Ozzie Fitch: Chapter 15
“Hey, Oz.” Cindy waved from the steps where she sat.
Walking, I was. Clear the head. Some day later. How much? Hundred truth I don’t remember. Week, maybe. Probably. Things get fuzzy when you chant. Time, what is time? Doesn’t matter. Chant to chant and sun to moon, you keep moving.
Gone to get a new pack of smokes. Had a lighter in my pocket. Felt good, gripped in my hand. Piece of paper too, just in case. Walking down the street outside Binny’s place.
Didn’t just walk, usually. Found a spot and sat. Walking, there’s no time to look. No time to see. Just move on past and let it all drift by your brain. Movement, like undusted, but not. Cogs walk. Chanters sit.
But just wanted to walk. Don’t know why. Feel like I’m doing something instead of sizzling all the time. Get ideas for a chant. Smell a new smell. Find something new.
Didn’t want something new. Could have chanted for new, suppose. Maybe not.
Looked at Cindy, then. Two fingered wave. Barely hello. Wave back, because Oz is like that. Nice.
“How’s it going?” Polite like. Know the answer, things never change. Still angry. Could tell. Looking off like bitter lemon. Sour grape. Better, still angry.
“You hear about Ribber?” She asked as I got nearer.
“Darla inside?” I ask before pulling out a smoke. I light it, and take a big puff while she holds out her hand. I give her one, hold the lighter. She puffs too, and we share the smoke.
“Haven’t seen,” she shrugs. “Not my job. Your squeeze, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.” She is. Wanted to see her for some reason. Arms ached. Hungry like. Needed a fix from my darling, make me feel good. Not a roll, sometimes don’t want a roll. Just be there, yeah? Soft like. Talk. Really talk.
“Haven’t seen her it a while.” Cindy blows again. Shifts and leans forward, like she got a secret. Flicks ash on the concrete, salt like. Seasoning the passing feet. “Hey, you hear about Ribber?”
Me, I never hear about Ribber. Haven’t seen since he didn’t show at her chant. “Nah.” Always talks, Ribber. Tells us about this girl or that girl. Lies, mostly. Puffs himself up like puffy jacket.
Cindy puffs. “In the hospital.” Tone all calm, like weather. Just a nod. Cock of head. No big. Shakes sadly like a shame.
I take a puff too. “Truth?”
“Hundred truth.” She leans back again, letting her elbows scrape the concrete steps. Leans back like washing hair. Chest forward. Looking up to the sky, like answers there or something. She puts the smoke to her mouth and holds it there, not puffing. Just holding.
“What the hell for?” Me, I’m loud. Shocked like. “I mean what the hell is he there for?”
Cindy just shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. “Got beat all to hell, I guess.” Takes another puff, like she doesn’t care at all.
“That why he not at the chant?”
“What chant?” She says, like she doesn’t know. Been a while, like a month, but she knows. She bitter. I know she bitter. Have to be bitter, because she feel bad about hating Ribber for not showing. Even a month ago.
“Someone beat him?”
“Don’t know.” Cindy shrugged.
“Boyfriend.” It was Binny that said that, stepping out of the building and joining Cindy on the steps with his pipe and two bottles of beer. He handed one to Cindy. “Heard from Poppy. Says Ribber put the moves on a girl at the Square. Boyfriend was nearby, didn’t like it.”
Never been in a fight, me. What’s the point? Someone comes and raise a fist, just step aside. No problems. Never worth it, is it? Someone wants it that bad, can always get a different one. “What the hell is wrong with him,” I asked.
Cindy shrugged. “I don’t know. I know he’s in the Hospital.”
Binny’s dilated eyes met mine. He opened his mouth again, all sage and mountain. “Ribber got it right. See, that’s the real chant. Chants for sex all the time. Wants the sex, then looks for it. Hunts it down, like he dies without it. Food. Shelter. Sex. The base of our existence. You know Dark Magic, well, it’s not dark, his chanting. He wants, he needs, he chants for himself, and then starts running. Always running, our Ribber. Chants for what he’s never had, and then has faith. Never against. Never thirsty. Always true to himself.”
Binny closes his mouth. Closes his eyes. Breathes deep and tilts his head back like he’s watching the sky. All zen like, smoke and mountaintop. He’s done now, said his piece. Just sit there and simmer, sleep like. We watch the sky too, for a bit, Cindy and me. Me, I take time.
Ribber in the hospital. Wow. Takes some thinking. Ribber always giggles, bounces like rubber. Tries to be all big, like a real chanter. Tries to get us to think he’s special. Him in the hospital. Wow.
I take another puff. “Which one?”
Takes a while for Cindy. “Which what?”
“Hospital.” Natch. What did she think? Could have been sizzling, lightly. Maybe not all paying attention.
