Good evening...
I've mentioned before that I know this kid I call Gothboy. He showed up in several "communal writing" threads that we used to have here on A2Know. Despite repeated efforts, we've never been able to revive this little amusement.
Anyway, Gothboy worked for me briefly. I had no problem with his Goth-ness; his black clothes, his piercings, his deep sighing and seemingly overwhelming sadness. But I couldn't put up with his constant tardiness.
So I fired him.
He worked for a month or so washing dishes and then he left town.
Oddly, considering that I fired him, he calls me periodically at my shop. He called from San Antonio in mid-October and then from Portland OR at the end of that month. Today he called from Portland ME.
There is a big age difference between me and Gothboy and (despite my liberalness), a difference in cultures but we do share one thing. When I was his age I hitchhiked a lot. A whole lot. And that is what Gothboy is doing now.
********************
11/15...Gothboy calls me at the shop. We're not too busy so I am able to run back to my office. He's calling from a room at a Motel6 in Portland. He's been there for one night and probably will be able to stay another.
He says he has taken about six hot showers, as hot as he can stand, and he has the temperature in the room set at something like 80.
He wants to counteract being "chiiled to the bone" when he thumbed out of Cleveland on Wednesday. Cold and very, very windy.
In Cleveland, on the entrance ramp to the Interstate, ten feet in front of where Gothboy intended to stand to begin hitching, lay a leather bag; like a bookbag or backpack. He picked it up.
And then he did the logical thing. He waited until there was no traffic and
he bounded across the two lanes of I-60 to the security of the wooded median strip.
Gothboy tells me that he opened the satchel that someone had probably
pulled out and inadvertantly left on the roof of their car. In it were photo albums with hundreds and hundreds of pictures. Mesmerizing would be the word I would use, Gothboy says "awesome."
He found a business card down at the bottom of the bag. He walked back to the gas station, bummed some change from the clerk, and called the number. A half-hour later this person shows up; Gothboy turns over the bag and is given two $100 bills. Virtually no words are exchanged,
I ask Gothboy about the photos. WHAT'S IN THE PHOTOS, DUDE? All I get from him is "I'm going to take a shower and then I'm going to sleep."
wow! i have no idea what the pictures could possibly be. First the pictures are "mesmerizing" and the next it seems as if he's to scared, or traumatized to even speak about it. Quite an interesting turn.
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realjohnboy
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Sun 16 Nov, 2003 01:47 pm
Lonely Heart...Hi and welcome to A2K.
I have absolutely no idea what the pictures that Gothboy describes as "awesome" were of. Hell, I'm not even sure what "awesome" means in the current vocabulary of young people.
My challenge to you, and anyone else, is to continue the story. You can talk about the pictures or you can tell us about the person who gave Gothboy the $200. The only other character so far is the clerk at the 7-11 who was kind enough to give the kid a few coins to make the call.
You can talk about hitchhiking, median strips, I-60 or even Cleveland. Or anything else.
I look forward to a contribution. Thanks. -rjb
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Letty
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Sun 16 Nov, 2003 03:48 pm
Reading, Johnboy. Intriguing. Need some time on this.
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Letty
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Wed 19 Nov, 2003 09:21 am
He sat in the covert of the wood, the cacophony of the traffic shut out as he turned the pages of the album. He looked at each picture carefully. The young bride and groom smiling -- the reception with the cutting of the multi-tiered wedding cake...honeymoon pictures--the birth of their first child--vacation pictures. More baby pictures...their first home..He was cold inside and out, but he kept looking. Seven children in all...His eyes focused on one child in particular and his fingers lightly touch the child. then he closed the album and stood up. He retrieved the business card from the bag and carefully put the album back in. Then he went to make the phone call.
The man arrived thirty minutes later. No words were exchanged, just money. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, and then the man left. Gothboy remembered the disapproving look. He turned and went to the motel to call his friend and then to wash away the cold stare of his father.
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realjohnboy
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Wed 19 Nov, 2003 06:35 pm
letty...Thank you for an "awesome" post. My head snapped back when I got to the end of your last sentence.
