JACKSON (short story version)

            I honestly hadn’t thought about any of these guys in years. Maybe four or five, heck, I can’t even pin it down. I was taking out the trash when Karen came running out, she was all in tears, and hysteric. She had never even met Teddy. I always intended to go show her Jackson, but it never happened. Maybe it would’ve down the road, but she’d never get it, she’d never understand. It’s not what it once was. The beautiful edges of the earth, slices of paradise getting eaten up by the classless, no shit giving uppity up. They roll through a town credit cards blazing, and run out the local population. They wring out any culture, and divide communities into overpriced overly modernistic high window boxes with a twenty-car garage. It’s really a travesty.

            But, Teddy, he was one with Jackson, he was the real deal. That is one guy who really truly thought he could do anything at any time under any circumstance. He worked his ass off, did every job he could, and never complained a bit. Always a lighthearted kind of guy, seeing the beauty in the unimaginable. But he lived hard, you know? He lived like he didn’t need to, and eventually it would catch up to him, everyone knew that.

            I caught the first plane out that morning for Idaho Falls out of SeaTac, and rented a car and drove over the pass. Luckily the snow had melted for the most part so it was a breeze. I went into that funeral house and it was as if God had died. Jackson eerily ate me up. I saw people that I never thought I would care to see again, and nobody had changed one bit. Life just rolls by it seems, and sometimes it seems like nothing really honestly changes. Maybe a tweak here and there, but real change? No way.

            I shook hands, looked at photos, did the whole routine and thought it was time to walk around the town, see what there was to see. Then I caught wind that there was a party at the Elks Club. I hadn’t seen the boys at the funeral so maybe they were sitting in the dark corner of the Elks Club still to cool to get into the crowd.

            I had just put my elbow on the bar when Cliffy ripped me around. The man is just as ridiculous as I remember. Donning a full matching track suit with splashed colors of black and neon, and matching aviators, a climbing chalk bag with a 711 big gulp that was definitely filled with rum and coke attached a belt on the outside of his track suit. I still don’t understand. We found Rick at the end of the bar and all sat down. Cliffy had been working at The Village on the day that Andy passed. Tragic the whole thing is, he was doing a routine run down a usual, and something just happened. Rick elegantly put it as,

“Shit just happens.”

I guess stuff just does, I don’t know. We chatted some more about usual things, and then Rick headed out to receive a shipment at the ice cream shop, and Cliffy made it clear we had to go see Pat at the gas station. This is shortly after the waiter came over and asked if we were doing all right, and Cliffy told the poor young guy that his friend had just died.. so. He was in that sort of mood.

            Cliffy, and I headed out to Jackson Pass the Gas Station where Pat apparently just hangs out at. Greets people as they walk in, shoot the stuff with the cook, annoy old Ms. Betty at the check out. Just essentially flip the bird to the new wave as Cliffy puts it. Cliffy’s car seemed like it was totally and utterly on it’s own wave as well.

“Cliffy what kind of car is this?”

“1994 Town and Country, don’t talk shit about the TC.”

“That’s a bed built in the back?”

“Custom pop top Bruce, fly me out to Seattle, and I’ll toss one on your son of a bitch too.”

“Yeah, yeah Cliff.”

“Hey be careful in here. Pat will really bulldoze you. Bullshit headlock style.”

“What? I’m confused Cliffy.”

“Remember the Rumble in The Jungle?”

“Sure. Ali and Frazier?”

“Just like that.”

So I apparently was going to get pounded against the ropes, and hit Pat with a knock out, or just waste myself into oblivion trying to slug him, and get smacked by him unexpectedly. Either way sounded miserable. We walked into the gas station, and it was if nothing had ever changed. There he was in the back giving the cook pointers on how to cook the onions when he wasn’t even going to buy the coffee in his own hand.

“Son of a bitch, BRUCE!”

“How are you Pat?”

He went on for a few thirty minutes or so. Telling us every story of every time. But he finally got down to it. There was to be an auction.

“Yeah, the fucking auction, Cliffy, it’s on Monday. Classic Ted didn’t get together a will or nothing, and he’s got nobody for it to go to so they’re auctioning off his old spot. Probably going to get bulldozed to all hell, and get some big ugly bitch built on top. Fucking parasites.”

