THE BOLAN CHRONICLES: Reading #22

22. Approximate Minutes Reading (AMR): 12

Introduction to Characters

THE BOLAN CHRONICLES

Chapter 3

A House

**The Dream and Pussycat Theatre**

He stepped into the baby's room and stood next to the crib. He pretended that their newborn son was lying there, and he spoke aloud: Hey, kid. Welcome to my world. Yep, you've got a lot to learn here. It's not so warm and safe out here like it is where you came from. People want to take and take and take some more, and if you're the one in their way, they'll go right through you. And if you've got what they want, you damned well better believe they'll try to take it from you. Look into these eyes, son. I’m the one to listen to. You may think you're in heaven, or you may think you're in hell, but don't forget that some people are lucky enough to have a savior in this world. I'm yours. Did you hear that? 

Then he stepped out of the room and made the sharp right to the basement door. He paused, then turned and walked to the kitchen. He grabbed a small tablet and pen from the drawer next to the telephone. Then he tore off a page and wrote on it, threw the pen and tablet back into the drawer and tore off a piece of scotch tape from its roll and walked back to the basement door. He attached the note to the door and stood back. 'Jake Bolan: Peace Room' The ‘Peace Room’ part was surrounded with a peace sign, its vertical line separating the two words. 

He descended the stairs and sat at his desk then he grabbed the string from between the pieces of wood and pulled it upward until the journal appeared. He opened it to the first blank page, and he wrote. There was no hesitation, no stopping to think, no checking for accuracy. He was alive with words that flowed from him like water from a faucet. And as he wrote, he laughed and cursed, and when he finally finished and closed the journal, he cried. Then he said aloud, "Well, I have been up all night, and I am so fucking tired." 

He wiped the tears and snot from his face and slowly ascended the steps. He pulled his wallet and keys from his pockets and threw them on the floor, then he fell into his bed, and within minutes, he was asleep.

---------------

In his dream, Jake found himself walking through a dense forest, and the rain poured, but the rain wasn't water. It was a thick brown gravy-like liquid that jiggled when it landed. The ground was soaked with it, and when he stepped, it made a kind of moaning sound combined with the usual sloshing noise that mud makes when it's disturbed. He saw a ladder, maybe wooden, just ahead of him. He couldn't tell to what or where it led. Just ahead and beyond the ladder, a whitish-yellow glow pulsated from the top floor of a tall, dark building. It was the only light that seemed to be on. Something buzzed about his head, flitting to and fro, and when he batted at whatever it was, it released a kind of weak scream. 

When he reached the base of the ladder, he looked up. No end could be seen, but it was clear that at a certain point, it began to curve outward, in more of a horizontal direction, forming what looked to be a bridge. He gazed at the building far off, and he saw the pulsating light, and he wondered what to do. He wondered why he was there. 

He placed his foot on the first rung of the ladder, and as he did, it flexed downward, but he was able to lift himself. The rung held his weight. He took the next step, and the next, and before long, he was moving quickly. He was certain he was making progress. He was working up a sweat, keeping his eye on the curvature of the ladder above him. When he looked down, his eyes widened and his heart sunk. He had made no progress whatsoever. He took another step and watched the ground. With every step, each rung under his foot sunk deeply into the dense forest floor. 

Something moved in his peripheral view. He looked to his left and saw the faint shadow of a woman. As soon as his eyes met hers, sounds emanated from her mouth. They were faint at first, and he listened more intently until he knew that what he suspected was true. His mother was calling out to him. Jake! Jake! She wouldn’t stop. Jake! Hey, Jake!  As much as he tried, he couldn't say anything, as though the necessary connections between his brain and his vocal chords had disappeared. Then she began to cry, and he looked away. The crying stopped. He looked back, and his mother, this time on her hands and knees, tearing handfuls of hair out of her scalp, screamed. Jake! Don't! And she was pointing at the ladder, which had suddenly sprouted wings and had begun to fly. As it rose, higher and higher, Jake watched the silhouette of his mother fade away, and the ladder had turned into a large expanse of soil, and it was still flying, and a huge set of eyes at the front of the expanse looked back at Jake. They looked like paper mache, and his third grade teacher, Mrs. Montez, smiled at him from somewhere in the expanse. The paper mache eyes taunted him. He couldn't hear anything, but they taunted him, and he pounded the soil, and he tried to dig his way through, hoping to drop off into the thick gravy-like liquid that seemed to have begun to fall even harder. 

