{"id":1868,"date":"2011-02-21T10:15:17","date_gmt":"2011-02-21T15:15:17","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.greatsociety.org\/?p=1868"},"modified":"2018-10-30T15:39:14","modified_gmt":"2018-10-30T19:39:14","slug":"interlude","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/?p=1868","title":{"rendered":"Interlude"},"content":{"rendered":"

My old college buddy James showed up with a grocery bag full of those little travel bottles of vodka. I was on a forced writing holiday \u2013 five days away from my thankless, low-paying day job to focus on the Greatsociety book<\/a> I was foolishly going to flog for the tenth anniversary<\/a>. I\u2019d spent four of the five days up at all hours cooking everything from rhubarb pie to homemade English muffins to difficult Portuguese stews.<\/p>\n

By the time Monday morning rolled around, I was a little out of my mind. At 7am, when James hammered on the door, I\u2019d been up all night. I\u2019d whipped up some Scottish oatcakes and had moved on to experimental sauces and exotic desserts that involved torches and fire extinguishers. My freezer was full, and I was quietly debating searching for a President\u2019s Day sale on a deep freeze.
\n<\/p>\n

In a tattered, stained dress shirt and too-tight Magnum PI<\/em> shorts, I whipped the door open after a solid minute of uninterrupted pounding. James stepped back, smiled, then shouted, \u201cOkay, campers, rise and shine! And don’t forget your booties ’cause it’s cooooold out there.\u201d He handed me a tiny bottle of vodka. I took it, rolled my eyes, and stomped back into the kitchen to stare at a pot of water.<\/p>\n

James came in behind me, sniffing, \u201cNach. What the fuck?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCooking.\u201d I hissed.<\/p>\n

He opened the fridge and jammed the bag onto the bottom shelf. Tiny bottles of vodka spilled out and skittered across the floor like mice. He ignored all except one that landed by his foot, which he picked up and drank in one swallow.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhew!\u201d He said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhew.\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhew! Whew!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGoddamnit, James, what do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust a friend. Coming over to visit at the end of your five day hermitage.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt 7am in the morning?\u201d<\/p>\n

He pointed at the fridge, \u201cI brought a bag of vodka!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHermitage is more location than action.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHuh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy five day hermitage, you said.\u201d<\/p>\n

He picked up another fallen vodka and tossed it at me. I caught it and rolled the plastic bottle in my palm, then opened it and took a sip.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou do that dictionary thing,\u201d he said, \u201cbut you don\u2019t ever really know, do you? Everytime someone uses a 25 cent word you say something like it\u2019s wrong, or you mutter some sort of correction, then you refuse to elaborate or repeat yourself. Your whole purpose is to sow self doubt, right? To chip away at the psyche.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re sounding paranoid, James.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugged, \u201cWell, I haven\u2019t slept in two weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked at me sideways and frowned, \u201cBeen drunk.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDuh.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDuh, indeed. You look like you haven\u2019t slept in five days. Have you been standing there watching that pot boil all weekend?<\/p>\n

\u201cProbably would have boiled off by now, if so.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe. If the gas were on.\u201d<\/p>\n

I bent and looked at the burner. \u201cOh. Fuck. Yeah, I\u2019ve been up for five days.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDrunk?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Hiding.\u201d<\/p>\n

James gathered up the fallen vodka, clicked his tongue, then strode off towards the living room. I followed and sat opposite his perch on the couch as he divvied up the bottles. He shoved my half across the coffee table, then started to steadily drink his portion.<\/p>\n

\u201cHiding from what?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cWriting.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh! The Greatsociety Book!\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded, drank some vodka, grimaced, and stared out the window.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the title again?\u201d He asked. \u201c\u2019Am I Nocturnal?\u2019 by Nacho Sasha? \u2018Who Are These Women and Why Are They Following Me?\u2019 \u2018I thought Sex Was Supposed to be Fun.\u2019 \u2018If I\u2019d Known Shit Would be This Bad, I Wouldn\u2019t Have Grown Up.\u2019 \u2018I\u2019m Having Trouble Coping With the Idea That Babies are New People.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNone of those. Sorry. Though the last one strikes a note.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I know. Babies. They\u2019re weird.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think I was ever a baby.\u201d<\/p>\n

James narrowed his eyes, \u201cSeriously?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease. Continue.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I\u2019ve always been in my 20\u2019s and 30\u2019s. In high school and when I was a kid, I was just fooling myself. I was trying to pretend I was young. Like everyone else. But when it comes to me as a baby \u2013 there\u2019s no evidence. No pictures, no video. Nothing tangible that says I was ever younger than 12. There\u2019re stories, right? People say they remember this, and that. But then you press them for details and they don\u2019t have any. It\u2019s just \u2018you were a nice baby,\u2019 or \u2018you were a quiet baby.\u2019 There\u2019s nothing like, hey, I remember once when you were attacked by a bear and that\u2019s how you got that scar. Or, like, once, when you were five, you set papa on fire. There\u2019s nothing. There are no tales from my youth.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo\u2026you were normal then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe. But, still, everybody has something, right? If not a visual record, then at least some story from before you were a teenager. Right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI struggle daily, James, with the idea that I don\u2019t exist.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDespite years of pain and all that shit?\u201d<\/p>\n

I finished a bottle of vodka and tossed it over my shoulder, \u201cAnd that\u2019s why I think I don\u2019t exist! Because the only way half the shit I\u2019ve been through could happen is if I\u2019m some\u2026.figment. Some character. I don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n

James held out his hands for me to stop, then leaned back into the couch. \u201cLet\u2019s see if I\u2019ve got the picture. You\u2019ve sat here behind a bolted door for five days, unwashed, probably naked most of the time, cooking extravagant dishes for nobody, and debating your existence?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYep.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd not writing this \u2018Greatsociety Book\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNope.\u201d I shrugged, \u201cIt\u2019s mostly done, anyway\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRight\u2026 So you blew the weekend?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYep.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s awesome.\u201d<\/p>\n

I glared back out the window. \u201cAh, well.\u201d<\/p>\n

James raised another little bottle of vodka. \u201cWell, here\u2019s to your hermitage. Whether it be a physical retreat or a little spiritual lagoon.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow drunk are you, James?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. Beyond the pale. Thank god I\u2019m not working on a book or else I\u2019d turn to hard drugs!\u201d<\/p>\n

I toasted him with my own vodka. Then he looked at my laptop \u2013 open to a blank Word page, sniffed again at the cooking smells, watched me for a few heartbeats, and finally muttered, \u201cWe\u2019re gonna need that whole bag out here.\u201d He leapt up and ran into the kitchen. I had enough time to type \u2018All work and no play\u2026\u2019 as he viciously tore the grocery bag out of the crowded fridge and spun back into the living room.<\/p>\n

\u201cFinish the book while I was away?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAlmost!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood, cause it\u2019s Drinkin\u2019 Monday! You and me \u2013 we\u2019re gonna prove that you exist. I need a pair of scissors and a blowtorch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFuck.\u201d I replied. \u201cI\u2019d better drink up, then.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My old college buddy James showed up with a grocery bag full of those little travel bottles of vodka. I was on a forced writing holiday \u2013 five days away from my thankless, low-paying day job to focus on the …<\/p>\n

Interlude<\/span> Read More »<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[273],"tags":[274,179,127],"class_list":["post-1868","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-gs-10th-anniversary-2001-2011","tag-gs-10th-anniversary","tag-james","tag-writing"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1868","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1868"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1868\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1869,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1868\/revisions\/1869"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1868"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1868"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1868"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}