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Copyright © 2004-2005 Timothy Horrigan
On Easter Saturday, it rained pretty much continuously, and I also
felt depressed and out-of-sorts. I spent most of the afternoon
studying at the Classics Library. A certain amount of this time was
devoted to napping, but I actually got a lot of work done. I was even
enjoying the work, which was an alarming sensation. As I walked home
through the garish purple light of Amsterdam Avenue at sunset, after
being at the library all afternoon, I thought to myself, "Maybe
this is what it's like to be doing what I'm supposed to be doing."
However, this thought didn't last long.
As I neared the corner of Amsterdam and 121st, I heard church-bells.
I had heard church-bells there many times before, but I had never
really paid attention to them until this evening. I turned left onto
West 121st, and walked about halfway up the block to a little
Catholic church called Corpus Christi, where a Easter Saturday night
mass was just beginning. I was pleased to discover that this
particular service was in Spanish, which meant that I could
understand just enough to know what was being said but not enough to
be able to think about it.
I sat in the
back pew and tried to think about God, but mostly I thought about
Tammi Honig.
When I finally got back
home, I didn't immediately continue working. I planned to fritter
away some time listening to my Mahavishnu John McLaughlin records. I
put on Inner Mounting Flame, but before the fade-out of
"Meeting of the Spirits" I had already started reading and
writing. By the end of the evening, I had finished a slightly
eccentric term-paper entitled "Yeats and the Swan," dealing
with Yeats's masturbatory fantasies about young girls and Ireland. I
also wrote a poem. I didn't like it, but Aaron Vogelsang loved it and
called it "a perfect poem."
*****
By the time I stopped working, it was
after 2:00 a.m. I was annoyed that I had allowed myself to be
diverted from more important things, like partying and music and
girl-chasing. So I went out. I headed down Amsterdam Avenue with no
destination in mind. While crossing over to Broadway via College Walk
I saw Chad carrying Tammi over his shoulder. Tammi was singing, much
louder, shriller, and more tunelessly than usual. "YOU MAKE ME
FEEL!" she screeched. "YOU MAKE ME FEEL! LIKE A! LIKE A!
LIKE A, RRRARGGGHHHH! YOU MAKE ME FEEL!"
She stopped screeching when Chad paused briefly at the midpoint of
College Walk. He angled himself so that Tammi's head was pointing in
my direction. She didn't really look at me, but she kissed me briefly
on the lips. She smelled as if she had been vomiting. In a barely
perceptible whisper, she said, "We all had a great time at the
Tavern on the Green. We're sorry you couldn't be there." She
then handed me a small plastic-lined bag with something warm and soft
inside.
I was worried that this might be
an airline barf-bag full of Tammi's vomit, even though she didn't
mention having flown on an airplane today. But, I didn't complain. It
turned out to be some left-over pasta with something with looked like
fish sticks.
Tammi resumed screeching,
"YOU MAKE ME FEEL! "YOU MAKE ME FEEL! LIKE A! LIKE A! LIKE
A, RRRARGGGHHHH! YOU MAKE ME FEEL!" and Chad continued carrying
her to Eli Glogal Hall, and I continued walking aimlessly towards
Broadway.
I
walked as far down as West 110th Street to check up on the Green
Dolphin, but there wasn't anyone in the Green Dolphin worth drinking
with. I wandered back up Broadway as far as the Parthenon Cafe, where
I found Persefone Sgambati, Ruth Hunter, and Frosty Griggs sitting in
a booth in the middle of the restaurant. Ruth and Persefone were both
wearing white dresses. white cashmere sweaters, and amazing
improvised hats with veils and wax fruit stuck all over them. Frosty
was wearing an ancient seersucker suit and a panama hat. They had
just returned from the Midnight Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral, even
though both Ruth and Frosty were actually Protestants.
I stood by their booth for a minute or so, smiling rather dumbly.
Persefone was telling us about the 1969 student riots in Paris.
"There was a tank parked outside our window, and my brother and
I used to drop containers of yogurt on top of it. The soldiers didn't
mind, but my parents were angry with us," Persefone said.
Ruth interrupted her and shouted, "Persefone! Percy Phone! Purse
Zephyr Phony! Phony Purse Zephyr! Zipperhead! Zipperhead!
Zipperhead!" She began to affectionately pound Persefone's
cranium.
