Marvin, end (512 hits)
Category: GeneralLabels: Marvin
Rating: 2 on 13 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Caulfield (View user info) at 2008-04-10 20:12:32 EDT
Part 1: http://www.ubersite.com/m/115848
Part 2: http://www.ubersite.com/m/115906
Part 3: http://www.ubersite.com/m/115953
Part 4: http://www.ubersite.com/m/116015
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It was perhaps the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him. He felt foolish, stupid. And worst of all, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Again and again it repeated itself in his imagination and again and again he couldn't explain, even to himself, why he had done it. Taking a tuna and brandishing it as a spiritual metaphor was one thing. Defending it was asinine. In the end, all his could guess was that he was emotionally compromised and unable to control himself. The idea held romantic connotations: unbridled passion, a break in one's sanity. Marvin thought he might like the whole experience had it not happened to him and had it not been so, as he kept saying over and over in his mind, so incredibly stupid.
Night fell as it often does—one second light, next second dark; and Marvin sat in his inky black living room, staring in the direction of a TV that wasn't turned on, holding a can of beer that had been empty for some time, and wondering, occasionally, if he should finally get up and relieve his bladder, the pain of which bearing down on his spongy urethra like mortared brick, and meaning, in all likelihood, that the coming release would fail to divest him of the muscle memory associated with excruciatingly fullness. Pain everlasting, or at least hourlasting. Knowing this, Marvin felt he could wait a little while longer, then perhaps make a game of it to see how long he could keep the stream going.
Marvin never recalled attempting a walk home from Snitch's before. This probably had more to do with the 4 miles that separated their homes than the attachment he had to driving, though he couldn't discount the comforts of air conditioning and a good cushioned seat. He had thought about hitchhiking, but that was altogether too dangerous. He had thought about finding a bus, but didn't have any change.
When he got home, his feet hurt in such a pleasurable way that he was almost thankful for the distraction. But memories rarely succumb to throbbing feet and they returned almost instantly, the pain in his feet reminding him of the pain in his hand. Not muscle memory per se, but close enough.
Snitch knocked on his door at half passed eight. Marvin went to the bathroom.
He returned to the door a minute later, still feeling like he had to pee, and hesitated at the door knob. Snitch, he saw through the peephole, was standing resolutely, arms folded. He thought about hiding.
"I can hear you shuffling around in there. Open up."
"I think I might not," he said, not believing himself for an instant. "You kicked me out of your place..."
"Oh, Marvin, just open the door."
"Why should I?"
"Because I'll leave if you don't."
That was the last thing he wanted, so he opened it up to the chain.
"You're not going to do something violent are you?"
"Listen to yourself."
"All right. All right."
Marvin withdrew the chain and let Snitch by him. Immediately, she turned on the light and the TV. Gazing over, the outside seemed much darker than Marvin had imagined. Having suddenly being inundated with harsh yellow light probably had something to do with this, but Marvin didn't make the connection.
The noise of the TV buttressed Snitch's footfalls. She was circling Marvin's abandoned time-lapse project.
"The latest, greatest..." and she stopped herself. She looked away and walked to the sliding glass door.
Still standing meekly at the front door, Marvin finally closed it, leaving the chain undone before plodding his way over to the refrigerator.
"Would you like a drink?" He asked. "I don't really have much. Beer. Some diet Pepsi's.
"I'm all right."
"Got tap water...and ice."
"No thanks."
Marvin nodded and scratched his chin. He hadn't shaved because he was in a putative depression. The bristles annoyed him.
"Want anything at all. Chips?"
"What kind?"
He grabbed the bag and realized it was empty.
"Uh, vinegar and garlic."
"Yuck."
"Oh, yeah. Forgot." He tossed the empty bag back on top of his empty bread box. It looked so pathetic that he turned quickly hoping a change of direction would keep him from realizing it.
Snitch, meanwhile, had sat down on the couch and crossed her legs at the ankle. She was still wearing her sweats, he noticed, and her longish sleep shirt. It was blue-gray and fading, with a long thread hanging off the side. Her floor-length camel hair coat, the one that had secreted this ordinary person into his home, was now folded over his wooden unrocking chair, the one with the runners cut off. Both look spent and useless. Snitch looked slightly anxious. She was wearing her rings.
