THE SEVENTH ATTEMPT

[NOTE: found this on my external hard drive. wrote it when i was 18~19. don't remember writing it]

NEVER SAID HELLO
Her heart raced as she watched the feud continue. They yelled and yelled at each other until both of their voices were shot and both of their tempers had cooled to fits of stubborn frustration. Something bad had happened. Father had done it. Mommy was mad. That was all she knew. Her and her mother's eyes finally met and her mother realized that she had seen the whole bout from the kitchen door. She ran to her. Her father pursued moving sharply, and was met by her mother's hoarse voice screeching threats. Her mother lifted her and ran for the door. Her father yelled in a commanding, controlled voice. Her mother stopped, turned slowly, looked coldly into his enraged eyes and said, "I never really loved you, Andrew Johnson. Never." That was the last time she saw her father.

CALIFORNIA GOLD
"This is cool," I'm thinking to myself, and subconsciously I'm being reassured. "It doesn't hurt". That's the funny thing about this. He's just like every other boy here. He's overly excited, snobby, typically showing what are usually considered signs that ridolin should be included in his morning routine. The only difference is he's not afraid. From the get-go he was nothing but smiles and touches. Every other boy has been all about under-practiced attempts at subtle approaches and making timid, if not frustratingly slow progress on the physical front. But the truth is, I'm not sure if this is what I want. It's scary to see that he always knows what I want. It's like he knows me, but what part of me? I think I love him. But I'm not sure...

Yesterday I was in Patel's class watching a video about molecular structure or some shit, and I realized that he had fallen asleep. I laughed to myself and was about to lie my head down when I noticed his face in the door window. My heart jumped and I waved to him giddily. He looked over to Patel's desk and saw him snoring rhythmically to the sound of the narrator's nasally, indecipherable voice on that stupid video and he took his chance to slip in. I freaked. Like the kind of scared but non-resistant sort of freaked. I was frantically beaming and mouthing "no, no, no" but he only smirked back and turned the doorknob. The light from the hall snuck in a little more than usual as he walked quietly but fearlessly in and I caught sight of him slipping something into his pocket. A present! I knew it! Or a note of course, but he wouldn't come in here if that's all he wanted to give me. I licked my lips in anticipation as he tip-toed comically passed Patel holding his finger, ridiculously over his lips. I slowly realized that I was falling in love with those antics. That goofy smile was getting to me. I did. I did love him. I couldn't wait to see what he had brought me. He pulled a chair out from the lab and slid it over next to me. He put his arm around my shoulder, sliding his hand across my neck and right under the collar of my shirt as he did. He kissed me on the cheek and said "hey baby" with a level of skill and just, perfection that I had never seen or heard. How did he develop these perfect antics, actions and words for me. At that moment he had me. He was a baker making this immaculate multi-layered cake for me. He had worked his way all the way up to the icing, that kiss. And then he pulled the cherry from his pocket. "I got you something," he said. And a small black velvet box appeared in his beautiful hands. Suddenly a thought shot through my mind. An image of my father flashing the same box before my mother's eyes, and her reaction. "I never really loved you". I love him right? I want this. I want this! No one should have to reassure themselves about something like this should they? I love him. I...love...he opened the box before my eyes and they were earrings. I forgot what I was supposed to feel. Then I remembered his cake. And that cherry he topped it with. Earrings. He does love me.

He does love me right? This is love right? I am resisting on instinct. I'm new at all this. I just don't know how to love yet. Just let him kiss you. Kiss him back. Oh, that feels...mmmm...wow...I didn't know that I could feel...mmmm...I just...I just...then I feel that bump. That's the first time he's slipped. That...that wasn't subtle. That wasn't romantic. That was him trying to take a bite of the cake. The cake he had baked for me. I don't think I want this. No. No. "No". He ignored me and brought his arms down and around to my legs. I shouldn't have taken my pants off. I...I...no...no...

I'm not sure how I had lasted that long. As a virgin I mean. No bounds, not restrictions, my mom probably even thought I had been doing it for years. But...that was it. My first time. It was incredible. If I weren't so nervous it might have actually been the best experience of my...oh, man...ha...blood. Angie had said it was like that and...well, at least it's my bed. My bed. My first time, and with someone I really love. I really love him, and he loves m..."I'm gonna go now, baby".
"Wait, what?"
"Um...I have work tonight and, um...I dunno," he pulls up his pants and gives me a chuckle, "I gotta go, baby". Then he laughs. He laughs a laugh that takes me further than my comfort zone can reach. He puts the rest of his clothes on and...and he's gone. I don't know what just happened. What just happened between me and...and that Nester Marquez? He made that cake for himself didn't he? He pretended like it was mine, then he ate it, right in front of me. Right in front of me. Idiot. Idiot.