“Saint Luke. You gonna see him?” She looks at me then. Curious, perhaps. But eyes all dead, not sizzling at all. Not seeing Old Oz, not really. Saying what had to be said, code like. Wanted Oz to think she’s nice.
Took a deep puff. Didn’t want to play, me. “Nah.” Let her sit on that. Ozzie not going to get caught in guilt. No net pulling Old Oz down.
Keeps looking at me. “You should.” Dead eyes. Deep like. Something in there, but not looking to close, me. That’s private. Means something but not going to tell me. Why they be secret like that? Just say what you think. No, gotta hide, keep it secret from everyone else. Hide it from everyone to keep it safe. If she told me, I could have answered her. What her question really was. If she told me, I could have chanted the way she wanted me to. But no, they try to keep you out. Scared of me, I guess. Frightened I might do something wrong. She’ll never tell me what I did wrong.
Didn’t say it. Not nice. Took a puff instead. “Don’t like hospitals.” Truth. I don’t.
Cindy smirked. “No one likes hospitals.” Also truth.
Why do we all hate hospitals? They’re places to get better, right? What’s wrong with getting better?
“Can’t,” I say. “Got plans.”
“Looking for Darla?” Binny speaks.
“Yeah,” think quick. “Can’t visit, going shopping with Darla.” She never ask. I never want to go. Doesn’t matter. This time, I want to go. Got a reason. Hate hospitals.
“Okay,” Cindy says. She doesn’t need excuse.
Give it anyway. “Can’t visit. Would, but got plans.”
Cindy, she just looked at me. After a moment she shrugged again, and leaned back, looking up at the sky. Chest forward. Puffed in the air like a smokestack. Binny, he kept his eyes closed, though his chin was now on his chest.
Shopping. Darla calls it browsing.
See, the thing about the system, is you need green.
Getting green is easy, if you walk the grid. Up and down the streets, back and forth, home to office to food to shop to home to office back and forth and ebb and flow and all on straight lines and right angles. Good little cog. Let the dust settle.
In the gutter, green is harder. Still easy, but harder. You can chant for it, Darla sometimes did, though she didn’t need to. That’s why I loved her. She chanted when she didn’t need to, because the chant was everything.
Cindy chanted for green too. Leon never did, the nut. He always chanted against things. Ribber chanted for sex.
You can find green, or do a small job, a bit, a gig, a something small to keep food in your stomach. I had a job, but quit a while ago. Where did I get green? Borrowed from Darla, sometimes. Took from dropped wallets, find a card and I use it until it doesn’t work. That sort of thing. Work quick can get a few meals out of it before it’s done. Most of the time, shared with others. That’s the gutter. If you have, you share. That’s the chant.
Borrowed from Darla sometimes. She knew how to share. She knew how to save, too. Didn’t spend green when she didn’t need to. Sometimes, Darla looks at me, with those eyes, and asks, “I’m going browsing.”
That’s what she calls it. Browsing. Not going shopping. She goes to the mall and walks back and forth, looking in at different stores. Always a laugh, browsing. Might make for a fun time, so this time I come along. Since she asked. Can’t go to the Hospital.
Upper West has a good mall. Lots of stores. Lots of glit.
Glit is like grit. Grit is hard, and so is glit. But glit, you don’t have to look for. Glit is the shine that everyone is after. Peacock feathers. Shouting and jangling keys. It’s like the score for the Glitty. The more shine, the higher up. That’s how cogs think.
I say shine, glitter…no, it’s not the light that glitters and shines. Not all gems and gold. Silk glitters too. Expensive cars, phones, haircuts, suits, it all glitters, whether the light flickers or not.
Not even expensive. Right? Like the more green it cost the better? Nah. It’s the shine that matters. Spend everything on a car, don’t mean a thing unless it glitters. Gotta catch the eye, be seen, be looked at. People think you’re special when you’re seen. That’s the count for you. Nines don’t always look beautiful, they just gotta be looked at. Gotta want it. Enjoy it.
Darla, my darling, she dressed up to the nines every time we went browsing. She knew, she look like she don’t need it, they don’t see it. So we walk, sometimes together, sometimes apart. Don’t like cramping her style. Some stores, they stare if we together, so we part.
She likes Bejeweled the best. Nice store. Plenty of glitter, and the girl behind the register is always bored. Never paying attention.
We never stop by first. Always somewhere else, first. Like holding off the best part. Eat the bad colors first. Stop by the candy store to smell the sugar, then swing by the food court for a bite. See the tight shirts in the short skirts. I look, even with Darla. I can’t help it. They want me to look, right? Else why they buy in? Ads. They sometimes work, even on Old Oz.
Sometimes, I talk with the shop. Other times, I wait outside. Or I lurk. Fun to lurk. Just stand there, finger things, look around, put them back. Makes them nervous. Think I’m lifting. Never look at Darla.