"Would you come over here already," she said.
"Yeah. Minute." He walked around the kitchen pretending to look for something, perhaps his chutzpah. "It was here just a second ago," he mumbled.
He spent his minute and a half of another. Snitch was beginning to look agitated, so he gave it up as a bad job and sat next to her on the couch. They were separated by fourth-fifth's of a cushion.
"You went crazy." She said, ignoring any lead up.
"I think that's an exaggeration."
"Why?"
"Why do I think it is an exaggeration?"
"Yeah."
"Because it was only one little—
"You hit my boyfriend."
"Yes, but he hit me back," Marvin said, feeling defensive. "It was a fair fight."
"Except for his being ten times as strong as you. And except for your punch being totally unprovoked."
Marvin looked over to see if she was smiling. She wasn't.
"You shouldn't have made me stay."
"It was my fault?"
Marvin laughed uncomfortably.
"Why did you do it?"
Marvin ran his hands over his knees. "I couldn't tell you. A confluence of many things. I was feeling irritable and he was...he was such a tool."
"A what?"
"A tool." Said Marvin, feeling stupid once again.
"Since when do you call people tools?"
"I had Teddy for a roommate, "he said tetchily. "I must have picked it up."
"Did he turn you into some ridiculous fighter, too."
Marvin shook his head.
"Are you in love with me or something?"
"God, no. You're way too—" He threw his hands in the air, by way of representing a 1000 letter word with more consonants than he could handle. She seemed to understand. Then, thinking he might have insulted her. "I love you as a friend." He blushed at this. "You know."
Marvin thought for a second. "Hey..."
"She looked over thinking he was about to make a greater fool of himself.
"Why didn't you kick him out. I've known you longer. We share this bond of friendship and so forth. I'm insulted."
"No you're not."
"I am, I think.
"Nonsense. Besides, it was only logistics."
"How so?"
Snitch shrugged. "Well, since I've known you longer, as you wisely pointed out, I figured it would be easier to smooth it over with you than with Fred. Plus, you were in the wrong. Here, I brought your car." She dropped the keys in his palm.
"Did you two smooth it out?"
She smiled.
"Never mind, I don't want—"
"Only he'll probably never want to see you again."
Marvin relaxed a little.
They went silent. The news was on and trilled away on low volume.
"That reminds me." Snitch said, seeing a graphic next to the blond reporter's head. It was of a chalk outline, roughly in the shape of a body. "I never finished my point today."
"Which point?"
"I was making a point before Fred came over."
"Right." Marvin was reminded that he felt depressed. This depressed him.
"You know all those things I showed you?"
"My art."
"Yeah, well, it just goes to show."
"What?"
"You can't stick with anything. Not a goddamned thing."
Marvin turned his head sharply. "Excuse me?" This was not what he had expected. He had expected praise. This was a verbal fart.
"It's true." She said, ignoring his stare. "You needed to know."
"What makes you think I didn't already know that?"
"Sorry, I misspoke myself."
"You did?"
"Uh huh. You seem to know, but not in the right context."
"Context?"
"Yes."
"In which context am I so hopelessly oblivious."
"You know that you're like that, only—"
Marvin groaned. "No only's"
"One only."
"Fine
"You know you're capricious and such, only you see it as a negative. It's really, in fact, quite the positive. Shall I explain?"
Marvin waved his hand. "Please do."
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
Snitch took a deep breath and let it out. "Ok, you're flighty and easily bored and somewhat of an anal-retentive misanthrope—"
"I think I need a beer if I'm going to have to sit through this."
"No you don't. Stop being dramatic."
"What—"
"Add dramatic to the list."
Marvin sighed.
"You're all those things, but think about that stuff I showed you. Two paintings, a couple dolls—"
"I told you when I gave them to you that they aren't dolls. They are statuary."
