Page 13 - 90-94 Meteor

ISSUE 1, FALL 1990 THE METEOR
5
My Secret Life
by Erik Kern
It was going to be a hard
night. Dallas fans were notorious for their rambunc- tiousness. The band itself was already beginning to tire. After a thirteen city tour with three concerts in each city, three hours a concert, consuming over three months of travel and time, one starts to feel atrophied and weary of it all. Nevertheless, we were ready once again to perform.
"Two minutes" warned the stageman.
The opening band was con- cluding their final song. I was getting nervous, as I do before every concert. I ran my fingers through my thick, shoulder length hair. I love my hair. I smoothed by fingers over my stretch, black leather pants. Smooth, very smooth. They hugged my physique so tight it appeared as if someone had spray-painted them on me. I was not going to wear a shirt tonight. Instead, I would woo the audience with my sinewy, defin- ed and awe-inspiring torso. I took another swig of J .D.
"Showtime! !!" shouted the stageman.
Like gods, we strutted out on stage, prancing and cavorting to the latest dance moves. The fans went crazy. Bodyguards were tackling the stageclimbers right and left. It was wonderful. I waited for my cue, the lead guitarist had already begun his intro. I parted my lips, cleared my throat and sang the words...
"Erik, wake up and finish your homework! I'm sick of this nonsense! Why do you continue to disappoint me," my mother yelled at my dumbfounded countenance. Then with a look of hurt she shut the door.
"Huh?"
I wiped the slobber from my mouth and pushed myself from the desk. I turned my clock/radio off, "Never let me down again" was playing on 97.1 KEGL . I moved to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, combed my hair and began to rub off the spiral binder imprint on the side of my face. I felt bad, this was the third time this week my mother had caught me procrastinating. My head swooned, careening for ideas to prove to her that I was truly all she had prayed to God for in a son. Lately, it seemed as if I was not quite the apple of her eye. I needed to do something to make amends. She might be mad, but I loved her. Got it! I reached in my faded, ripped and graffiti-ized jeans for my keys.
Found them, cool.
I slipped out the door and ran down the steps to my car. Onet-
wothreefourfive, I worked quickly, put my car in neutral .md pushed it down the street. When I was far away enough, I got inside and started the engine. Vrooom! VROOM! I shifted gears and peeled off. Standard transmission often rendered me too much in con- trol, diabolic and without a cause. Me, the rebel, invincible and "behind the wheel of a large automobile". I pulled up to the stoplight. Juxtaposed with me was the 7-11 car, #57. The last time we met was down in Dallas. He nipped me at the checkered by a tenth of a se- cond. Not tonight though, tonight was my night for bask- ing. The light turned green. As the race started we screeched and dueled for the lead spot. By the second turn I out- maneuvered him and enjoyed a comfortable two second advan- tage. After twenty minutes my oil pressure had gone down and I began to worry. Only three
more miles to go. I did not want to lose this one. I broke the oil gauge window, spit out my gum and manually held the needle back into its original and safe position. The crowds were going wild as we entered the final stretch. 7-11 made his move to the outside, I caught his ruse in time to block him off. In record breaking time, I held onto the lead .
I pulled into the pitstop and slipped out of my window. After adjusting my jacket, I quickly moved away from the media and entered the reception room. A beautiful woman approached me with a bouquet of flowers and an inviting smile. I puckered by lips, ready to receive the victory kiss.
"May I help you, sir? "
"What? Huh? Oh,ofcourse." I opened my eyes and pulled my lips back in, "Yeah, uh, I need some flowers for my mother, perhaps a dozen red roses."
"Certainly, I'm not sure if we have any, butlet me look" . The flower girl turned around and went in search of my roses. I sat down in a nearby chair and felt stupid. Here was a gorgeous chick and I just made a com- plete fool of myself. Wait a minute, who am I kidding? She probably thought I was really cute. What am I worrying about? I'll just be real suave when she gets back and patch things up while I buy the flowers. I was young, virile, and maybe she didn't notice my sil- ly mistake. Here she comes, gracefully gliding up to the counter. Be cool Erik, just be cool.
"Anything else?" "Yes,thereis.Itmightbeout
of line, but I cannot tell you how beautiful I think you are. Now, I do not know about you, but I could not imagine spending the rest of my day without you."