Sadly, the genre of "communal writing" seems to have fallen out of favor in the Original Writing category, but I appreciate your great contribution.
As for Gothboy, the money is probably gone by now. I can't say that I know everything that goes on inside his head, but I suspect that he's okay.
I hope he travels south next, where it might be warmer. I doubt that he'll get down to your neighborhood. Goths avoid sunlight, you know. But, Letty, if he does show up please be nice with him.
***************************
The man returns home. He parks his car in the garage and smokes a cigarette. Seven children. He's fifty years old. Seven children in his life drifting or drifted away.
He gets out of the car and opens the door to the little room he calls his study. He slumps into a chair and doesn't even bother to turn on a light.
His wife, the mother of their seven children, does not disturb him. She will finish cooking supper, will gather the children at the table and will knock and then open the door to her husband's study, announcing that dinner is ready. He will come in, sit down, and then she, and she alone will silently give grace. Ant then they will eat. -johnboy-
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Letty
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Wed 19 Nov, 2003 07:43 pm
To my Virginia friend, wherever that child is, he is NOT among the missing. and might I say that the last of your post made me realize the beauty of every day life.
The blessing that was handed down from my Virginia family:
God make us thankful, for these and all our blessings,
Pardon our many sins and save us,
For Christ's sake, amen.
And the universal Roman Catholic blessing:
Bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts that
We are about to receive from thy bounty,
Through, Christ, oh Lord..Amen.
And then there is universal love--
and then there is music...
And then there is family...
Awesome, cool, Wow, however we say it, it will always mean "help me".
Knight, Johnboy...far reaching that mountain that Earl's family never owned...heh heh.
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Eva
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Wed 19 Nov, 2003 09:08 pm
Gothboy thanks the truck driver for the ride and steps down onto the shoulder of the highway. With a toot of his horn, the truck pulls away. Gothboy turns to survey the landscape. The tree-covered hillsides are clothed in a riot of crimson, persimmon and gold. Leaves crunch under his black leather boots as Gothboy heads for the nearby exit ramp. The sign says "Eureka Springs, 2 miles."
The truck driver said there would be plenty of cheap places to stay here. Gothboy hopes that is true. He fumbles through his pockets and finds almost $50, counting change. That will only last a night...maybe two.
As Gothboy reaches the outskirts of the quaint Ozark town, he is dismayed to see vintage Victorian architecture, artfully painted in a rainbow of pastel colors. This is definitely NOT his kind of place. Too many touristy craft shops and art galleries. And dozens of aging hippies wandering around in patchwork skirts. Gawd. So this is where they all went, he thinks. He stops at an "Olde-Fashioned" ice cream parlor for a bite to eat, but leaves quickly when he sees that a hamburger costs $6. Crossing the old Main Street, dodging a restored trolley full of sightseers, he enters a restored five-and-dime boasting its original tin ceiling and gas lights. He picks up a bag of Fritos and a Hershey bar and throws a few dollar bills on the counter. He walks back out through the kitschy swinging doors onto the old, wooden porch. But as he is leaving, he notices a fairly new hand-lettered sign in the dusty window:
"Help Wanted -- Soda Jerk -- $8/hr."
Gothboy wonders how hard that could be.
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realjohnboy
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Thu 20 Nov, 2003 05:55 pm
Thanks, Eva, for your post. I realized, just after I hit the Submit button on my last effort, that I was gently chastised for being too dark or serious on one of my earlier attempts at this (A Pompous Bunch of Asses; it should have been a romp but it withered and died, alas, taking with it some cool characters).
