Ozzie Fitch: Chapter 14
Week later. Two weeks. We chant. We all show, ‘cuz we’re a circle.
Darla dresses to the nines for it. I laugh at her, it’s only Cindy. She sticks out her sexy tongue at me. I imagine my lips wrapped around it.
Go to the digs. Door opens and I flop on the couch. Darla reclines, as always, letting silky silk fold and slip up her leg. Dressed to nines, but no care. Sexy that. Binny is sitting there in his cloud, Leon on the floor, facing the ceiling like it’s painted.
Cindy, Cindy’s sitting there all tight and straight. Knees up and feet together. Hands clasped like prayer. Bouncing. Looking at the door, like there’s something coming. Excited? Afraid? Oz doesn’t know.
Ribber’s not here yet. We wait.
“Got a stick?” I ask. Binny, real sage, tosses me one of his. I take out my lighter and watch the flame a moment before I sip the stick. Darla holds out two fingers. I slip it between.
“Sizzling already?” Cindy yaps. Looks at us all hurt like. What’s her problem? I point to Leon after taking back the stick from Darla. He’s sizzling away, mouth half open, eyes half closed.
Cindy shifts, bringing knees up tighter. Hands hug stomach like aches. Wonder if she might throw up, if she’s nervous like. Got to have nerves, I’m sure. Scary, right? Like putting herself out there, making everyone do something and worried we gonna judge. Like we’d put a number on it. Scorecards.
Brain pops once. Small stick, moist with lick paper. Makes it smooth. Tinkling in the distance. No harm. Hand it to Darla’s waiting mouth.
Binny heaves a sigh, blue bubbles into the room. Hiss of steam. Bubbles dance and sing, gentle like. Background music. Musak. All calm and relaxing. I let my head lean back and feel the tiny pops and hisses float up from below.
Darla giggles, keeps taking my stick. Wonder what she’s hearing, she’s listening to.
“Where’s Ribber?” Cindy’s anxious. Should really sizzle a little, calm herself.
Binny gives a shrug. Leon doesn’t move. “Off having a roll?” Darla giggles through bright red fuck-me lips. She’s probably right, but I don’t say anything. Nothing to say. Just want to listen.
“Got a stick?” Leon moans from the floor.
“We gotta chant!” Cindy snaps. Anxious. Should sizzle. “Don’t fry yourself now!”
“Just a stick,” Leon mutters around the white shaft in his mouth. Fumbles with his lighter, and dilates. Darla giggles. I toss one to Cindy, ‘cuz she should relax. Pop a few bubbles in her brain, feel the relax.
She drops it. Gives me a look. Hurt like. Not angry, hurt. What’s her problem?
She gets up and goes to the kitchen. A bang here and there breaks up the popping sizzle. Rude. She comes back with a cup of water. Drinks it, sets it on the ground. Binny keeps breathing, all heavy like. She can’t stop bouncing. Hard to focus on the pops.
Hour? Maybe less. Cindy huffs like a train, throws herself on the ground. “Fine. We chant.”
“No Ribber?” Leon blinked halfway.
“He not here, we chant without him.” Cindy’s jaw all firm. “Don’t need him.”
“Need seven,” Binny says, shifting in his chair. Smiling, but uncomfortable like.
“Not like this,” Cindy says. “Oz, we chant with three in the park, yeah?”
What did she want to go and say that for? Now Darla’s looking at me like I done something wrong. Never cheated on her, I swear.
“It’s your chant,” I shrug. Darla’s still looking at me. I take a sip of the stick, and smile at her. Let her know it’s all okay.
“Seven’s better,” Binny says, but doesn’t say no. Cindy, she doesn’t say anything. She sits in the middle of the floor and holds out her hands. She’s like a Buddha, sitting there. An angry Buddha with a chubby face and firm lips, spiky hair like a porcupine. All proper.
“We come together?” she asks.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. She said it, exactly the way Binny says it. It’s funny because it’s cute. Leon grins and slides to the floor. I do too, because it’s polite.