The light from the tall building to which he was being carried had become brighter. The paper mache eyes looked back at him, and one of them slowly winked. A voice that Jake recognized but couldn't place came from the expanse, and it suddenly made its way into his head. It was deep and scary. There it is, Jake! And you thought you could avoid it! Ha! Ha! Ha! Then the light began to penetrate his body. He looked down at his torso and saw a deep red glow, and he felt it squeezing him. He tried to grab it, but his hand went through his belly, and when he pulled it back, it was wet with the brown rain that slowly creeped off, blob by blob, and it landed on the soil. Then he fell back, and he was rolling. At first, he rolled intentionally, but when he tried to stop himself, he couldn't. And then he fell from the expanse, and he felt nothing, and he heard nothing.

When Jake awoke, he looked around. His heart was racing. The surface beneath him was covered with a soft sheet, and when he wiped the liquid from his forehead, it wasn't brown and it wasn't thick. His hair and pillow were wet with sweat. Realizing where he was, he sighed, "What the hell was that about? Geez!" And he flipped his pillow and rolled over on his side. He thought for a moment about the dream then dozed back off. 

He slept soundly until five hours later, when he heard the ringing phone in the kitchen. “Oh, shit!” he yelled. He couldn’t remember if he was supposed to have gone to work that day, and he hadn’t called Twila about the baby. 

He picked up the phone. "Hello."

"Mr. Bolan?"

"Yes."

"This is Doctor Crowley from Bridgeport Hospital. I'm sorry if I woke you."

"Oh, it's no problem, Doctor,” Jake rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “Is everything alright?"

The doctor said, "Everything's fine. It's just that I didn't see you when I finally made it out, and I wanted to congratulate you on the birth of your son."

Jake was impressed at his consideration. "Thanks, Doctor. It sounds like things turned out just fine, right?"

"Oh yes. We were concerned for a while there, but it seems the little guy has a pretty strong will already, and he hadn't agreed to be cooped up in there for one more minute." He laughed.

Jake laughed with him and said, "Well, he takes after his daddy that way, that's for sure."

The doctor replied, "Well, a happy and healthy future to your family."

Jake thanked him and asked, "Doc, do you know how long it will be before I'll need to...uh...before I'll be able to come back to the hospital?"

"You can come back whenever you like, of course, but your wife will most likely be asleep or groggy for the better part of the day," Then he added, "She'll be nursing the baby, of course, but the truth of the matter is she'll be tired for the next day or so."

"Okay, so what time..."

"I'd say it wouldn't do you much good to come back before later tonight. I won't be allowing guests until at least tomorrow. You get yourself some rest, Daddy. You're going to need it, to be sure."

Jake hung up the phone. He looked up at the clock: 3:35 PM. Then he thought about work and dialed the diner.

Twila answered the phone. “Ken’s. What can I do fer’ ya?”

Jake quickly replied, “What you can do fer’ me, young lady, is ta’ git’ me a ceeeegar! ‘Cause we got ourselves a little baby boy!”

Twila screamed like someone had been killed rather than birthed, and Jake and Twila laughed together.

Twila finally said, “Congratulations, Dad! Now tell me that new momma is doing good.”

Jake assured her that she was.

“And what kinda’ name have we got?” She asked.

“His name is Dean, Twila.”

“Ahh! Now that is so cute. Dean Bolan.” Then she asked Jake about his middle name.

“We haven’t decided on that yet, Twila. But I’ll let you know when we do.”

“Now Honey, don’t you even think ‘bout comin’ back ta work ‘till everythin’s good ‘n ready, hear?”

Jake was relieved. “Thanks a lot, Twila. That’s a load off my mind, for sure.” He told her about the shipment that would be coming in later that afternoon and apologized that he wouldn’t be there to haul the stuff in for her.

“I can call in any number o’ young fella’s to take care o’ things ‘till yer’ back. And we can’t hardly wait ta see pictures and hear all about it now, ya’ hear me!”

“I do, Twila. And thanks again. I’ll be in touch, okay?”

“Okay, darlin,’ and you be sure ‘n let me know if you need anything at all.”

“I will.”

Then she added, “And congratulate Momma for me, too!”