This was as bold as it gets. I figured I had an eighty-five per- cent chance of winning her and I had to admit I looked sharp in my Giorgio Armani suit. I would take her to the Crescent club, do a little dancing and then invite her back to my penthouse suite for a nightcap. A sly smile followed and I knew that I had won. That night marked a turn- ing point. We drank, we danced, we loved. In all my life, I have never experienced the sensa- tions and exhilarations this woman was creating for me. I knowIjustmetherandIdonot believe in love at first sight, but this was different. I truly believ-
ed I was in love. This was it, this was the feeling I had been look- ing for. It was wonderful! Later that night she turned to me, smiled, and said " Will that be cash or charge?"
"What! How could you do that?"
ly concerned mother was block- ing my parking spot. Before I got there, I could see her shouting remonstrations at me. I got out of the door and listen- ed to her anger for a few minutes, then I showed her my side of the story. Mom melted like butter and apologized for what she had said as she walk- ed inside sniffing her roses.
I came in, took off my jacket and walked upstairs to my room. I picked up a book and flopped down on my bed. You know, when it comes down to it, I'm really an okay guy.
I looked around the room, blinked my eyes and began to think for a while. It was going to be a hard night. Houston fans were infamous for being dif- ficult to please.
Excuse me?! ... Cash charge," she repeated.
or
"Huh?", I look up at her behind the cash register.
"Oh, urn, here's twenty dollars. Keep the change.", I took the flowers and left hurried- ly with a flushed face. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to start paying attention. As I drove home, I promised myself I would study. I promised that I would be a better son and, most importantly, I promised myself I would stay awake. As I pulled in the driveway, one particular-
Comered_ _
by Graham Kirkman
The first thing that caught my
eye was a young girl who wore a fit leather top and a pair of tight cut off jeans. This sight gave me a general picture of what Tijuana, Mexico had in store for me. The van came to a sudden stop in front of a trashy looking native selling switch blade knives. As we all piled out of the van the man began to hound us to buy his cheaply made product. As Brad and I parted form the group, little did we know we were about to adventure into an experience that we would never forget.
As we wandered aimlessly in the poverty stricken city, we noticed several small vendors on the side of the road.
"Look at that old greaser sell- ing those ugly ponchos," I ex- claimed, as we walked over to the stand.
" I bet you those things are made out of that itchy cotton, and look at that donkey on the front," I said.
Brad, being the more gullible of the two, was coaxed by the old man into buying one of the tacky souvenirs. After he paid the old man he explained, "The only reason I bought it was because he cut me a deal and plus they aren't that bad."
As we roamed the streets en- joying the scenic trash, we found ourselves in a dirty back-street alley. There was an old man staring at us in awe, we tried to turn around, but there was no escaping. The old man had us trapped and we had no where to go. The man was dirty and greasy, he had a long black
beard with mats in it. He began to ramble in spanish and we had no earthly idea what he was say- ing, but he did not appear to be happy.
Some trash cans fell over as two more men ripped down the alley, shouting in spanish too. As they surrounded us I said with a spanish accent, "We speak english, sorry I can't help you." They seemed to understand me, but still screamed harsh soun- ding spanish words.
Finally Brad whispered to me, "They think we beat them up and stole their money."
"Oh great," I replied.
They keep on hounding us and we just stood there an simply said "No."
The only english I could com- prehend was "you stole. " I knew I was not in a good situation, I felt as though the men were go- ing to kill us at anytime. I tried to explain to them that we did not attack them, but we were more than willing to give them our money . As they continued to pester us a deep voice yelled, ''Hey leave them alone, now. !!
When the men heard this voice they looked at each other for help and then turned to run. A voice commanded " stop" and the men merely went even faster. It was a policeman and when he showed they ran like dogs running from the dog catcher. The officer walked up to us slowly and said, "What in hell's name are you doing in this part of town."
" Well, we were kind of lost and those old men surrounded us. Apparently they were robb- ed and had mistaken us for the
thief," I replied.
The officer did not show too
much concern and said, "That happens a lot around this area, just disregard and go on about your business."
I thought to my self sar- castically, "Yea, he is right, we just got ganked by three dirty Mexicans, blow it off."
As the officer turned and strutted away we looked at each other in amazement and turned to follow him. We traveled through the smelly streets of Ti-
juana with a queer thought in our minds.
Brad was still carrying his souvenir that he bought at the beginning of our excursion. On the walk to the vans we had decided not to tell anyone of our little mishap. The vans were waiting in the parking lot of a run down grocery store. When we walked up everyone had tons of shopping bags and all we had between the two of us was that ugly poncho. They assumed that we did not see anything that we liked. We all loaded the vans and left the garbage dump that we had entered two hours earlier.