We’re all on the floor now, seated in a circle. Almost like normal. I look at Darla. She’s smiling. Acting into it. Binny just sits there, expectant. Like what’s next? We know what’s next.
“I come with a chant,” she says. Doesn’t get to the next bit before I snicker. I bite my lip. Leon, he gives me a nudge. Hard like, but know he was joining the joke, all funny like. The nut. Cindy, she keeps right on going. Doesn’t even look. Starts the chant up proper.
Holds out her hands. Binny, he just stares. Me, I take Cindy’s hand, because I’m nice. Hold Darla in the other. Skin’s firmer, but smoother. Rub with my thumb, like brushing off dirt. Leon joins in, Binny, he just sits and smiles.
Cindy talking now, friendly like. Says there’s people out there who have hard times. Across town, people we don’t even see. People like us. Says even the outliers have a system, and it hurts people.
It’s cute, like it almost matters. Says its not the system, but the grid that’s the problem. Says we can’t just jump in the gutter, we gotta change the gutter too. We can’t make a gutter-grid. Some choose layabout life. Says there’s some who don’t. Everyone needs help, she says. We can help. Binny waits and watches. Sees what’s next, like he doesn’t know. Darla’s brow all furrowed, while Leon rocks back and forth. I bite my lip. Think she’s wrong. Thinking gutter-grid, all back and forth like a net. Gutter’s no net. What she want to say that for?
Cindy starts the chant, and I watch Darla. She’s trying, she is. Truth. We all join in. Binny smiles, sage like. Me, I try for a bit before off to the kitchen for a drink. Open bag of chips on the counter. Pop a few in to keep the salt savory on my tongue. Come back in and sit down, try to get back in it. I try, I really do.
Binny keeps smoking. I look around. Leon’s sizzling, not all there, right? Darla smiling, like she don’t believe it. Gonna giggle any time now, I’m sure. I give her a nudge, keep her quiet like, but she squeeks like she wasn’t expecting it. Try to keep her quiet and she squeeks. Figure that.
Cindy, she just keeps chanting. Louder. Harder. Like she really believes it’s going to work. Eyes shut tight, she keeps going long after I’ve stopped. We all stopped, right, and a tear rolls down her cheek.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask.
She looks at me then, red rimmed eyes. “Keep chanting!”
“Why you yelling at me for?” I ask. Not like anyone else was chanting. I could tell, even though Darla and Leon had their eyes closed. Leon was sizzling and Darla was just being nice. She was giggling.
Cindy stood up then, hits me hard on the arm. It hurts pretty bad, but I’m more confused than angry. What she hitting me for?
That’s it. That’s the end of it. Cindy glares at us all, and storms down the tiny hallway to the back. Gonna cry, maybe, gonna fume. Maybe just sizzle for a bit. Who knows. What did she expect?
I look at the others. They all confused.
Hundred truth, I don’t know what she suspected.
Stars are bright that night. Staring up from the fire-escape. Smoking. Quiet, or as quiet as Upper West ever gets.
Stars are like static, but quieter. Not moving. Sad, like. They say that’s where the static comes from. Background radiation from the universe. Echos of ancient supernovas. Long dead.
I like the quiet, sometimes. Feels lonely, but that can be good. Like closing your eyes but still stuff to look at.
“Bum a stick?”
I only have a few left. Give him one anyway. Leon takes it with two fingers, scissor like. Has his own lighter. Sucks in the air like a child, barely hear it. Tiny puffs like daffodils. I show him how it’s done.
Leon climbs out onto the escape with me. Wish he wouldn’t. Like to be alone. Lonelylike. Quiet. Feel him there like a rock in a lake. Pushing the air away. Not my spot anymore. Ours.
“Well,” he says. Just that. ‘Well.’ Like it tells me anything. Like he had a reason to say it. Puzzle for Old Ozzie, have to tease out what he wants. Like I have the time.
