets to the total ruin of my immaculate bed setting. I joined her and she promptly stretched, slinging her arm over my chest.
‘Thanks for taking care of me’ she kissed in my ear.
Equating a kiss to a handshake and infallible ‘goodnight’, I turned to return it. I completely missed her cheek and wound up with a tongue in my mouth. She exploited the folly instead of laughing as I had expected. Ignorant to the punch line, the joke was on me this time:
Her [giggling]: ‘I can’t believe I just kissed…you.’
Me [Stone-dead shocked]: …
Solely because such silence shattered my psyche I spoke.
‘Umm… yeah, unbelievable.’ I uttered, bereft of tact.
Me [aside]: ‘Eureka! I’m straight now, she’ll slumber soon. Slow down, maintain control. And one tongue-wrangling could not fuck all this up?’
Roommate stirred slightly more disturbed than before. But we played house quietly and the room was quite dark.
Her [hands straddling my face]: ‘Make love to me!’
His third stirring came around this time and was markedly more energized insofar as the sheets laid strewn on the floor, blowing in the wind, once I glanced over from the exodus’ cause.
To fulfill her basest needs, I sought a melody. I pressed a button. Stockholm Syndrome flowed from my laptop.
Her: ‘I love you.’
I simultaneously shrunk six inches at this statement.
Me [mentally paralyzed]: ‘I love … you…’
We snuck on the roof once dawn approached and saw two black bridges rise from the bright magenta sky. Before we returned, somebody said: ‘Clearly the purple moon results from caustic chemical seepage into our fragile aquarium. But who can resist the shining with his eyes…’
And jazz sounded at medium volume behind my locked door until noon.
My companion awakes as we stop in Birmingham. Small single story ranch homes line streets- speed limit 25 mile
s per hour. I could notice america here. All the flags are a dead giveaway, however, the reappearance of mailboxes cemented my security. I figured a city with bitter ghosts would appear more ominous and less the omnipresent suburban image. Pickup trucks with victory signs plastered to the bumpers and blacks riding the bus. Nobody rides the bus. Only in select cities, obsolete soon nationwide. My companion rises from his resting place and splits. Where he’s bound I can’t tell. I’ve spilt my gin everywhere. Unfortunate-the cup will be refilled from the handle below my seat. Alone, I call one last time before I will relax regardless. Stepping out into the hallway, I notice my reception is dependably poor.
Eight rings precede her voice, each several seconds apart. Finally the earphone jerks awake.
‘Adam.’
‘Hey you’
‘What…’
And then silence. And then I swear. I hear a man coming and he works on the train. Donelle is the steward next door who wakes me and J.W. for meals. I have known him for some time.
‘What’s the problem you got there man?’ he asks and laughs.
‘Bloody phone’s busted. Lost my girlfriend- that shit.’
He taps my shoulder as he continues past to assure that he does know that shit, as he claims. She does not call back, as usual. Not having spoken in a week, I head to the toilet to prepare for dinner.
A distracting episode reappears two cars behind in a blonde, thin, bespectacled, reading Proust. Her likeness is identical to a ghost I know. Whose qualities during my second and third returns to the restroom I recall.
Captain: ‘Never have I seen so gorgeous a creature as this.’
Me: ‘One more drink should suffice.’
Ten minutes sufficed to drown my conscience. Staggering to the banks and leans of the tracks, I approached after rum-swaggered rehearsal. She sat alone, searching outside the window.
I stood still. ‘Hi, excuse the disruption but I noticed you before and you look like you can aid me in my particular situation. May I sit down?’ I said.
She smiled before I finished.
‘Sure, I don’t mind if you sit.’ says the Angel.
She spoke with Scarlet O’Hara’s accent. While she simply smiled as she said lesser words of a sentence, nouns and verbs incited her emotions. Subtlety and passion glowed behind a pleasant veneer-shimmering pink.
Following introductions I forgot her name immediately, too eager to unveil my speech.
Mr. Kennedy: ‘I meant to watch a movie on the TV in my room, however all of my friends are sleeping and I have no one to watch with me. Would you want to accompany me?’
Sane Person: ‘Sure. Where is your room?’
