| dewy decimal |
2004-02-21 - 3:29 a.m.
I met Jenine and her friend Bonnie at a dingy punk rock bar on "the Fruit Loop". I tend to cough and gag and feel nauseous when I'm nervous and I was fucking gutteral and wet, shivering in between the whooping coughs. Believe that.
We kick back a few beers and talk about our lives and its hard to believe that its been almost four years since I've seen Jenine Cali "Superstar". When four years ago I had been seeing her everyday, living together in some dusty memory.
We start catching up on the who's who, and the what's up, the jobs that don't pay, the old friends who we call on special occassions, and the great songs in between. But mostly we reminisce on the strange "Once upon a time" in godamn Reno, Nevada of all places.
We think about how we used to run to Albertsons in fake furs and pink hair. Attracting boorish glances in the pasta aisle.
"Oh shit and I never told you this Jenine but remember when you, me and Tida are taking 21 shots to celebrate your 21st birthday, and we're tanking them and tanking them and you're wondering how the fuck we are not fucked the fuck up by now like you. Sorry hun, we never told you that we were frying on 3 hits of acid, did we? Sorry about that. I remember telling Tida that you looked like a dragon/cat and she was like, 'Holy shit you're right.'"
"Oh and remember that one time when we were dancing and I kicked a peanut butter and jelly sandwich out of your hand and it flew smack into the wall and slid down like a dying man. That fucking jelly trail, I swear we almost died laughing."
"Shit, remember when Gretchen had consumed an entire bottle of peach schnapps in 45 minutes and passed out on your bed and we're waking her up, 'Gretchen. Gretchen honey, its time to go. Wake up,' and she sits up and starts trying to wear your comforter, thinking it was her jacket. Sliding her arms into a sleeve that did not exist."
We'd go on late night photo shoots, just me and Jenine, and take portraits of one another in the Reno landscape, casinos and bald sycamores. Snow angels in the flood lights.
Oh and we'll never forget when our house got raided by the cops and I'm coming home from work and Lisa's hands are behind her back and Jenine is crying, mascara and the smell of panic running rampant over our blank faces. Our dog, Taco, is yelping and one of the 4 officers is telling me to "spread em."
"A great college story," Jenine calls it. "And a spectacular ending," I add.
Two nights later I watch Jenine's band, The Day After, play at a hollow Billiard Hall on Tropicana with a huge neon sign out front with letters intermittently blown out. And although I know Jenine can play the drums, and the guitar, and the bass, and the piano, and sing...I'm still amazed at the presence and skill she owns on stage and I'm all smiles because of the gratitude for being able to see someone you love succeed at something that they love to do.
It gets dark, I get drunk. I leave Jenine at the ping pong table as Lee, Everett and Kahea are out the door. The night culminates itself with wet eyes and prolonged hugs, but also a quick wink that says, I'll be seeing you soon enough, just don't you worry. You'll see, before you know.