JUNIOR VARSITY
Once you start, how do you stop? Dancing I mean. My feet hurt like hell and all I can think of is...well...I guess I'm not thinking much. If the beat weren't thumping, if my legs weren't moving, and if I couldn't feel him rising each time I crossed him I would be thinking about the fact that Nester was only a few feet from me with that bitch, Angela. God I hate her...she's such a...oh, there he goes again, his hands, sliding down my waist. Under normal circumstances I would giggle and withdraw. I'm ticklish, if nothing else I'm ticklish. But the mood is making my nerves work differently. His hands, my waist. Hehe. It's working. I'm letting it work. And Angie's giving Nester the same treatment. Bitch. Bastard. I can't believe it. She knew. She knew! I always knew she was just a horny slut. Mmm, okay, I'm ready. I've been perfecting this. Perfect circles. That's what the other girls do. And the guys've all got straight faces but their nutting all over the place. Perfect circles. Hehe. You know, it's more than just the music.

I swear it's not revenge. I don't know revenge. I don't want...well...I can't do revenge. Sure I'm on the dance floor because I saw them get up and go. Sure I pulled him from his seat because I wanted to spar with that bitch. That traitor. My best friend. AGH! My BEST friend. But I'm not one for mean girl-style revenge. Besides, I actually like him. No. Not Nester. I...I hate...I miss...that's not the point. I LIKE this one. I pulled him out of his seat for two reasons, really. And now I'm letting him get to me. He's not smooth like Nester. It took him forever to get it up. Nester's probably been and gone. He's probably been WITH HER! But he hasn't left her. This guy, he's a nice guy. I wonder if he's ever done it before. That would hit the spot. I don't need this stress. Better not grind too hard. I might ruin my chance. Ha. I can't believe I'm thinking this. Okay. There. The song is over. "You likey?" I ask him.
"Hehe, yeah. Hehe. Um, you wanna go for a another one?"
"No. My feet hurt like hell. I need to rest." He looks disappointed. He needs reassurance if I want this to go right. "But next slow song," I put on the sultry smirk, "you have my number, boy." He beams. Of course, just then I spotted them. Behind that stupid cute smile there they were. Walking hand in hand. To spite me. To SPITE me. God. They slipped sluttishly passed him and Angie's eyes caught mine. She smirked, and the smile I had started to fade. His hand. I reached for it, almost instinctively. Defensively. He was surprised so it took him a second to really take it. But as soon as he did I knew. Virgin. He caught sight of them and absorbed a bit of my discomfort. That's what I needed. Friendly osmosis. Nester ignored me with a flawless performance. He had his eyes on one of his buddies during the whole uncomfortable transaction. I love...no. I can't...I...he...

"Mmmm...mmmmm...ohh..."
"You know, this is my first time...and..."
"Don't worry...it's mine too."
"I don't...I..."
"Don't worry. Just..." I clasp my hand around his wrist. He's skinny for an athlete. Junior Varsity. A Senior in Junior Varsity. A Senior that's a virgin. Thank God I'm drunk. I guide his hand to my bare leg, and guide his arm to...oh, "Further up," The Button. Click. "Kiss me". He does. "Mmmm". It starts. Not like Nester, but...no..."John," I say, "Johnny P. Jenkins, work a little harder for me."

THE SHADOW OF DEATH
Johnny P. Jenkins Jr. was who...was WHAT I saw before my eyes. He...IT was lying in a pile of blood...my blood. Goddammit. FUCK. I...I couldn't believe it. Why the hell was I so adamant about it? Shit. "Let me see it". Let me see it, I had said. Fuck. There it was, dick and all. A boy. A mother fucking boy. Just like its fucking fath...no wait...Nester wasn't the...fuck. Shit. What had I done? No. I had to, I just...I couldn't have a baby. I couldn't bring another fucker into this world. Especially not MY fucker. Ha!

"You understand, don't you?" I searched his eyes, not just for the answer, but for meaning, for justification. I fucking well felt like I had murdered someone. Johnny Boy hadn't raped me. He probably fucking well knew it was his kid. I can't imagine what he must have felt the first time he saw me with a flat stomach. Now I was looking to THIS guy for answers. "Was I wrong?"
"It's not about whether you were wrong or not," he said sternly, absolution in his big blue eyes, "You feel guilty. You feel dirty. You feel lost. It's obvious that you're in pain. It's what you do about it that's important. God wants to absolve your guilt, to cleanse your heart, to show you the path you need to take. The soul of the boy that died that day in the clinic is with Christ. He doesn't want to hold you responsible. He wants to forgive you, renew you, give you his love, so that one day you can join him, and your son, in Heaven."
I was bawling. The tears wouldn't stop. How? How could he say that? How could anyone ever make this pain go away? I want...I want Nester. I want him here! By my side to tough it out with!! I don't want some inviso-being with super-spiritual cleaning ability. I want someone to hold me. Wipe my tears. Wipe my tears! WIPE MY TEARS! Please. Just tell me it will be alright.
"It will be alright."
"How!?" I screamed through a stream of liquified suffering, pain, and guilt. He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to me. No. You! YOU, wipe my tears!! I took it and wiped my face. I blew my nose in his face, just to spite him. "How will it be alright?"
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But...but I know it will be. Look, God loves you. He won't let any harm come to you that you don't want yourself. Ask him for help, and he'll give it."
Bullshit. These aren't answers. This is cancer-treatment!! No matter how long I go to fucking church, act fucking pricky and stuck-up, and pray to fucking Go-odd my shit's always going to be in remission, and all I'll need is one thought of Nester, of my first time, that blood, THAT blood...and...and...I might as well just fucking kill myself.
"I love you."
What? I must have looked stunned. He turned the oddest shade of red I have ever seen on a white person. "What did you say?" I asked.
"I...I love you."
No one. Not one man on the planet had said that to me and meant it. What the hell did he expect me to do? He had no plan. Bullshit me about my guilt, bullshit me about God, bullshit me about forgiveness, and now he's bullshitting me with...that look...he...he looks so honest. No. No fucking way. No man has ever loved me and no man ever will. All this is just a sickeningly weak ruse to get me in bed just like every other bastard's tried. This is just the weakest one so far. I love you. Shut the fuck up Christian bitch-faced-mother-fucking-bastard. I hate you.
"No," I said, "no, I can't...I don't feel the same way."
"That's okay." What? "I love you anyway." WHAT? "In fact, I've loved you since the first day I met you." Two months ago? "I...I don't know if I should say this..." Don't. "But I want to spend my life with you." Shut up. "I don't know, but I think that God has destined us to be together." Shut the fuck up. "I love you more than I love life and, well...this is totally weird, but, will you marry me?"
I had never before encountered that level of bullshit. I had never encountered that level of unskillfulness and lack of play before. How could anyone be so stupid? So socially inept to say or even THINK of that? I was flabberghasted. I simply pulled the cord, "stop requested", we stopped, and I walked off the bus without another word to him. I didn't even look back.

Shit. I still have that handkerchief. Shit.

HELL HOLE
I don't ride the R12 anymore. I catch the C16 and transfer to the C20 just to AVOID the R12. Everyday. To get here.
"Hey there beautiful!"
"Hey Boss."
"Oh, don't call me that!"
"Ha, okay." She puts her hand on my shoulder. She looks over my other shoulder at the computer screen.
"How are the numbers looking?"
"Well I was just checking the net. Stock indexes are up. Which is corresponding directly with the boom in sales over the last quarter. I can't believe we've made so much progress over the past two months."
"It's all because of you, babe." Oh, just go ahead and flatter me. "Not a thing we've done has helped us as much as your work, your recommendations. You know, you are an extremely intelligent girl." She's caressing my shoulder and has pulled closer to my face. Her eyes have met mine. They almost look motherly. They've got that little arched lower lid that I've always envied. And they're accented with just enough wrinkles to give away her age. She's young and pretty for a CFO. Then those eyes flicker toward my lips. She bites her own. She's...she's hitting on me.
"Thanks Boss...I...I mean..."
"Don't worry about it. Just remember, call me by my name." I smile nervously and she pulls away. "You know, it's getting late. do you want to go out for a drink? I know this incredible little bar-slash-club just down fifth ave. You want to join me?"
I hesitate. She...she's asking me out. No. I'm hallucinating. I...I... "I...I would love to."

"Guys are the real sluts!" I slur. Five martinis are floating around in my jerky, nauseated stomach. I don't hold my liquor well and I get drunk way too fast. Too fucking thin. "Fucking every ass they see! EVERY FUCKING ASS!! And what do they have? Not an ounce of remorse! Fucktards. All of them." She's on the floor, rolling back and forth. She can't. stop. laughing. It's a fucking riot. I giggle to myself and notice that she's had at least six more drinks than me. She gets up to a kneel and sets her hand on the bar.
"I know! It's the same everywhere! Guys are sluts. Bottom line." She sits on her stool and signals for another drink. She turns to me and looks deep into my eyes with those arched lids. "They don't understand the deep, deep emotional complexity we have. They just don't! It's something about not having PMS."
"HA!" I burst.
"Or a period. All that blood that just transitions from brain to dick, brain, dick. There's no outlet. They don't feel pain. They don't understand what it's really like to love AND lose."
"Yeah. Yeah."
"I don't even think their blood even has time to pass through their shriveled little hearts, it spends so much time in their dicks." She takes a swig and I lose it again. She's so funny. Where...where has she been all my life?
"Where have you been all my life?"
"Right here baby. Right here for you." She puts her arm around my shoulder and looks me in the eyes. I love her. She's so great. I've never met a girl who could understand me like that. We just click. She takes another swig and catches the olive in her mouth. She sets down the glass with perfect elegance. Then. Then she pulls the toothpick from her olive and holds it sexily between her lips. She turns to me and our vibes synchronize. She moves in, I react in perfect harmony. Our lips meet. Our lips part. Slowly at first the olive rolls between our tongues and screams this perfect sort of satisfaction. Why doesn't this happen when I kiss guys? It's that blood thing. It's their focus. They don't want love, they want a climaxing satisfaction. This. This is perpetual. I could do this forever. I COULD do THIS FOR-E-VER. But it slips. It...it slipped. It's caught. It...it...it's caught! I'm choking. She withdraws and searches my eyes urgently. I'm scared she's too drunk to react. I'M CHOKING. My mind screams to her.
"Oh God! Oh God! You're choking aren't you?" I nod. She jumps off the stool and almost slips in her stilettos. She tip-toe-runs behind me and starts the Heimlich. Once! No good. Twice!! That was good! Try it! Try it again!!! I scream with my hands. Three!!! It jumps. But not enough. It's still lodged in my throat. No air. No air. I...I can't breath still! I. CAN'T. BREATHE. Four! I. CAN'T. BREA....Five! BAM!!! It's out!! I scream for air! Air in. Air out. It's in. It's out. It's in. It comes out as a chuckle. She runs in front of me, grabbing my shoulders. There's a look of motherly concern on her face. I chuckle again. Her face changes instantly to a confused half-smile. I'm half-chuckling, gasping for air and finally I get it out.
"Thanks," gasp, "Boss." Her smile disappears.
"That...that's it." She says drunkly. "This has been quite the night. Quite the night. A little bit too exciting for me. No offense...but...yeah...I...I think you're fired."
"What!?"
"Yeah. You're...you're fired." She reaches in her wallet and drops a Benjamin on the bar. "Keep the change."
"You can't fire me! I'm...I'm you're best resource. You can't fire me! I made you who you are!"
Her back is to me. She's walking for the door. "Don't flatter yourself, bitch." She turns her face in my direction. "You...you know what? You owe me your life! Ha! Yeah! It's been fun...but I'm through. I'm through with you."
Bitch! Lip-fucking, half-hearted, gut-wrenching bitch! "You're just like every other guy! You sluuu..!" Oops. There it is. Breakfast, lunch and dinner...and five glasses of the worst martini I've ever had...all over my suit, my skirt, my shoes and the floor. I look up, embarrassed. She just chuckles arrogantly and walks. She walks right out of the door. Right out of my life. I should have known. Angela. That name has never let me down. Angela Crenshaw, CFO, Bitch-Ass Enterprises Incorporated. I'm never drinking alcohol again. Or trusting a girl named Angela for that matter.

APOLOGIZING
It was one of those overly-sentimental mother-daughter moments.
"I'm so proud of you," Please, don't be, "Even after losing little Johnny, getting laid off of your job, and finding out you had that God-forsaken disease, you're still on your feet and making decisions for yourself! Thank you, honey. You're an inspiration to me."
"Mom, I..." I was going to tell her that I didn't have the HIV, but, seeing as I had rewritten my history concerning the other two stories I figured I might as well let her think at least one truly traumatic thing had happened to me. Especially because of the tears. I just LET her be proud for a few minutes. "...I love you."
She did that choked-up grimace and head-shake that always precedes a hug. "I love you too honey!"
As we cuddled, for an uncomfortably long time...over the table, I noticed that one of the waiters at another table was staring at me...once again, for a an uncomfortably long time. He looked familiar. In fact, he struck me with this feeling of deep, heavy nausea. As my mother's hold loosened I realized it was him. R12 boy. The weirdo who had said he loved me. He loved me. I couldn't believe it. THIS was where he works? Mr. High and Mighty with all the answers is a waiter? Welcome to Weird O'Malley's House of Cow Feces, my name is...
"...Andrew, I'll be your waiter today. Would you like something to drink?"
Call it instinct, fear, wigging out...whatever it was, I stood up and left. I did it with my mother watching, with little red-headed Andrew standing there with his pen and pad, waiting to take my order. I don't ever want to see him again. I don't ever want to feel this kind of nausea again. It's worse than the flu. It's worse than food poisoning. Just seeing him makes me want to die in a way that no lesser being than my father himself could. I called a cab, turned off my phone, went home and vomited. I threw up everything I could find in myself to throw up, my lunch, my heart, my memories, my past, my guilt. I wrenched from my self everything that shouldn't be there.
Abstersion.
I purged myself completely of all impurities and I masturbated to the perfect, synchronous, rhythm of Nester. Angel, god, infinite. And I thought of him over and over again until my body wouldn't convulse anymore, until my mind wouldn't imagine anymore, until I was nothing but me and perfection. Me and the only thing infinite. The only thing perfect. Only me and Andrew...ah, Nester! Nester...Nester...shit. It’s hopeless.

