Advent: First An Introduction: Beginning today and running through the 24th of December I will be performing a little performative experiment; namely a short story serialized through the season of Advent. Think of it as the online equivalent of a cardboard advent calendar, with a new treat behind it each day. Now, I know many of the people who read my blog know me personally, so I'd like to point out now that this is a work of fiction. It is based, like all literature, on things that have happened in my life, but don't believe a word of it as gospel. Also, though I have the general outline of the story mapped out, I will, for the most part, be writing it each day- so bear with me. Included with each day will be a photo from my real life road trip that is the inspiration for this story. I chose Advent as the framework for this story because I have an interest in writing about the anticipation of arrival, of prophets and portents and of doors being flung open. I hope you enjoy. The first time I had ever been to New Mexico was in an dorm-style apartment on Fourteenth Street in Manhattan. Daniel had taken the leftover turkey from Thanksgiving dinner and rolled it into two soft Fresco tortillas glazed with mayonnaise. That was the night I asked him to go out with me. I’m not saying I dated him for the tortillas his mother would air mail to him every month or so from Albuquerque, but the soft baked flesh of el tortilla became something shared between us like an edible pet name. Breakfast was eggs and potatoes wrapped in tortilla, with sweet cheese, fatty bacon or chorizo added for flavor. Staying up all night, Daniel would throw a couple of tortillas right onto the range. When I did it, I would leave a big spiral brand across the whole thing that, combined with melted butter, tasted like what I hoped sagebrush would taste like. In bed, I would tell him that his flesh tasted just like tortilla and then I’d lick him in a way he only pretended to hate. From family recipes he had made enchiladas, sopapillas and rejenos; always presenting them to me in pans lined with aluminum foil. Too young and too greedy to savor these gestures, I would scarf down the food while making little suggestions on how he could improve next time. It wasn’t until long after he had stopped making these dinners that I had realized what I had done. Daniel and I had this deal, a pact, really, though like all important pacts, it was unspoken, at least by Daniel. I talked about it constantly. We’re one of those relationships, the type where we strive to be polar opposites, to be all the things the other person is not. It’s a pretty tricky dance and most of the time I felt like he was simply caring for me. I envisioned myself as this great, somewhat broken, stroke of brilliance and Daniel was my padding, wrapping me up in a giant down comforter from the world. I even bought him a down comforter for Valentine’s Day, part of an inside joke I’m not going to let you in on now. We named her Downy. Often, we would use Downy to express our feelings; rather Daniel would. Grabbing the giant expanse of soft whiteness around him he'd look like a young emperor intoxicated with the power of the throne. “Downy wants you to come to bed now. She misses you.” Then we got the dog that succinctly replaced Downy. You are going to be the dog for this journey. Your name is Natalia, you’re a Miniature Pinscher and you like to chew on things and dance on your hind legs. You’re our child, our baby or as James put it, “The really obvious last ditch effort to save your failing relationship.” Actually, he said, sardonic as ever, “Oh yes, a dog. Perfect. That will solve all your relationship problems. That poor animal is going to be so fucked up.” I’m afraid he may wind up right. It’s very likely you’re going to wind up fucked up, but from your vantage point, my poor darling symbol, my little orphan stepchild, you’ll get to see all. Watch us carefully, learn deep things, but remember you adore us completely; we’re your meal ticket and when I abandon you at the end, please try to forgive me. You meet James for the first time on September 11th. He comes up to our castle in the sky on 43rd Street and looked out the window at our beautiful view, paid care of my amazingly overpaid job at a major cable network, in blank horror. A perfect view of downtown Manhattan replaced by Vesuvius erupting, Vesuvius smoking. From behind our double glazed windows on the twenty-ninth floor it looks just like it does on TV. A week later we are all on TV. Daniel’s volunteered us to be interviewed by a German television news crew for a piece about people leaving Manhattan in the wake of the attacks. I don’t know how major American news outlets do these things, but the Germans are rather underwhelming. There are only two of them, for starters: a tweedy newscaster without a trace of Prussian clip to his speech and a Camera Guy who looks like what you expect a Camera Guy to look like. I agreed to this because I knew they’d need counterpoint. I didn’t want the Germans to think we are running away from the city, that we’re cowards. Against the window I explain how my cable network succinctly fired me and it’s a matter of economics, not fear. Germans like Marx, right? I just know they are going to do a story about scared Americans fleeing all Godzilla-like. I am certain I’m the only one who can prevent the German public from believing this is a reality. They interview Daniel first and I have to restrain you from biting Camera Guy’s head off. You are far more work than a dog your size should be. Eventually we retreat to the bathroom and we play the paw game. In case you’ve forgotten (how could you!) the Paw Game is where I keep patting your front paws until you freak out and start biting me like crazy. You love it. Once done with Daniel, it’s my turn to talk and Daniel’s time to paw. The newscaster is very friendly, but I’m somewhat upset there isn’t any mottled canvas for me to sit in front of and I’m certain there will be no soft haze around my face as I talk. A week ago I worked for Barbara Walters and now this! We’re shooting mock-footage of us packing up. “Just throw some clothes into the suitcase.” Fine, I’ll be Human Interest fodder. I pull out the “Osama Bin Laden- Wanted Dead, Not Alive” t-shirt I bought and making sure the camera gets a good view of it, add it to the pile of clothes in my suitcase that I am only packing for TV. “That’s perfect! Can you do that again? Camera Guy, get a few takes of that!” We all ride the elevator down to our lobby. Every time I step into the lobby, I’m amazed. Built at the height of Eighties excess, it’s austere and gaudy at the same time. Blonde wood pillars intersect and emerge from walls for no reason. I’m not amazed at the architecture so much as the fact that I inhabit it. At twenty-two, I am so much ahead of the game. This lobby was built to make me feel great. The doorman and the concierge both watch the Germans and us with bemused disinterest. We’re now filming Daniel, his sandy brown hair spiked up by the wind, with a single suitcase, heading out the doors to get a taxi. I wonder how this is going to play. We were pretty clear that we are leaving for New Mexico in the interview. Will the Germans back in Düsseldorf think we pack really light and traverse the continent in cabs? I sure hope so, because Germany, if you’re reading this, that’s how we do things in America. The actual night of our leaving came a few days later. Our last meal was at the Times Square McDonalds, which, just for thematic unity has, has as its dining area centerpiece, scale models of all of Manhattan’s great buildings, the Twin Towers included. James ate with us and I was feeling a little more than despondent. Somehow, James had decided that this was a good idea, Daniel and I leaving New York and that just made it worse. So rushed and so worried and so soberly drunk on the unknown, Daniel, Downy, you and I passed out on the Aerobed not moments after getting back. Surrounded by air and feathers, fur and flesh I did not once think of the dawn.

posted by Japhy at 11/30/2002 09:00:00 PM || #