After a quick spin, drop in at Bejeweled. Fun store. Everything shines. Darla takes her time in Bejeweled. Other places, it’s a job. Here, it’s fun. She tries things on, looks in mirrors, plays like she might buy in.
But she doesn’t. She never buys in. That’s why I love her so much. Ran from the subs, her glitty life, her glitty friends, her glitty family. I like that a lot.
She bites her lip, furrows her brow. Just so expensive. Maybe next time. Come back later. Think on it. Waves goodbye, with a smile, never notice what’s in her pocket.
Then it’s off to the bathroom for a quick roll. Always gets the heart beating, browsing. Blood pumping, and I see her there all shiny clean with fuck-me lips and soft smooth skin. I need to touch. I need to taste. I push her into the stalls and she shows me what she got. In other stores, always expensive. In Bejeweled, always shiny. I kiss her hard, and she squirms under me. Never take too long, sometimes have to leave before we start.
That’s okay. We head to her apartment just the same. Lay it all out. Going to be a good night.
By the time we reach her room, it’s hard to get the door open, I’m kissing her sweet neck. She squirms under my tongue, key at the lock.
It’s Darla’s aparment. I had an apartment, once. Couple months. Year, maybe. Tiny as hell. Didn’t like it very much, but it was mine. Stayed there for a year before I learned how to keep by head above the surf. Sleep wherever I want to, now. I know people. I know the gutter. I got couches for days. Hundred truth. Don’t need Darla to sleep, but nice, sometimes. It’s bright and clean. Bigger than any I’ve been in. Cleaner than Binny’s. No problem. She’s so perfect, I can’t imagine her anywhere worse. Like sleeping in roses.
Door finally opens, she slips in, lips grin at me, get me all excited.
Two rooms. One with a kitchen, a couch, a table. One with a bed, a desk, a mirror, and two doors. Bathroom and closet, natch. Small. Cheap. Clean. Not nothing. We go straight to the bed. Both of us. Don’t roll, not yet, but going to. Like savoring. Kissing and licking and feeling so good, the sweat and heart rate coming and going.
She pulled away from me, then. Smiling all coy. “Gonna dress for you,” she says, like I need a show. But she likes it, so I let her. She crawls off the bed and grabs. Opens her bag. Dumps it all next to me. Dragon horde. See it all, now. Like celebration. Bit of everything. Got perfume. Got pencils. Got smokes. Got a buckle. Got a cheap plastic ring. Got a lighter. Got all sorts.
Brushes her hand through it, like fingers in a river. Haul shifts and slides aside. Picks up the earrings and goes to the mirror. I watch as she holds them up.
“Gonna throw it?” I ask.
Doesn’t answer, my darling. Picks up lighter and smokes. Pulls one out. Lights it. Smokes and blows. Smells like leather and spice.
I pull one too. Light it. Blow it. Put it out in the ash tray. Like licking it. Marking territory. Use it once and throw it away. That’s no respect.
Darla, she keeps smoking. Goes back to mirror with cheap ring and perfume. Tries them on. Watches them. Looks, really looks at them.
I got up from the bed, and moved the wastebasket. She ignored it. Kept looking at the shine in her mirror.
All the glit, the glimmer, the white picket, it caught her by the cheek. Knew it, then. Bought the ads. All shimmer and shine and she was looking.
“Toss it,” I said.
She didn’t move. Sprayed perfume and took a sniff. Rubbed lotion on her hands. Smiled at herself, with fire red passion on her lips. Those lips I loved, she smiled at her shiny self.
Picked up the trashcan again and walked back to the bed. Picked up the packet of pencils and felt the packaging in my hands. Gripped tight. Dropped with a clang. Reached for the smokes next. Lighter next. Clang clang clang.
“What the fuck?” I turn and Darla’s looking at me, now. Eyes all furrowed. Confused, not concerned.
“Why you buying in?” I ask. Feel hot. Neck burning. Pick up the buckle and clang it goes. “You dusting out?”
“Fuck I’m dusting!” Darla stands up, hands on hips. Pouty. Looks all cute and wants to roll. Heart beating fast.
I’m not ready yet. I’m still mad. “You glitting up.” I point to her ring, her bracelet, her necklace. All shine. All glit.
“You like my shine yesterday,” she points a finger. Red tipped. Glossy. “You call it buying in then?”
“Wasn’t for you, was it?” She really not see the difference? She dress up for me, that’s one thing. She dress to the nines to make them all look, that’s one thing. She dress because she’s my Darling Darla, laughing at the cogs as she catches their cheeks with golden hooks, that’s one thing. Jokes are funny. When it’s serious, it makes me mad.
She laughs. Hands back on hips and shakes her head. “Oz, you really are a wiz.”
Not letting her get away with it, but she’s smiling. Want to shout. Can’t. Not at darling Darla.