It may have been rough, and crude. But Pat was right. Jackson was getting lost to the money, the infinite trail of greed. Some great times were held at Teddy’s some times that can’t be explained, true youthfulness, true life. Those moments where time is never ending, and every moment are real. Pat had more to say on the matter although.

“The worst part is that it’s the last frontier, you know? Once Ted’s is place is gone, Jackson is gone. Fucking manifest destiny kind of bullshit for these LA and New York landroverin, north face donning sons of..”

“Bitches.” I said.

Right then and there I felt the switch. I hadn’t cared about Jackson until then. I may had thought about caring about Jackson, but it wasn’t real, it wasn’t all and complete true. I played the game, shook my head, and done what was expected. Although, now, I wanted to fight. Now I knew what this place truly meant to me. It was an unexplainable nascence in my life, a nostalgia that isn’t really diagnosable.

            The next morning came, and Rick, Cliff, and I sat at the old booth at the Jackson Diner.

“Pass some sugar packets, Bruce.” Cliffy said.

“Okay.”

“A few more.”

“All right.”

“Just give me the whole thing.”

“Jesus Cliff.” Rick said.

“Goddamnit, I hate individual sugar packets.. takes me an hour to get my coffee going.” Cliffy said.

Cliffy seemed to have stayed in his funk.

“So I think there is a way.” Rick said.

So apparently there was. We were to collect signatures, and if we received enough then maybe, and apparently we could get Ted’s place grandfathered in, and I guess preserved. I took Rick’s word for it and sort of just went for it. I don’t know if I actually ever truly believed, but it felt right to run towards it delusional, and full of steam. Maybe something would happen. Who the hell knew? But first I had to ask how I could help.

“How can I help?”

“Just sign a check for supplies or something.”

I hadn’t really thought about it yet, but the auction was on the day I was supposed to fly back home.

“Yeah, Bruce, you can’t stay, right?” Cliffy asked.

“Well, maybe, sure.” I said.

“Don’t bother, Bruce. We get it. You don’t even live here anymore.” Rick said.

“Well he can stay, if he’d like, Rick.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care. Doesn’t mean that frickin stuff doesn’t piss me off any less than you guys.” I said.

I pointed out to a guy outside wearing a leather jacket with ridiculous amounts of fringe, an oversized cowboy hat, massive sunglasses, and ripping a vape pen till the end of time. Then he boarded his douche Porsche SUV to probably drive back to his ski lodge he lives in five days out of the year, just for the hell of it.

            I think Rick saw it. He saw that I cared. That now that I was here, and things all came to the forefront, everything was realized. I now knew what this place had fully turned into, because I saw how it affected the people around me, the people who I cared about. People that taught me things I never could forget, nor would I want to.

            We went around town passing out fliers, and getting signatures at every place possible. Diners, gas stations, mom and pop spots, the gun range, The Village, anywhere that anyone would care. Only the real Jackson people. We worked as hard as we could, and ran with our hearts, full of fire and hot-blooded emotion, because now we would make our change, and reverse the crumbling of the town we called or call home.

            We went to the Wart Hotel the night before, we had to celebrate something. Even if this idea of ours didn’t work at least for Teddy. At least for our memories, and least for his memories. We apparently were to drink straight brown fire all night; whiskey by Rick’s choice, just was Ted would’ve wanted. Rick, and Cliff went out to smoke so I hopped off the bar stool and went to take a piss. I went down the hallway to the john and found a photo collage on the wall. There we were, must have been nineteen or so driving like hell right down past The Wart. Teddy was behind me getting towed on skis, I was at the helm of that old red Volvo, that old red Volvo with the purple door. Jesus Christ I thought, what happened to those times. What the hell changed? Time changed I guess. Time rolled by the way time does, inconsistently, and ever unpredictably.

            The next morning we woke with earth shattering hangovers, but we made it to the auction house. I didn’t know what I’d do and how I’d do it, but I felt this animalistic urge to tell the sons of guns, (meaning the parasites of the coasts), crashing in on our precious Jackson that they were trying to destroy the only place where Jackson still existed. That destroying Ted’s house would only mean that they were buying a plastic Jackson, a god damn cardboard cut out.