"—a couple sculptures and even some writing." She paused. "Quite a variety, but did you notice something? The paintings were done years apart, as were the doll—sorry, statuary—and the sculptures and the writing—you see what I'm saying. You're flighty, but you seem to hover in the same general area, so that everything gets its turn before you give something else a shot."
"I still don't understand."
"You don't?"
"No."
"Well." She said, regrouping, "If you're put off by the animation thingy, it just means you probably are ready to do something else. That tourist business is just added noise."
Marvin rolled his eyes but appeared calmer.
"And" she added. "When Teddy left you probably felt lonely. You should get a roommate."
"Thanks, but I think you've reached the limits of your intellectual reasoning."
"Or you should get laid."
Marvin grimaced. "Don't talk like that."
"Are you asexual?"
"Was Teddy talking to you?"
"Are you gay?"
"Jesus, Snitch." She kept looking at him. "No!"
"Then go get some. Want—"
"Stop." He stood up and walked to the fridge to get a beer. "There's no way that sentence could end well."
"Fine."
Marvin absently opened the can and it foamed onto the table. Bubbles enveloped a pair of joined paperclips, then left a wet spot as they burst into nothingness. He shrugged and made a show at not caring. Then he went to his closet and grabbed his hair drier. Putting it on the lowest setting, he held it high above his head.
"I hope my car is OK."
"What?"
"My car."
"What about it?" She could really hear him over the din.
He put the hair drier down and walked over to the sliding-glass door.
His car was parked in the driveway he shared with Alberto, a carpet cleaner living on the third floor. A doorlight across the street hit the rear fender with a florescent smear. He looked up and down the street and went back in.
Back at the table he was drying again. Snitch stayed for a little while, watching a few cartoons and adding the odd remark here and there but left twenty minutes later explaining that she had a bread dough on her counter that needed attention. Since she had come in Marvin's car, she promptly returned to ask him to drive her home, which he did willingly, maintaining the proper speed the whole way, plus five miles per hour—for the tourists.
User Reviews
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-04-13 19:53:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
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Submitted by Caulfield (user info) at 2008-04-13 20:13:16 BST (#)
Ranking: 0
I wouldn't be surprised if a movie line sneaked in there. You write something and edit it so many times the words almost lose meaning. When it gets to that point its tough to see where things come from. If you remember the flick, pass it along.
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I will. It would probably pop into my head when I am half asleep, those precious moments just as you doze off or begin to wake off when useless thoughts just pop out of nowhere.
It could have been a book.
I have a terrible muddled memory. I spent five oniutes recounting a story the other day to a friend only to suddenly remember it didn't happen to me, it was actuallt an episode of Eastenders I had watched.
Post soon.
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2008-04-13 15:34:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
As promised.
Submitted by Caulfield (user info) at 2008-04-13 15:13:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I wouldn't be surprised if a movie line sneaked in there. You write something and edit it so many times the words almost lose meaning. When it gets to that point its tough to see where things come from. If you remember the flick, pass it along.
And thanks, Hidden.
Submitted by hidden101 (user info) at 2008-04-13 07:48:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i usually don't read the serious pieces, being that i come here for the cheap, sleazy stuff, but i'm bored and this is really good.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-04-13 04:23:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I had to save this for a time when I could read all pieces together.
It is excellent, and I look forward to reading some more of your work.
However, this
When he got home, his feet hurt in such a pleasurable way that he was almost thankful for the distraction. But memories rarely succumb to throbbing feet and they
is a line very similar to a line in a film I have seen. I can't recall the name but I will. Do you know which one I mean?
No one is capable of original thought anymore :(
Well done. I am a fan :)
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2008-04-12 04:59:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I used to write stuff too but the pictures I attached were far less compelling.
Submitted by loan_officer (user info) at 2008-04-12 02:31:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2008-04-11 17:25:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2008-04-11 12:26:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
the format was a little wonky, but it was a nice piece.
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2008-04-11 09:22:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by jimboruckus (user info) at 2008-04-11 00:36:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
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Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2008-04-11 00:34:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
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Submitted by experima (user info) at 2008-04-10 22:41:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment