Joe Vampire

POST 38



Reboot



In trying to put Chloe behind me, I’ve been wondering if I haven’t deluded myself about the vampire stuff being at the root of my troubles. There was obviously something preventing me from moving forward from Girl No. 2 well before I ended up on my group date with Don, the Maker of Young White Ghouls. It’s hard to blame my being struck with what is essentially an otherworldly illness for making me afraid to follow through on our workplace wordplay tease, or I would have tried something a long time ago, wouldn’t I? If anything, my sudden soulless state gave me some sort of previously unfound fortitude to step forward and make the attempt at all. I may have gotten my balls cut off in the process, but at least I had balls enough to put up on the chopping block in the first place. I haven’t been known to do so very often in my life. Hube called it right all the way through on that one.

So, a toast to vampiration, for the cajones you have given me.

Muchas gracias, mi amigo.

When I told Louise how everything had gone, she gave me one of her Shirley Temple at least you tried your best speeches. It was not what I wanted to hear, and it went on for far longer than her other up-pepping monologues. But as she rambled, I recognized that there was something good that had risen out of the whole situation: Louise and I were forced to dissect the dashing of my romantic hopes because we had begun to run out of vampire things to talk about.

Hot damn.

You’ll notice the lack of bullet points in this post, because I have nothing vampirish to discuss with you, either. All of my symptoms have finally leveled off, and for the past several weeks I’ve been able to sustain, and maintain, and at least three other words that end in –tain, but I can’t remember what they are. In any case, I’ve finally gotten the upper hand on my condition. Everything is in check. I keep my coconut water and carrot juice handy, discreetly dine on raw animals, and keep all the light-sensitive bits of my anatomy covered at all times when in direct sun. That makes me sound more like some sort of backward hippie health nut than a vampire, and my shaggy ‘do doesn’t do much to make a distinction. Of the two, I’d probably rather be pegged as a vampire. Be that as it may, the blood lust is under complete control… and in all seriousness, it may be clear to me and a few select others that I’m a freak of nature, but at least I can make it blurry to the rest of the world. Still hoping to man up and learn how to stick my fingers in my eyes so I can colored-contact-lens my way to normal looking irises. Other than that, it’s all copacetic. Even Lazer’s continued I know what you are… e-mails don’t bother me anymore. He can send them all he wants; I just filter that shit to the trash. And now that I have things under control, it’s probably time to let others know about my situation.

Which is why I left Amanda a voice message to fill her in.

I owe her an explanation, anyway, and if anyone can help me make the confession to the rest of the family, it would be her. That’ll give them all something else to discuss besides television and their disappointing retirement accounts. Hopefully, by week’s end, the fam will know about the vam. That leaves just one thing out of sorts. I’ve been trying like hell to put it back into sorts, too.

It’s proven to be a tad more difficult than I gave it credit for.

It was easy enough to talk to Chloe, since I’d been preparing what I wanted to say to her for the entire duration of our copy machine chitter-chatter. Not as easy to talk to Hube, who, until our unseemly late-night knock-about at the deli, I could always talk to about anything. Except how shitty I’d been to him, apparently. That was going to be a high hill to get up. I’ve had the phone in my hand a dozen times, my thumb on his speed dial number, totally at the ready to fire the missile, and I haven’t been able to do it. What keeps holding me back is the knowledge that there’s a favorable chance I’ve run out of luck where he’s concerned.

But I’m big into taking risks lately.

And as long as I’ve gotten used to being knee-deep in humiliation, I might as well see if I can shovel a little more embarrassment on the heap, right?

Yeah. He’s worth a little more embarrassment.

I called his cell today, hoping for his voicemail to pick up. It would be so much easier to start things off with a voice message: Hey Hube, ol’ pal, ol’ buddy. It’s Joe – hit me back when you can. Later. Then it would be on him to return the call, and if he chose not to, I’d have my answer. We’d stay on our non-speaking, non-interacting, no-longer-in-each-others’-lives terms, and it would be completely his fault. My conscience would be squeaky clean knowing I had tried.