I
became very interested in the three souvenir Easter candles that were
sitting on the empty seat next to Frosty. I casually picked up one of
the candles. The candle was white, waxen, and smooth, as candles
usually are. It was shaped like a tulip, to symbolize the newborn
spring, and also the body of Jesus of Nazareth, who — well,
it's a very long and unpleasant story, and I don't want to bore you
with all the gory details. Suffice it to say that Jesus of Nazareth
was a very ambitious person who managed to get himself into a lot of
trouble. In fact, he ended up dying, at least once, and possibly
twice.
When
Ruth stopped pounding Persefone's cranium, Frosty said, "If you
give ol' Zipperhead her candle back, you can sit down."
I handed the candle to Persefone who said, "How kind of you,
William."
"Zephyr! Zephyr!
Zephyr!"
Frosty grabbed my knee, and
began caressing my thigh. He said, "How the fuck are you, Bill?
How the fuck are you? We're sorry you couldn't make it. "
"Make it to what?" I asked him.
"To the midnight mass. It was very inspirational. Much better
than the Tavern on the Green."
"Tavern on the Green?" I said.
"Yes, Billy, the Tavern on the Green," Persefone said as
she grabbed my Tavern on the Green doggy-bag. "I thought you
were supposed to be there with Tammi, celebrating her birthday."
"Her birthday?" I squawked as I started to get up to head
for the pay-phone on the back wall of the dining room, underneath the
autographed photo of Nana Mouskouri.
Frosty pushed me down onto my seat, and kissed me on the cheek.
"Actually, Sunday the 6th is her birthday, not Saturday the 5th,
so you still got 22 hours to celebrate," he explained. Persefone
poured the contents of my doggy-bag onto her egg-stained plate. The
food looked disgusting. Persefone evidently agreed, because she
promptly stubbed out her cigarette in it.
We sat there for almost an hour. I was
hungry, but the waitress never deigned to take notice of me, so I was
unable to order anything to eat. Well, I suppose that if I had
actually been really hungry, I could have physically assaulted the
waitress, or gone over to the counter, or something, but I wasn't
motivated to go to such extremes. So, I sat there and attempted to
listen to Persefone talking about politics. Mostly, though, I just
sat there and thought about Tammi, but after about half an hour I
started staring at Ruth, who was still interrupting Persefone's spiel
by rapping her on the cranium and shouting things like "Persefone!
Mercy Phone! Purse Zephyr Phony! Phony Purse Zephyr! Zipperhead!
Zipperhead! Zipperhead! Zephyr! Zephyr! Zephyr!" Whenever Ruth
caught my eye, she smiled at me affectionately. Once, she even
reached over the table, rapped me on the cranium, and shouted "Post
no bills, O useless Billy!" I was thrilled.
After we got tired of hanging around the
Parthenon, we went outside and stood on the sidewalk. Ruth feebly
tried to hail a cab. She wasn't having much luck all the cabs were
either full, On Radio Call, or Out of Service. Finally, Frosty took
over and got a cab to stop. I thought he was going to walk back
uptown with Persefone and me, but instead he zipped off downtown with
Ruth.
"It's sad," Persefone
said. "She's a very pretty girl, but she lets herself get too
thin. Tonight for example, all she ate was an English muffin. Oh
well, though, I guess it's better not to eat at all than to eat stuff
but then barf it all back, like your friend Tammi does."
"What are you talking about, Persefone?"
"Oh, Bill, stop denying, okay? The woman has an eating disorder!
Not to mention some other disorders as well." Persefone said as
she took my hand and began leading me uptown. I couldn't think of
anything to say, so Persefone began humming the melody to an early
Clash song entitled "Deny."
I
had grown extremely weary, and Persefone seemed to be weary, too,
judging by the coldness of her hand. Nevertheless, it felt good to
walk beside Persefone, on Upper Broadway in the middle of the night
Between Good Saturday and Easter Sunday.
I imagined a Cartesian grid, with the
two of us at point {0,0,0}. The rest of the universe moved, but
Persefone and I were stationary. Persefone and I parted paths by the
Jewish Theological Seminary. Persefone continued to be at Point
{0,0,0} , and I lost track of my coordinates altogether.
"Are you going home now,
Billy?"
"Can you get home
safely, Persefone?"
"I think
so. Goodnight."
"See you
tomorrow. Goodnight."
Goodnight. I went home. The grid disappeared. I did not get up till
almost noon. I could hear the bells of Corpus Christi ringing
nearby.
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