I bade her to follow and we ambled towards the cockpit. The loud, narrow train faced us forward therefore we resisted speaking. I reached my car and I saw Donelle. He saw her and called for me. I slid open the door. As she entered I stepped over into the adjacent doorway.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked.
‘Ain’t you told me before that you have a girl friend?’ he asked.
I said, ‘Yeah, man.’
He asked, ‘How’s that work with what you got there?’
Me: ‘I just want someone prettier than me to talk with before supper.’
The PA announces dinner’s end in twenty minutes. And the memory is swiftly forgotten. My friends had seen the blonde, I discover when I meet them for dinner. I highly suspected I imagined everything. They all have veal and macaroni, I order fried chicken. I tell them the story. They half understand. But they roundly agree the Angel was a stupid hick. What the fuck did they know I say, ‘I know, I spoke to her for four hours.’
J.W. says I am out of my mind.
Sans lies, I recall why.
Thursday.
The jacket I wore was borrowed. My memory evaded me since midnight. The evening was quite memorable. A pothead friend, Coke, brought his sketchy drug buddies over and they brought acid. We planned to hold it until the weekend but such plans rarely survive the night. A party was held that night at the frat house. Coke brought our tabs in bags with maroon bulldog emblems. I planned to stay dry for my class the next morning, the half-dose I took sufficed to absorb my mind. The night’s festivities included Beirut-with bourbon.
Adrian called me to find pot and I had a friend of mine give her some. He could take my money tomorrow. She must have been drunk, she said love again.
I remembered the first game I played. Afterwards-no memory. I woke up facedown fetus-curled on a velour couch. Over efficient air conditioning had given me a headache. The first People I saw drank outside the Boot. They seemed much too early but I knew not the time. Adrian saw me just 50 yards afterwards. I was quite surprised to see her around. We embraced. I was wet under the jacket and her hair was damp, clean.
‘ You had a real tough night yesterday?’ She asked.
‘ Yes.’ I said ‘How do you know?’
‘ Remember? We spoke.’ she laughed.
‘Of course we did.’ I knew we had,’ I forgot what we said.’
‘ And thanks for helping me out.’ she said looking ahead at a friend.
Two girls waited in front of the liquor store for her, they had walked on when she stopped.
She said,’ I came with my friends to buy wine.’
‘ Good times. I’m just returning from mine.’ I yawned.
‘At this time? Why, it’s 2:45.’ She played with my zipper.
‘ I have to go shower.’ I said.
I kissed her head and said, ‘ I’ll call you later.’
I had missed my physics exam but the day was open. I attempted to check the time on my cell phone. It was wet and off-probably permanently so. Liquid damage has ended all my phones save one. Back at my room, I dismantled the phone and placed it on a fan to dry. And I bathed and dressed and crossed the street for food. Vital fluids in my body needed replacement, vitamin C revived me. With two large smoothies, blueberry and banana-strawberry respectively, two cups of water and a chicken salad I placated the twisting and tearing sensations in my gut.
The sun shone in the pure blue sky, a slight wind blew across the street. The jacket was unnecessary-girls laid sunbathing in the grass in bikinis. Monday had been the Ides of March but in the park pink blossoms bloomed fully, filling the trees. Summer’s musk lingered about, underneath the scent of the river. I had to get the hell inside quickly. Otherwise I would soon sleep in the grass indefinitely and wake up gods know where. The duration of the eight-story elevator ride seemed a quarter-lifetime. I made it to bed however and fell asleep in an hour.
Dusk blazed through my room when I awoke. I showered again and dressed in the afternoon clothes. Some friends came by and invited me to come eat with them. They were headed to a bar afterwards.
‘I’ve just eaten.’ I said.
But I would meet them after they were finished-we all agreed.
My phone dried from hours on the fan. Three pieces snapped together easily, only the battery perplexed. Somehow, I managed to wake it, in a single try. The screen flickered slightly and garbled static exited the ear hole. I saw no messages but two calls to Adrian very early that morning, 45 minutes apart. I called a third time. Four tones clicked before static, three more clicks and an answer.
We were both okay. I asked her about the early calls that morning. She was worried, the calls were disturbed. In them, the end of the world arose. I had mentioned it. And I had understood if she never wanted to see me. I laughed at this. We agreed I was wasted. She departed for The City the next night. I offered to drive her, borrow a car.
‘ No, I already have a ride.’ She said, ‘My friends and I are calling a cab.’
Five of them in all, too many for a normal car.
‘That’s rough, I wanted to see you before you left.’ I said.
But absence makes the heart grow fonder she said. We would see each other upon our returns. We s
aid we would talk next week sometime for sure. I turned off my phone and tossed it on the desk amidst the papers. I made my bed and left.
I went to the bar with six friends and met more there. We were on the street until 5 am. Dawn found us on the roof, our smoke toasting its arrival. I did not sleep the next two nights. On Saturday our train left New Orleans in the morning. I slept until we reached Georgia. Our destination was Charleston, from there, I drove with four guys in a Honda Odyssey obfuscated with luggage, two kegs and six hundred hours of music east on US highway 16. By dusk on Sunday we were drunk on Hilton Head Island. The island’s high schoolgirls were mostly tan and local. They averaged sixteen years old. But they did not drink. Nobody had sex. But the girls rolled in the sand and we got them wet.
And none were comparable to what I angled on the Amtrak back.
She sat cross-legged and examined my room when I entered. She was returning from Atlanta. She said she always lived in Mississippi but planned to leave soon. On the small screen behind her, old Jack Nicholson in a blue robe, laid on a hospital bed. The television on the train played recent love comedies and cartoons-blush-free entertainment- nothing else. Turned down low, it provided a relaxed ambience.
She would leave for Nashville in May she said. The Lord had helped her decide to study deaf education. She was to be a Lady Volunteer- Orange and White through and through. I asked her to show me sign language.
She did not know much and seemed shy to perform. I did not insist and said I spoke French. She told me of her trip to France the previous spring. Her French was poor however, she had not practiced since. We spoke of France and the French and of foreign travels for two hours.
The conversation arrived at New Orleans. The French Quarter she said was too dirty for her. She had been there twice with her mother. And she said she did not drink. I admitted that I do, frequently. But such is the city I live in.
‘ I have not drank in two months, since I met my fiancé.’ She said.
She recounted the night- she was debilitated and met a boy who took her home and looked after her until morning. When she woke sober, he told her he loved her. They had talked all night but she only remembered fragments.
Three days of thinking later, she called him and returned the sentiment. They spoke every night afterwards and he proposed a month later. He was a Volunteer. Her family and friends doubted the decision, but she needed to leave Mississippi. She wanted a life somewhere where she could do something worthwhile. She said she saw an opportunity she could not ignore. As the valedictorian at her graduation she spoke about opportunities and seizing them, she told me.
I told her she had my complete confidence. I said hers were the purest plans I had ever heard. I wanted her then, but did not say so. She arrived in Meridian, we said good luck and god bless. I knew then I would never hear from her. Nor did I want to.
Bastard acquaintances’ wanton abuse lambasted me in the dining car. I ate a lamb shank, they all had steak. The kitchen ran out of ice cream before we ordered dessert. In our rooms we drank until the train arrived in downtown New Orleans. I finished the last of the rum in the train station.
I threw the cup away just before stepping into the humid night. The liquor warmed me the entire cab ride home. And when I reached my door, my spirits soared to peaks not reached in weeks. I was locked out.
In half an hour I found a pretty blonde who had the master key. She was alone in her room at eleven on a Saturday. We had met before but she seemed friendlier on the elevator up. I thanked her afterwards.
The shambles of my room amused me. Tomorrow, with a little speed, the place could be spotless. The first move to reorder all of my affairs was visible. My floor mates were going to bars once everybody showered. I said I would go. And showered.
Dressed and shaved, I called Adrian. The connection was brilliant, we heard each other perfectly. Only once did the call drop. I met a girl with an unbelievable story on the train I told her. I said the story made me remember her and told it. She said it was truly remarkable. But she was barely impressed. She said sorry for not taking my calls. She had been upstate but she said she got my messages. Monday afternoon she would return and we decided to meet that night. After nine minutes, I said ‘ I need to go, I have to find my key.’
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