That was the most chicken shit way to do it.

And it would still be my fault that things were as hellacious as they were. His not calling me back couldn’t change that. So I called and let it ring through, and when it went to voicemail I hung up and called again. I called about eight times in a row before thinking the guy might actually be busy, and not just avoiding me. He didn’t play things like I did, ignoring calls and messages out of spite. As long as he could reach it, he actually picked up the phone every time it rang. In light of that, I knew a text would be a more direct hit instead; at least he could look at it if he was in the middle of things, and know that I was sending over an olive branch. I hoped he wouldn’t strangle the dove that carried it. I texted:

R U good 2 talk sometime soon?

I tried to busy myself until he replied. Lucas had called earlier and said he and the guys are ready for me, for our first practice as a whole unit. We’re getting together tonight to start laying out some new tunes, so I fiddled around with some synth patches and riffs in an attempt to appear impressive. I know I’m already in as far as the band goes, but I didn’t realize until after I left the audition that Lucas was the only one who’d heard me play. Kyle and Jeremy have no idea what my music sounds like and will be hearing JoeTunes for the first time tonight. So I’m desperate to shine for these guys. I won’t be the one to drag down their shot at making something big out of Forever 81.

I hope we change the name, though. It’s kind of weak.

After an hour of tinkling around on the keys, my phone buzzed with a text so brief it didn’t even have letters. Hube had written back:

???

Okay… he wasn’t going to let me off the hook in one jump. Fair enough. I texted back to him:

U can’t call me?

Then, in a much quicker response than the first had been, he threw one back my way:

!!!

I know the subtext is real subtle there, but I’m pretty sure he was calling me a dick. So I volleyed back:

Want 2 say sorry if U’ll let me



I watched my phone, knowing he’d probably not call back very quickly but hoping for it anyway. As easily as the words had flowed in the café – useless though they turned out to be – I was also hopeful I’d find some sort of articulate way to tell him I was fully aware of how ginormous a jerk-off I’d been, and how perfectly well within his rights it would be for him to light into me with a whole encyclopedia of self-invented slang customized to insult me and my family. And my ancestors. Anything would be fair game. I had my cup on; I could take it. I totally deserved it, too. And what’s more, I expected it, as my penance for having trespassed so heavily on the sacred bond that is our friendship, so sayeth the shepherd in heaven and on Earth, when the moon is in the seventh house, Amen.

Forgive my lack of knowledge where prayers are concerned.

But you get my drift.

So it was an excruciating ten minute wait for his next move. But it finally came:

Can’t now – busy



Okay. I had to accept that. He probably didn’t want to talk, busy or not, even if it was to insult my ancestors. And I had made it that way, so I had no choice but to let him be, just like Chloe. I said it myself a few posts back: life is everyone’s circus, not just mine. I’m slowly realizing that both the elephant and the bearded lady belong to me. If she’s wearing a lapful of grass-laden crap, it’s because I put her directly in the line of fire from the big guy’s ass.

Really gross analogy.

I need to work on those.

So I loaded up my synth and hauled my amp out to the van, trying to let it all go so I wouldn’t be anxious at rehearsal. And when I came back in he’d return-texted:

Lunch tomo – Sal’s?

Like a weight lifted from me, it was. I speed-replied:

Sal’s it is – I buy



That put me in such a better mindset for my first rehearsal with my new music mates. Things with Chloe may have been a bust, but it looks like there’s still a chance of me getting some of my life back on track.

Took me long enough.

As bumpy a ride as it’s been for me lately, it’ll be nice to be able to turn on the cruise control and coast for a while.

When I post my next entry, I will have started a new chapter in my life. And not necessarily as Joe Vampire, either. As Joe Average again, maybe. Or Joe Normal. Or maybe just Joe.

Check you all soon.