Thanks for getting Gothboy safely to wherever he is. I don't think he's been to the Ozarks before. Not exactly a magnet for people like him. I look forward to hearing more about the town, the residents and the visitors. -johnboy-
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Letty
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Thu 20 Nov, 2003 07:30 pm
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Eva
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Thu 20 Nov, 2003 07:49 pm
rjb & Letty -- Eureka Springs, Arkansas is a most unusual place. Very quirky, very colorful (in every sense of the word.) And absolutely opposite of where one would expect to find a "goth." (Although the locals are so unusual themselves that they'd accept just about anyone...the weirder the better.) Check out the town on any one of several websites. Just "Google" it. I laughed out loud at the thought of plunking Gothboy down there in the middle of their busiest season...everyone in Ok-Ks-Mo-Ark goes there on fall foliage tours.
We can have some real fun with this, I think.
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realjohnboy
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Fri 21 Nov, 2003 09:10 pm
Ok, Eva, let's get gothboy settled before we move on. Gothboy finishes his candy bar and glances again at the "help wanted" sign.
He sighs deeply, as goths or wont to do. He steps back inside the shop, takes down the sign from the window and walks up to the counter.
"Hi, I'm Gothboy, and I need this job."
Sylvia Leibowitz looks at Gothboy and then at the sign and then back at Gothboy.
"Myron," she shouts, "There's someone to see you."
From a mere 15 feet away, Gothboy hears Myron respond with an equally loud "What?"
Anyway, Gothboy gets the job. Just as importantly, he's been able to work it such that he can throw down his sleeping bag each night and sleep safely inside the store.
If this story survives, I'd love to tell you about Myron and Sylvia.
Who else hangs out in Eureka Springs?
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realjohnboy
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Wed 17 Dec, 2003 08:30 pm
So it's a month later and Gothboy is still in Eureka Springs, still working at Sylvia and Myron's five and dime. He called me yesterday and said that he is surprised he is still there. It's rare for him to want to spend a month in one place and, once the busy season ended, he's wondering why Sylvia and Myron still need him. Business has been pretty slow.
He's still sleeping on the floor of the shop. It was a bit awkward at first with Sylvia and Myron locking up the shop with Gothboy inside. But he assured them that he was very happy. He was warm, dry and safe. He could spend the evenings writing in his journal. He could turn the radio on but, quite frankly, couldn't find the kind of music he liked.
One day about ten ago, Sylvia announced at about 4 pm that she was taking the rest of the day off.
Myron and Gothboy could close up. The next day Myron said he was leaving early.
Last Monday was a cold and wet day in Eureka Springs. It was miserable weather. Gothboy was trying to find something productive to do.
Myron and Sylvia walked up next to him. Myron was fiddling with his keyring.
"Here." he said. "Here is the key to the front door.
We're going home now. Lock up at closing time."
-realjohboy
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Letty
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Thu 18 Dec, 2003 12:02 pm
As Sylvia and Myron left, Gothboy looked after them for a moment, then turned his eyes to the key in his hand. He stood gazing at it for a moment, then, instead of a long, protracted sigh, he felt unfamiliar tears jab at the rusted eyelids. He closed his fingers around the key, and turned to look at the store through the blur. It suddenly occurred to him that this may be the place where he would put to rest his vagabond nature. The trust Sylvia and Myron had just invested in him, was frightening, yet comforting. He stood, wrestling with his thoughts.
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Eva
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Thu 18 Dec, 2003 04:22 pm
They had been kind to him, he thought. Thinking back on the countless small gestures of welcome and trust that Myron and Sylvia had shown him, Gothboy reflected on the difference between this place and the "home" he had left in New Jersey.
Gothboy looked down at the key in his hand. His father and stepmother had never entrusted him with a key to his own house. Then he glanced at the unlocked cash register. He had never been trusted with more than $20 back in Jersey. The store cat rubbed its fluffy striped tail against his leg as it passed, and Gothboy remembered all the years when he had begged for a pet. Begging that had fallen on deaf ears. They hadn't had time for a pet, they said. Hell, the truth was, they hadn't had time for him!
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realjohnboy
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Thu 18 Dec, 2003 06:45 pm
Darlene comes in a few minutes later. She runs the gift shop next door, one of many in Eureka Springs. She is probably in her mid fifties. Gothboy says that with a lot of make-up and hair-dye, she has now gotten her age down to the late-forties. Her husband is the big attorney in town.