So I don’t answer. Puff instead. Let the smoke out in ringlets of white shadow.
They say dusk is transition, but I don’t think that. Why is day and night the two signposts? Dusk and Dawn, they’re the real time. Day, night, time passes. Things happen. You go places, you see things, you talk. Dance in clubs. Sit on the road. Catch a nap. Things.
Dusk, nothing happens. Just sit and watch. Maybe chant; Binny likes chanting at dusk. Says it tastes different. I just chant whenever. Usually sizzle a bit, don’t end up chanting til sundown.
“What’s happening?” Leon asks, blowing a tiny cloud. His hands are shaking. What did I think? I can’t think. Trying to think, aren’t I? Can’t with the nut breathing the air next to me. Take a deep puff. He doesn’t notice.
Waiting for an answer. Had to give him one so he’d look the other way. “’s fine,” I said.
“Yeah. Fine.” Leon took another puff. Didn’t think it was fine. I didn’t either. What was her problem? It had all been so wrong. Something in the air. Or she used the wrong paper.
I hated how it made me feel. Like I was wasting time. Then she gets sad, like we weren’t being serious. How could we be serious? Like anything serious apart from the chant, like holding hands mean anything.
The chant is what matters.
Siren rang somewhere. Sounded bad. You can tell, sometimes, if you chant. Harmonics. Overtones. Subtleties. Sometimes, you just know.
Leon, the nut, smiles at me like he’s just through of something funny. Before I breathe, smile’s gone again. He looks away and takes another shaky puff. “You ever think about running a circle?”
Sure I have. Always have. Old Oz knew how to do it right. Could make it work so much better. “I don’t know,” I said, taking a puff.
“I have. Big world out there, yeah? And we’ve got the key. Gotta wonder how you’d use it, right?”
“Share,” is my answer. “And share alike.”
“That’s right,” Leon inhales deep this time. “That’s right.”
Didn’t push away, then. Didn’t call him a nut and tell him to shut up. Did I want a bit of what Leon was selling? Ads don’t affect old Oz, but, truth, was starting to feel dusty. Brush off the sleeves, right? Do something new. Time to find a new circle or something.
But didn’t want a new circle. Didn’t much like Cindy, but knew her. Liked Binny and Ribber. Leon was okay. And my Darla, well, you don’t throw out what’s still good.
“What are we doing here?” He asked, filling the air with half-breathed smoke. Almost scared-like. “I mean, what are we really doing here?” Leon’s a nut. Always trying to be cool, to fit in, to be liked. Nut of a guy, trying to make people laugh with bad jokes. Always smiling, like world isn’t shit. Chant-slave, fixing every nail with a hammer.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Chanting.”
“But what for?” Leon didn’t quit. He never quit. “I mean, what are we really chanting for?”
Leon was such a nut. “I don’t know,” I said. “She must have wanted something.”
“No, not Cindy. I mean why? I mean why chant at all? Why don’t we go out and do things? What are we chanting for?”
Almost spit my stick out. For! Who did he think he was? We were? Took an even deeper pull, then. Didn’t blow out at first. Wanted to hold it in for a bit. Feel the burning in my lungs. Keep it mine.
“Everyone’s got problems,” Leon sniffed. Hands shook like anything. I don’t know why he didn’t drop his smoke, I swear. “Everyone. You, sure, me…Cindy too, right? Everyone need help.”
Used to think like that. Thought I’d teach the chant to kids, like a school. Get them in rows. Clap together. Cute like.
But not everyone can chant. Even if they could, what would be the point? If everyone chanted it’d be the cogs and sheep all over again. Do the thing, get the thing. Gutter all the Glitty, and no place for Old Oz.
Didn’t argue, though. Didn’t want to argue. Let Leon think what he wanted. Not concerned, was old Oz. Why not? Let him mutter and rant if it made him feel good.
“Feels like doing something,” Leon took another puff. “Wouldn’t that be grand? Looking at a fucking parade and saying ‘I did that.’ Like magic makes the world better.”