“We have some signatures, we have them all signed.” Rick bellowed as we opened the doors to the auction room.

Pat jumped up from the middle of the audience,

“Son of a bitch!” He yelled.

I ran up on stage and ripped that mic out of that nice man’s hands, and told them how it exactly was, or, as it seemed in my mildly drunk, overly possessive state of comprehension.

“Hi all, my name is Bruce Strong. I was really good friends with the guy who used to own this house, and many or all of you didn’t know Teddy. Many of you probably don’t              care. But I’m gonna tell you anyway, because I’m still a little drunk. When Ted roamed these streets, skis on his shoulder or case of beer in his hand, Jackson was him. I don’t know what fancy fucking city you’re from, but it’s different here. We care about who                      we are, we care about our neighbors, and the people of Jackson. And Teddy was Jackson. He was the legend in every turn he made skiing down those Tetons, fly fishing the                snake, running his dirt bikes, creating wonders with his hands. I understand this is a pretty place with its big mountains, and open plains. But, just remember that there are regular people that live here. Real people, salt of the earth people, cowboys, and                       cowgirls, wranglers, hunters, skiers, ice cream shop owners, plumbers, blue collar-working people, people just trying to live. Ted worked almost all of those jobs. He was a real workingman; I know that’s a foreign fuckin concept for all of you big wigs, but not here! And you come in here with everything, with the whole damn world, and what does Jackson have to compete with that? We are just trying to hold onto those few things. Those few things that make it all go, make it all worth it. So, that’s why we’re here! Let us have that one little piece, that little edge of the earth that my friend, our dear friend, Teddy, called home.”

“Okay then, Bruce, thank you.” The auctioneer said.

            I don’t know what happened after that, I went to my hotel, said goodbye to the guys and flew home. I swear I blacked out in that auction room. I may have spilled every emotion, or none at all. I just hope that I gave Teddy enough. Never have a met a man that collided so much energy, so much life into a sole being. I hope those people heard that. I hope they hear him whistling in the wind, down the clattering floor boarded sidewalks of the town square, hearing him yelling in those snow topped hills Jim Morrison’s poems turned to melodies, and feel that Jackson will never be the same, even if they never knew it before.

            

Shades of Light

Shapeless dreams,

Divine memories of the ocean's choir,
Tepid air flowing around,
We were there,
We ran with the sea, and slept with the stars,
Bombing down the highway, sunglasses on, looking at the road ahead,
It all felt real.

Wildfires of North America

Ben, Devin, and I set out to find a special place, a spot where nobody else in the writing program was thinking of going, or seeing. A location so real, and untouched that tourists would be foreign, and the experience would be new. We left for Sorrento, a beachy tourist town, and we would stay there at night and go out the next day for the remote. Just getting to Sorrento was an odyssey all on its own. Ben, Devin, and I all hopped on the fast train out of Rome Termini next to the Capitol after catching the tram to there from our place in Trestevere, all the while under the harsh Roman sun.

It had to have been the most interesting yet berserk train ride I’ve ever been on. About an hour and a half in I was awakened by what it seemed like three tanned chubby brothers yapping at each other walking through our cart, half way through the biggest likely to be the oldest brother planted a foot, pivoted, looked the poor soul of the medium sized boy in the eyes and absolutely slapped him into oblivion. The culprit without any doubt turned back around and kept walking. The brother that was struck let out a gasp and kept walking too; he seemed to have known his place. Almost immediately after that the train came to a complete stop next to a wild and raging brush fire. My flight senses shot to my bag, which I slung over my shoulder, and I jumped in the direction of the nearest exit, completely oblivious to Ben and Devin still sitting but wide-eyed watching the flames grow.

“What the.. why is the train stopped?” Devin said. 

“Dude this is not good.” Ben said.

“Damn if I blow up in the Italian country side, not yet.” I said.

Then the train slowing started chugging again leaving the ripping flames behind, I sat down and just shook my head and closed my eyes.  