A REAL DRUG
Hey, you. Yeah, you. Imagine that the floor is slowly disappearing from beneath your feet. It's not gone yet, just disappearing. Translucent. Just so much that you can see the worm trails and ant mazes that track just below the foundation of your house. See how the worms dance? See how the ants are sniffing the air for drinks? The club of wonders is always beneath your feet. You just have to get in tuned with that plane of existence. Find something to help you level off instead of constantly missing the important parts in between the highs and lows of life. The wind dances and the clouds commune. The waves jump, the currents flow, and the fish party to the beat of a different tune. And I'm pretty sure it's my tune they're dancing to.

I woke up in my sherpa's house in the most serene mood I'd ever been in. And it's not the morning after sex. It was the morning after a sublime round of puff, puff pass with the greatest group of people to ever grace the world with their existence, and bless me with their dharma. "How did you find this place?" you may ask. Well what I learned here is that the how is much less important than the why or the who, or more importantly, what, what you feel like. so I make a specific point not to linger on "how". How is not important, it's the fact that I DID find this place, and that I'm perfectly happy here. Well, almost perfectly.

I was tipped off by one of my fellow serenity engineers that this is not the end all be all psychedelica, nor is it the "best" way to forget past lives, pains, and anguish, but that there is something else that is like a thousand orgasms in every inch of your body, and that it never ends. Every time Nelson or any other memory jumps back into my system I am reassured that WHATEVER THAT is, is what I need. So I pursue it. I find myself asking people I don't know nor care to know "who" and "where" until finally I find "the house". I ring the bell and the intercom chimes to life.
"Who is it?"
"I'm here to fly."
"What’s your call and Song Bird."
"J'taime; Magnifique."
Click. "It's open."
I walk through the cast-iron gate and up the stairs, onto a flat with a dense aroma of incense and myrrh. I know there's a treasure of gold to be found, I can almost taste it. I walk into the room with the most sounds coming from it and find six or seven people sprawled out over the floor in various places around the room. This shit must be good, I think to myself. I spot the shooter, the source of all of these people’s euphoria.
“The greatness sent me.” I told him.
“No shit.” He replied and gestured, “Come here.”
As he waved me over he was in the middle of pouring powder into a spoon and lighting it. He did it all with finesse, impressively, with one hand up until the lighting part. Within the minute the powder was boiling and he grabbed a syringe.
“Hey,” He said, “use this belt and tie up your arm, at the base of your bicep.” By the time I did he had measured up the dose and was about to inject me. He stopped and asked, “First time?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Just keep your eyes closed. That’s the best way.”
The rush began the descent into the most inexplicable of experiences. Instantaneous overload of all senses. Imagine seeing more, smelling more, hearing more, tasting more, and simply physically feeling the perfect combination of undulating pleasure and pain-stricken tingling. No. You can’t imagine it. But that’s what I felt, and I just had to lie down as a result.
I could have done that every day for the rest of my life. In fact I made an honest attempt to.
I found myself a relatively non-violent junky boyfriend, a constant supplier and a flat of my own with months-worth of the best incense this side of the Caribbean. At some point in my hallucinating daze I made an attempt to call my mother. I gave her my address and phone number and another day passed. Or maybe a week, or a month. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a year. But I guess it could have been. Either way I found myself dirt poor, dirt-Y, and just generally miserable. It had been too long since my last fix and I hadn’t had human contact since the day my boyfriend left for New York. Little did I know, this would be the perfect set up for an entirely different kind of set up.

OVER DOSE
What’s happening. This can’t be real. I just. I did everything right. He’s just watching me. This feels...this doesn’t feel good. Please...please....sirens. Sounds. Everything. Nothing. Alone....alone....I’m.......