“Enough politics,” I say. Didn’t like what he was saying, but couldn’t stop listening. Didn’t want to go inside. It was my outside. He was the one who should have left.
“Not politics,” Leon shoves his elbow into mine. It hurts. “Chant. Big world out there, and we sit around smoking and sizzling. It’s like, we got this bomb, right? Changes anything. Everything. We’re not supposed to horde. Share and share alike, right?”
Would have been nice, I thought. Everyone knew old Oz, truth, but not everyone. Chanters knew old Oz. Gutters were Oz’s home. Liked living to the nines in a gutters flop. Had the people who saw, knew the people who were. The cogs and the sheep, they didn’t know Oz. He hid behind the curtain.
“That’s the point,” Leon said. “Even when they don’t know it, we chant for them.”
Saw what he meant, then. Didn’t want to admit it, but the nut had a point. The chant touched everyone. Everything. The world was held in its gentle net. The cogs, the shambling dusted, they needed us. Their world would fall apart without us, chanting to keep it going. Except we weren’t, were we?
“Do you think Binny would be okay with that?” Knew he wouldn’t be. Not ‘cuz it was wrong, ‘cuz it was Leon. Binny didn’t like Leon one bit. Still don’t know why.
Do something big. Spread it wide, touch the even the stars above. China. Russia. Brazil. Australia. All those placed you’ll never see. Send ripples on wings of breath to the far corners of the earth. Nice. Feels good, the power. Know it’s all on the tips of fingers.
“I mean, that’s the point of chanting, isn’t it? It’s to make things different. It’s the change, yeah? No change means dust. That’s all the cogs out there, too afraid or stupid to make change. They just keep walking back and forth. Turning in place. Dust settles, but we don’t dust, do we?”
“Hundred truth,” I took a puff.
“Right,” Leon took another shaky puff. “So why aren’t we changing things?”
Leon took a last puff and dropped the stick to the street below. Not flick, like smooth, but nervous. Took the stick in all his fingers like a flute, and held it out like passing a torch. Looked at it a moment, then opened his fingers and let the stick fall. Popped all sparkly when hit concrete.
Like a fiery flower, a gentle explosion. Sparks and flashes. Vanishing again into the darkness.
Leon, the nut, rubbed his legs like he was cold, before he kicked his legs around, tapped my shoulder. “Just something to think about, right?”
I’d think about it. Not like I hadn’t before. Leon, the nut, wanted to bring the grid down on us all, straighten our lines. Hated the system, Leon, but thought if we wake everyone up…
He thought straight lines could be used. Not burn it all down, make it part of our own. Binny was a sage, but he sat. Leon, he wanted to run like a river.
Take a puff, tab on tongue, down the stomach hatch it goes. Open your eyes and the head aches. No escaping it. Not a bad try. Spins a bit, then dries the eyes. Blink a lot. Black on black, flicker, like strobe.
Rub fingers on it, flash of color on press. Bloop into slurry. Dreary Thimbles, sobbing clamor. Clang clang in the pan. Rattle bones. Solid turn to mush now a puddle on the floor.
Pieces of key rings flashing in the eyes. Taken fast and hard in the ear. Lifting the head PIP off the shoulders that carry heaviness as a burden for the sheeply cattle of man and woman across the ocean swirling and tiny barges of rotten bark and branch.
Floating briskly down the rainbow path dancing lights making marry in the brain, trapping in chains and forcing eyes open — away from respect and hopeful joy. Break free with harsh fuel and POP burning liquid flame. Mist the mind and blur the eyes so the chains dissolve with the thoughts that crawl like sludge.
Picking pieces of grit up PENG with tweezers, symbol of mirth. scraping away kicks with leather straps waved in front of potential friend’s stomach.
Muttonchops and purple derby hats.
Anything to break the pathway open to stride through sweetly. Brushes of lather that make for clean letters but small words, chipping away at the stone with a chisel, years for a single thought. Ah! That’s gum!