I woke up in what seemed to be the Detroit of Italy, Naples. From Naples we were supposed to take another train to Sorrento. We wanted to leave immediately; the place seeped of dirt, and fear. It wasn’t a place to stay, or see, at least from the train station. We jumped on the second train, which was more reminiscent of a subway than anything. The thing came after we waited in the dank train station for it to roll up for thirty minutes. The amount of people waiting was far more than its legitimate capacity, and as soon as those doors swung open everyone on that platform ran through as if their lives depended on it. We pushed and pulled through the maze and got to an area where we could stand and hold on through every screech and stop. We met a couple from New Jersey that were backpacking right down and around the whole continent. The man, a history teacher, and the woman, a nurse. Real salt of the earth, I turned to Devin, and said,

“Those are the kinds of people that make countries.”

He nodded as if he was thinking the exact thing.

Eventually we were able to sit and I wrote down each stop’s name. The road, or way to Sorrento was long and hot, flying through Ercolano, Pompeii, Portici, Bellavista, Cavavilla de Bronzo, flowing in and out of dark tunnels with rattling trains blowing by, past South Gorgio a Cremano, Pozzo. Us guys had been split up and Ben was sitting with three other men, and Devin with two and a younger lady. She was on the phone going back and forth with the person on the other end. The Barra stop came, and the man sitting across from her got up and left. I went over and sat down and started talking with Devin, mostly cursing the elements, and the dark atmosphere of the subway even with the cabins scorching hot. The younger blonde lady looked up at me and said,

“Ciao.”

I looked back, and said, “English?”

She smiled, and nodded her head.

“You ever been to Nettuno?” I asked.

“No, I heard it’s beautiful, but hard to get to kinda.”

“Yeah, we are from America, and want to see real Italy, the small towns, and stuff.”

“You staying in Napoli?”

“No, no, Roma, we are students, writers.”

“Aaah, I study Economics, much easier than writing.”

“I don’t know about that.”

We sat talking for a few more stops until hers rolled up, San Giovanni. She added me on Facebook, and said she’d be in Rome for the Holi Festival. I nodded and waved goodbye.

            About twenty more minutes and we were in Sorrento. We dropped our things off, grabbed some sandwiches, a few beers, and a couple bottles of wine and went to the beach. It was already about eight thirty or so, and we just sat there on the beach and watched the night come in. It was all good and okay there, no real worries about anything.

            The next morning came and we hopped on another bus to take us to our special location and beach, Netunno. The winding crazed road in made me think that every bus driver must have been a real professional, there was no messing around in those parts, you had to have ice cold veins, and strong white knuckles, because past the small brick ledge was infinity down the plush beautiful hills. I imagined the headline: 3 good old American boys, and a few random Italians blow up in beautiful spectacle seen from every corner of the coast.

            About an hour past and we woke up in Nettuno. We found the nearest bar, grabbed a few beers, and sandwiches and laid out on the rocks. At first you see a rock beach and it looks terrible and crude, but after a while it wasn’t too bad, and I came to appreciate the fact that I didn’t have sand in every corner of my body. We sat there talking, sleeping, making stacks of rocks. I saw two young Italian boys playing volleyball in the water, and I went in for a swim. I went over to them and asked if I could play, ten minutes past and Devin was in on it as well. We dove, jumped, fell over, and laughed in the water for forty-five minutes or so. The little boys probably around ten or twelve were just as old as Devin and I were, and me and Devin as old as them, they didn’t speak English, we didn’t speak Italian, but it didn’t matter, we were all just kids playing in the water enjoying a break from the heat, and I thought sitting back on the beach, these are the things I’ll remember. I won’t remember an assignment sitting on my deathbed moments away, I won’t remember the score of that game, or how great that song was, I’ll remember the interaction, the meeting of people, her smile, the ways the boys would laugh, the essence of things, places, real beauty, and all the colors.

            One of the mothers got my attention, and said that us playing with them was very nice. She spoke great English, along with a few of the other ladies that were with her.

“You have to go there for dinner, and get an ‘uggo’, good seafood too.”

“All right, yeah we will.”

“And how’d you find out about this place? We never see tourists.. well, tourists from so far away.”

“You know, I’m not really sure.”