Thing is, I hate it when she doesn’t throw it away. Why? Don’t know. Why should she get it, all the shine? She hate the system or no? If she fights it, why does she get the shine? I don’t get it, so I left it all behind.
When I see her with shine on her lips, on her neck, on her fingers, I wonder. She’s been playing Oz for a fool. Never really jumped feet first. Just a tourist. Wanted to see the gutter for fun. Not live it. Not breathe it. Takes not to fight, but because she just doesn’t want to pay her dues. That who she is?
Then she smiles, and I know she’s not. “Oz, you’re here.” Like that makes it better. Old Oz doesn’t buy no ads. I hate the glit. She knows I do. Dressing to nines when there’s no one else here, why bother?
Then I think. I get it. She hates the grid, but she wants the grid. All the gilt, she still wants it. Maybe she wants everyone to have it, all wearing silk and smell and glittering in the dark. She want everyone to have champaigne, like its not part of the system. Like we all get gilt and singing and dancing and holding hands. Like the pain isn’t real.
She really think she needs to hook me. Hide herself from me. I want to see. Like to see. Look at the real her, the gutter, the miserable, not the smiley laughey darling. All the cake and shine just a mask. I want the real her, the real her, without the smiling and the masking and the pretending and the joy and the fake.
Want her sad? No. But I’d know it was real.
I threw down the wastebin, clang. Sat on the bed. Wanted to think. Smell something other than perfume. Wanted to sit and listen.
I wasn’t looking, but I heard a drawer. She rummages around in some paper and then comes over to the bed. “Hey, wanna sizzle?” Opens her palm and there’s two small cartoon dogs. Smiling. Big open eyes and long lolling tongues, like best friend. Doggies are good tags.
Didn’t want to sizzle. Didn’t want static. Didn’t want to see everything, because everything hurt. Didn’t like the white walls and two rooms. Smelled so clean, not a spot of Oz anywhere. Darla’s place. Darla’s place where there weren’t no Oz. Here all along. Not packaged in a Styrofoam carton, not waiting for me. There all the same. Could have found it, if I looked.
I shook my head, and she closed her nails over the smiling doggies, locking them away in jailbar fingers.
“Wanna roll?” Darling Darla, with her fuck-me lips and high heels and smooth skin. I wanted to roll. Shook my head anyway. Not that easy, I thought. Old Oz wasn’t going to roll for just anything.
She sat next to me, draping smooth fingers on my arm. Cool. Nice. Still smelled, but cool. Smooth as glass, even through the grit. Darling Darla, god I wanted a roll.
“Wanna chant?”
Looked up then. She smiled. “Yeah? Just us two. Chant for whatever you want.”
Wanted a roll. Wanted love. Wanted luck. Wanted lots of things. But you can’t chant for want. Can’t chant against. That’s thirsty. That’s dark. Ozzie never chants no dark magic.
Just the two of us together? Never done that before. I’m worried, truth. Don’t know why, but I know we can’t chant together. That’s a line, right? A line we never crossed. Two can be a circle. Nothing to it. Not special. Just a circle. But I don’t want to chant with just Darla. Something wrong with that. Don’t know what.
“Well?” She asks with those lips, those eyes. I nod.
Set up right there on the bed. Found the right things in her apartment. Used the things she took. Used the lighter. The smokes. Had a use for the buckle, even. Sat on the bed, legs crossed.
Between us was the Circle.
“Can’t,” I say.
“Why not?” she catches me with her eyes. She’s looking at me. Chanting’s hard when you’re not focused. She’ll say the words, hum just right. What would I chant? I don’t know. She keeps changing the words. I try and chant, but she chant something else. I try something new, she change again. She try to chant with me, but I don’t know what she wants.
“Can’t chant,” I say. “Gotta go.”
“Go where?”
“Hospital,” think quick. “Ribber got hurt bad. Gotta go say hi.” Hate Hospitals. Better than here.
I can see in her eyes she’s not happy. She looks at me, and I see it. She pulls her hair behind her ear. Dissatisfied. Something’s wrong, and she looks at me. Like something missing.
Can I tell hundred truth? That made me feel better. Seeing her sad or angry or disappointed about something made me feel better. Like there was more to things than just the coat of paint on top. She could glit herself up, dress to the nines, and there was still something underneath. Something I could look for. Dig up. Make my own.
Then, with her eyes all downcast, she pulls her hair again and says “If you’d rather. I can wait.”
Why the hell she have to say that? All in this together, right? It makes me feel bad again, like I should have done something for her. She doesn’t say anything else. Just gets up, starts cleaning.
I look out the window while she cleans. Sitting in clean white rooms, smelling perfume. It ain’t gutter. She’s living to the nines.
Good. Ozzie doesn’t squeeze no six.