Scraping and pinpricks under the chin, never as clean or smooth as it should be. Dance the mind thought rain and bubbling. Squeeze thoughts toothpaste out of tubes and tunnels, cauliflower POP crunching SNAP in leftover red cartons. Healthy and meatless, tasting of paper — clean and carved with black lines.
Awake and stumbling.
Harsh throat.
Drifting with pain in the nose and yearning for warm clouds. Walking the path, hoping the city lies at the POP end, but never seeing it get closer. Singing while walking, wondering where the guides are, hunting for shells and shards of signs and polished glass, until the mist can rise, and clarity reigns. Spinning POW through stars and muddy waves of cloth and angles, seeking other ways of unknown flowing days.
There in lies the broiling fumes that curl around hair and flinging dirt. Dancing through ears, always dancing. Torn apart POP with raging clutching at the ground to throw through the cutting air. Unfair calls with reverberating echoes that pierce bones like ZING needles, while sparks and flashes of unseen dreams burst in the hollows of the eyes.
Sizzling away, in the hollows of the eyes.
Breathe in the static.
Ssssss.
Static in the air.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Feels so good.
When the sizzling stops, then I can see the world differently. It’s like those optical illusions; two faces or a chalice? You can’t ever see both at once, two people pressing themselves against the copper, pushing until there is only the smallest separation between them and the cup. Until all difference is negligible.
It’s like that. When the brain sizzles, I can see the world through all its windows. I can see the system, and what’s outside it.
Then I come down, and I lose it all. The brain quiets, the chant fades, and it’s all so inscrutable. Curtains and dividers, it’s all the lines on the emptyspace.
That’s my word for it. Emptyspace. Where there’s nothing, because we’ve learned not to look there.
But there’s so much there, really. Truth. All the things we ignore because we don’t want it to be. Things we don’t have words for. Things we can’t name. Things that can’t exist when the brain doesn’t sizzle.
That is the chant. Reaching the impossible, Living among the illusion that you don’t have to come down. You can stay there, in perfection, as long as you don’t look down. Like the Coyote. Cartoon logic. When you dream, you can fly until you’re falling. Then you fall until you fly. When do you wake up?
I hate coming out of the sizzle. All the grime and dirt, all the gravity, nothing is like how it should be. All separations, all divisions, all lines.
That’s what the system does, it keeps the lines in everyone’s mind. It builds walls, it defines shapes. You and me, because we is too dangerous. That’s how we fight the system, we chant together.
Then the walls come back. The curtain falls. Take a bow. But the system, where is it? Never wanted it. Kicked it to the curb. Spat on it. Not there. Where did the walls come from?
Where else? Hate coming out of the sizzle. Gotta face it then. Gotta realize. No system. No cogs. No dust. Walls, curtains, hiding in the emptyspace. You gotta face it that maybe it’s, everything, it’s all your fault.
Fuck, I need a cigarette.
Climb back in. What time is it?
Everything’s dark. Snoring from the back. Binny, most like. Ribber on the couch. Cindy on the floor. Find my smokes, only one left. Darla took some, I bet. Or Ribber, he’s always stealing my smokes. Not even a real chanter.
So damn thirsty.
Open my stash. Little tin box. Got a Kabbage. Worthless. Worse than nothing. Light it up anyway.
Darla nearby? Don’t see her.
Fuck I need to piss. So thirsty.
Head pounding. Not a good sign. Pain comes after all the time, but in the head it’s a bad trip. Something missing.
No lights on outside. Want to sleep.
Mattress in the back. Leon maybe has it. Maybe Darla.
Stagger back, don’t turn on lights. Snoring don’t stop old Oz.
Lie down next to the mattress. Not Leon. Not Darla. Just a lump of flesh and clothing breathing next to me. Blood and guts in a bag of meat. Not Darla.
Sleep. Everything. Everything vanishes.