“I guess things just happen sometimes.” She said.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

The last bus left for Nettuno at eleven, and it was only eight or so by this time so we headed up for dinner. A kind middle-aged Italian man sat us to our seats, and I ordered three uggos off the jump. Minutes later he came out with the cold beverages, along with some appetizers that never were counted into the bill. The drinks were so perfect, and the view so gorgeous, watching the sun drop into the sea that I thought now everything will be underwhelming, nothing at all will ever beat this moment. We sipped three more glasses of the celestial drink, and all got the spaghetti, with seafood just as the women advised, and Jesus I’ve never felt so fulfilled. We sat there and watched the colors become more purple, and rapt, and the upper regions come alive. There was nowhere else then, nobody else, just the stars, and the open sky. It eventually got dark enough that the moon came out and it was almost right on the edge of the horizon, huge, and bulbous, and the darkest shade of orange. Over the next half hour it rose, and ascended into the high sky illuminating more with color in every stage. It didn’t seem real, and I don’t know if it still was, we all could of been dreaming off of the celestial drink just imagining life to be that wild, and impulsive, mother nature was truly messing with our minds right then with no regret, just whispering,

“Just keep watching boys, you haven’t seen anything, yet.”

And I kept sitting there and thinking,

“well, I don’t know if I even want to anymore.”

Magic Love

INT. TONY'S APARTMENT - STUDIO. SLIGHTLY DIRTY. DANCE POSTERS COVER THE WALLS. WITH A HUGE POSTER OF MICHAEL JACKSON. 

James is laying on the couch playing with the cat. Tony is sort of bouncing up and down in the middle of the room.

Angela busts in the door. 

TONY

Angela, girl, why you so late?? The show starts in an hour!! 

ANGELA

Ton, don't even start. Plus you know they'll have some bullshit opening act. 

Angela tosses a bag of drugs at James who is still laying on the couch. 

ANGELA

James! Cheer up! It's your favorite!

James sitting up. Cat still on lap. 

JAMES

It's about fucking time! 40 minutes late! 

ANGELA 

You princess!

TONY

Yeah, suck it up yah lil bitch! 

James starts to smirk. Still petting cat. Looks up quickly.

TONY

(serious)

He loves it when I call him a lil bitch. 

ANGELA

(towards James, laughing)

It's because he is a lil bitch

Angela winks at James. 

JAMES

All right, all right. 

They all start collecting their things. Walking out of the apartment, Angela, smacks James on the butt. 

ANGELA

(quietly)

Lil bitch. 

James turns around and smirks. 

EXT. THE THREE HEAD INTO NYC ON AN EMPTY COMPARTMENT OF THE TRAIN. CAMERA SHOTS OF JAMES, AND TONY TAKING ECSTASY, "ABOUT A GIRL" BY NIRVANA PLAYS.

INT. BAR AT THE VENUE 

JAMES

Okay, vodka for the both of you? 

TONY

Honey, it's a tequila sort of night.

ANGELA

I'm good for now. 

James walks away from the table, and goes to get Tony, and himself a drink. 

TONY

You okay, girl? It's time to get down! You took your share of the E, right?

ANGELA

Oh yeah yeah, just want to wait on the drinks for now

TONY

(reassuringly)

Okay, okay. 

James comes walking back.. (80s electronica starts playing), the show is about to start, and they head to the dance floor. 

Tony starts snapping with his arms in the air, struts to the dance floor.

TONY

YAAAAS!

INT. DANCE FLOOR. PRETTY CROWDED. 

The group Magic Love is up on stage, playing their 80s electronica (yet, "Limousine" by Class Actress plays). Tony, Angela, and James are dancing ridiculously, almost jokingly in slow motion. The neon lights become brighter. The camera shows James, and Tony taking more ecstasy, but not Angela. Angela moves closer to James. Tony starts dancing with a guy, they become close, then kiss long. The camera shifts to Angela, and James looking right into each other, his arms on her hips, and her arms around his neck, dancing closely in sync. Their faces get closer, and they kiss long and passionately, Angela then breaks away and runs quickly towards the bathroom. She then kicks a wallet then finds it on the ground and picks it up. She gets into the bathroom and shuts a stall door behind herself.