After Jake hung up the phone, he thought about how lucky he was to work with someone like Twila. And he determined again that his commitment to Ken’s Restaurant was the ticket to bigger and better things.

He walked toward the basement door and stared at the makeshift sign. 'Jake Bolan: Peace Room'

He thought about the sign and its message, and the more he thought about it, the more satisfied he became. It's perfect. 

And then Jake considered how he might choose to occupy his time for the next six to eight hours before he had to go back to the hospital. And his mind wandered to a few weeks prior when one of the truck drivers who had dropped off a load of dry goods had told him about the 'hell' that the first few months of fatherhood was for him, not because of the stress of the late nights followed by early morning workdays, but mostly because of the lack of satisfaction he’d gotten from his wife when he’d needed it most. It seemed that due to the trauma of childbearing and the stress of the preoccupation of a new baby, she just wasn't 'in the mood,’—ever. So he'd stopped by a local adult theater that showed the kinds of films that gave him almost all the satisfaction he'd needed.

"And all that was missin' was a little pussy," He'd said. "And for a few bucks, I found some o' that in a little room out behind the theater." He'd smiled and added, "They don't take checks, that's all." And he'd smiled again then had pulled out his wallet and had handed Jake a business card labeled, 'Pussycat Theater. Peep Shows 'n More. Open 24 hrs.' Jake turned it over and read, 'Pussycat: Where Naughty Dreams Cum True. We’ll Leave You Satisfied and Happy!’

Jake rushed downstairs to the basement and grabbed the card that he’d placed it between the pages of 'Ulysses.' He hurried back up, grabbed his keys and wallet from off of the bedroom floor, locked the front door behind him and directed Rookie to 606 Quarry Road. 

There were five other vehicles parked in the lot. He stepped out of the truck and looked at the dump in front of him. It wasn't at all what he had expected. The roof looked as if it hadn't attention for decades, and the front door paint was peeling badly, some of it having already fallen off and collected dirt and webs; piles of them. 

He grabbed the handle and cringed. It was dirty, and he tried hard not to imagine what remains might have been left on it. When he pulled it open, a stench that he didn’t recognize filled his nostrils and choked his throat for a moment. The lobby was small and simple. A bearded fat man stood at the counter, and when Jake looked up and smiled at him, the man nodded and said, "The fuckin' show's already started, but if you wanna go in, you can pay for it here. Just be quiet when you enter, and sit your ass down in the back."

Jake paid and asked for a ticket. 

The fat man snorted and said, "There's no ticket, man. This ain't no fuckin' Cinderella, right?"

Tentatively, Jake asked, “What’s playin’?”

The fat man slowly looked up and sarcastically asked, “Does it really matter?” Then he looked down at a small sheet of paper and said, “Banging In The Basement. That’s what’s playin.’”

Jake stepped through the dirty red velvet curtains that separated the theater from the lobby. A handful of patrons sat scattered throughout the small theatre, every guy sitting alone, which didn’t strike Jake as unusual. Just as directed, he sat down in the back, and he looked up at the screen. A woman with breasts larger than he'd ever seen was pulling a shirt back over her chest, and the man to whom the shirt belonged was zipping up his pants. They had been doing what they were doing in an elevator that opened up to a broad expanse of parked cars. The man and woman stepped out of it, and the woman said something to him. He smiled, and they both took off, screeching tires on the way out.

THE END scrolled up along with a few credits.

With the exception of one guy sitting in the very front row of the theatre, everyone got up and began sauntering out. Jake walked down to the lone patron and began to ask him something, but the man was sleeping, head down with a small bottle peaking out of a paper sack. Jake walked back to the lobby and asked the fat man if another film would be playing. He informed Jake that it took at least thirty minutes to get the next film ready and that if he wanted to wait, he’d have to pay first.

“I already paid.” Jake said.

Fat Man looked up at him and replied, “And you got what you paid for, little man.” Then he said, “If you want more you pay for more.”

Jake said, “Geez. I got maybe thirty seconds worth of film for my five dollar bill?”

The man grinned real big, the fatty creases of his chubby eyes nearly covering his pupils, and said, “Young feller like you…couldn’t get it off in thirty seconds?”

Jake wanted to mouth back, but something kept him from it. Leave well enough alone, he thought, and he left the Pussycat Theatre unsatisfied and angry.