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The Coastal Cowboy Rides Again with Bryan Chambala Along the river of men There is some strange kind of weather brewing here. Anticipating a long night stuck inside, I cashed in an envelope full of stolen prescriptions today, riding home with a brown paper bag duct-taped to the frame of a stolen bicycle. The doors are locked and the lights are out. There is a bottle of Old Crow on the kitchen table and a pile of newspapers on the bed. First down the hatch is a bottle of Ritalin stolen from a friend's younger brother. The teenies snort the dust and powder the undersides of their tongues with the paste, but I take it straight. Three pills and a cup of coffee. Old Crow and a bagel to soothe the stomach. The caffeine gave me a headache. I took a few Tylenol. Then I swallowed three Claritin and stuck a smashed pile of dust up my nose. It made me cough. I smoked a cigarette. I read The Ithacan. I hit J. Merritt's column and started shaking. Five minutes passed by slow: shaking, coughing and spitting. I put Etta James on the radio and danced a tango with the neighbor's fishing pole. We danced a step ahead of time through "tell it like it is," and kissed long and slow during "only time will tell." I ran out of energy, but I could focus like a motherfucker. I read a book, watched Oprah and replanted two pots of mums. I cooked chicken with Robitussin sauce. I used beer on the french fries. The alcohol burned off in the frying pan. I was sure of it. I read the Ithaca College Quarterly. My sinuses were clear. I saw the picture of Park's new assistant dean. I called information and got her number. I tried to dial it and wound up passed out in front of the kitchen stove. That was the Old Crow. The Ritalin gave a final kick and I was up, searching for the Valtrex tabs and the toothpaste. I mashed those horse pills into powder and sprinkled it into the paste. I brushed my teeth for an hour. Next on the list was the St. John's Wort. I wanted to feel good dealing with the herpes so I chewed three green tablets and washed them down with rainwater. The bumps were gone but I had a headache and a receding hairline. I went outside to get some fresh air. Everybody here wears their clothes inside out and walks backwards. They drink mixed drinks and like to sail on Sundays. I saw my neighbor shooting arrows at a hay bale in the backyard. I stood in the window watching him. I had a sensible shake for breakfast and lunch and a balanced meal in the evening. We went fishing with our dead grandparents and a few Indians. No one could drive stick. Everything was itchy so I jumped in the shower. I found two bars of Neutrogena soap and a bottle and a half of Proactive solution. I was clean as a whistle and now I had a girlfriend in an orange bathing suit. We played touch football with her brothers and a policeman. My skin felt tight and supple, touchable and smooth. She gave me a kiss and I scored a touchdown. I could speak French and program Javascript. I put Rave #4 in my hair and let it sit for 15 minutes. I washed it out and found a bottle of El Lay Looks hair gel. I swabbed it in with an ear pick and used my finger to draw dirty pictures on the steamy mirror. What a sad sack of shit. I sat on the bathroom floor. Everybody else has something to get excited about, everybody else has the good drugs. This has all been done before and done better. I'm losing focus and getting lonely. I've been at the grocery, shopping for apples. I once fell in love with a traffic cop in Pennsylvania. We spent an overnight in the Poconos in a snow storm. No one could drive in that snow and we sat in the jacuzzi drinking gas station beer. She left the next morning and I never saw her again. Every speeding ticket brings me back to that night. 77 in a 65. I'll never forget you either. I think about giving up my job as a newspaperman. I might get into radio. I might become a sportswriter. I just might show up at your door with a broken whiskey bottle and a box full of Hank Williams records. If you cross your fingers and pray before you go to bed, I might show up and make everything better. I'll come back to get shit-faced at Moonshadow's. I'll make it snow when it's 60 degrees and I'll siphon all the gas from the rich kids' SUVs. I'll help you pass French and I'll kiss your girlfriend good night. I'll drive you home when you're drunk and I'll teach you the jump hook. I'll even pay you back everything I owe. Just don't cash that check for a few weeks. Bryan Chambala has started drinking again. |