INT. DIRTY CLUB BATHROOM. THERE ARE 3 OTHER GIRLS IN THE BATHROOM DOING LINES OF COKE, PUTTING ON MORE MAKEUP, AND SMOKING CIGARETTES. THEY MAKE NO NOTICE OF ANGELA.

Bathroom Girl #1 does line of blow off of sink

BATHROOM GIRL #1

Ey, MirandAAAH you got a ciggeey?

BATHROOM GIRL #2

Girl, yeeAH, I gottA smoke..

Angela sits down on the toilet, opens the wallet, counts 450$ Closes the wallet, then lights, and smokes a cigarette. Starts to slowly cry. 

BATHROOM GIRL #3

Fawk, my hoohaw is on fuckin fiyah, Jimmy was all up in it this mawnin. He gets so frisky in the mawnin. 

Bathroom Girl #3 does a line of blow off of the sink.  

BATHROOM GIRL #2

Jossey, hon, yous lucky thats yah only worray. I be fuckin late nearly a gaddamn week and a haff! 

BATHROOM GIRL #1 

Whaaaaat, Adrainaaaa? The fawk now?

BATHROOM GIRL #2

Shit I dunno, I am scared, buh I know Giovanni is my love, like I wanna murry heem, but he can be such a doofis

BATHROOM GIRL #3

Ey but he so cute! With them arms!

BATHROOM GIRL #1

(laughing)

But he is like half retahded! 

Angela busts out of the bathroom stall, and quickly walks through the dance floor (towards the exit) still smoking her cigarette. James notices, and grabs Tony to follow her. James starts yelling at her, and running towards her. Tony follows behind. Angela gets to the outside of the club to a dark city street. Starts walking down the sidewalk away from the club. 

EXT. DARK NYC STREET. NOT TOO MANY PEOPLE AROUND. 

James runs down Angela, and grabs her by the arm, and Tony is running towards them. 

JAMES

What the hell was that?

ANGELA

          Nothing! Fucking nothing! 

Tony is now catching up, slightly out of breath. Clearly drunk/high.

TONY

Girrrl! Honeeey! Is you having a bad triip? 

ANGELA

I didn't take any!

JAMES

Why? 

Tony lights a cigarette. 

TONY

This shit has got me feeling some sorta way (laughs)

Angela sits down on the curb and puts her head in hands. James, and Tony sit down with her. 

ANGELA 

You guys just go back in and have a good time, I'll stay out here. 

James puts his arm around Angela. 

JAMES 

We're not leaving you out here on the street, the hell? 

TONY

YeeeAH, plus, daddy needs the air.  (waves arms in wafting motion) 

ANGELA

I'm gonna stay the night in the city. 

TONY

Like hell you are girl! Without us?

ANGELA

I have to take care of some things, it's personal, guys. 

JAMES

We're all friends Ang, what is going on? 

ANGELA

We're friends James? Do friends fuck their friends and get their friends pregnant James? You delinquent! 

Angela stands up, and flicks cigarette at James. James jumps up, and backs away. 

JAMES 

You're joking. You're fucking joking Ang, please tell me you're fucking joking! 

TONY

Oh Christ almighty. 

Tony still sitting down, hands on top of his head.

ANGELA

I wasn't going to say anything. I was gonna take care of it, but I couldn't take it any longer!

JAMES

What are we going to do?

ANGELA 

Your ass is gonna do nothing. I found a wallet on the ground inside. I think there was enough in it to cover the costs. 

TONY

Cover the costs of what? 

ANGELA

To get it done. 

TONY 

Oh honey.

JAMES

You sure that's what you want to do? 

ANGELA 

I've never believed in it, but I don't know, I don't fucking know! 

TONY

Why don't we get a hotel for the night in the city? Why don't we treat ourselves? Think about this tomorrow. 

James walks towards Angela arms out.

JAMES 

I don't think that's a bad idea Angela. Think tomorrow when our heads are clear. Whatever you want to do Angela. 

James brings Angela close to him, and hugs her. Angela breaks into tears, and slightly hugs James back. Camera shot moves to a bird's eye view. Cuts to black. The end.