Gothboy doesn't like her very much.
She buys something and then asks, "Where are Myron and Sylvia?"
"They went home early."
There is a long pause.
"Myron and Sylvia went home early?"
"Yes, they went home early today.
Darlene leaves. A few minutes later Bear comes in. Bear, as his nickname suggests, is a very large man. One Bear probably equals three or four Gothboys. His regular job is with the county doing maintenance. During the tourist season, he is also a "Deputy Sheriff" which means he directs traffic.
So he comes in and a minute later Darlene comes back in and a couple of minutes later Sheriff Jordan comes in.
"Damn," thinks Gothboy, "Five minutes to closing and this is the busiest its been all day."
Darlene, Bear and Sheriff Jordan wander the aisles as Gothboy stands next to the register. Gothboy thinks he hears the creaking of the hinge on the storeroom door, opening and then shutting. The cat is back out, brushing against his leg. He had put the cat in the storeroom to make sure she didn't slip out the front door while he was closing.
Darlene and Bear go outside. Sheriff Jordan lays a Baby Ruth on the counter.
"So are Myron and Sylvia all right?"
"I reckon so." (Gothboy heard himself say that word for the first time: reckon). "That will be 57 cents for the candy, sir."
"Sylvia lets me have one or two a week for free."
"Pay me for it tonight and you can come back tomorrow if you want for a refund from Sylvia."
Their eyes meet for several very long seconds.
Goths are typically meek and sad, weak and scrawny. Gothboy has been on the road for awhile so maybe he's not typical. Anyway, Sheriff Jordan blinks first.
Gothboy locks the door and lowers the blinds. He hears Sheriff Jordan say to Bear, "Let's drive out to Myron and Sylvia's place."
Gothboy puts the Baby Ruth back where it belongs. He looks around the store, turns out the lights and heads back to the storeroom where he will spend the night.
He sighs deeply.
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Letty
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Fri 19 Dec, 2003 05:13 am
Wow, Eva and RJB...fantastic! Later.........................
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realjohnboy
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Mon 12 Jan, 2004 09:10 pm
Damn, I was so proud of my last entry. Oh well.
***********
Gothboy called me today. Not from Eureka Springs. He's on the road again.
Sylvia died on Dec 28th, sometime during the night. Just like that. Gothboy opened up at 8 am on the 29th, not knowing and therefore surprised that Myron wasn't there as was his habit.
Gothboy heard about it from the UPS guy whose wife works at the hospital.
Gothboy felt sick and confused. He locked the door, lowered the blinds and went back to the storeroom. And he cried.
There are, I guess, different ways of crying and Gothboy didn't go into that.
Men cry differently then women, I think. Men tend to cry quietly; women more openly. And then, when we see something like the earthquake in Iran, we see men and women weeping openly, with
uncontrolled grief .
Myron and Sylvia's children came down from Chicago. along with their kids. Some were about Gothboy's age but they had nothing in common.
The funeral service was on the 31st. Gothboy was able to borrow a suit from somebody and was able to catch a ride to the synagogue in the next larger town. It was the only place big enough to handle the crowd. Half of Eureaka Springs was there.
After the New Year, Gothboy continued to run the store but it was different. Myron's daughter brought him in everyday but he just sat there, staring off into the distance. Crying, Gothboy thought, without shedding tears. He suddenly looked so old and frail.
And then Myron's daughter started to change things. Move this counter over there etc etc, so Gothboy decided to leave.
This thread is dead but I hope that there will be another that Gothboy can visit. In the meantime, if you see him hitching, treat him kindly, please.
-realjohnboy-
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littlek
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Mon 12 Jan, 2004 09:15 pm
<bookmarking to be read later, sounds awsome!>
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Letty
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Tue 13 Jan, 2004 06:54 am
er,Realjohnboy, Damn, I loved your entry; both of them. I believe the word "fantastic" reflected it. The fact that Gothboy was automatically under suspicion is a typical stereotype, and your last observation about the death of Sylvia, made me feel that I had lost a family member.