Flight; The Anti-Lover

I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes, and it's not because the cleaning lady used a barge full of bleach today.

And she did.

It's because I've just finished Flight by Sherman Alexie.

I knew he could do it, I just did.

In my opinion he's been on the verge of emerging as one of the nation's preeminent writers. The books of his I've read have been good to great. One of my favorite lines ever, "A father with a sick child is an angry god," came from his Ten Little Indians.

The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven was damn good.

But I always had this nagging suspicion that, like Larry Brown, his greatest work was ahead of him. Unfortunately, Brown died before he reached the peak of his skills.

For Alexie, it's here.

I was 30 pages into the book when I cracked it again this evening, fully intending to hit the sheets early. It's been a long day.

But I just couldn't stop. The novel reads like some fever dream, with main character Zits, who can't exactly be called a protagonist, experiencing a series of altered realities just as he's about to commit a random act of violence.

It's gut-wrenching and beautiful.

Wow.

I finished this thing tearful and slack-jawed, saying "thank you" to someone or something.

Heartily recommended.

***

I wish I could write like that. I do. I tried. I really did.

***

Wolfboy went to his summer camp/daycare today. Yahoo! Made it all day long. He came home and didn't react so well to the bleach fumes in this place, but a quick breathing treatment settled him down.

***

My neck's so-so. I took a hot bath tonight that loosened it up a bit. I'll live.

***

I'm the anti-lover, that's what I am. My whole life, I'm the guy who was never smooth enough, never fast-moving enough for whomever I was technically with at the time. It was a recurring pattern for me. I was the guy who was happy just to have some little girl's attention and "go steady." The girls who dumped or chastised me for moving too slowly were so many...

Debbie, in the 8th grade. I'd pined away for her since kindergarten, when she'd been my neighbor. We exchanged notes in junior high, and finally I asked her to go steady. She said yes. Yes! All those years of wondering about that little girl and she ended up saying yes, only to dump me at a football game when I couldn't work up the nerve to do more than sit beside her and chat like a buddy.

Jimmie, a little blonde cutey who rode my bus. Freshman year. We chatted, we flirted, we exchanged notes... she said yes too, but didn't last long. Phone calls and notes weren't enough to sustain a girl. I missed the starting gun with her.

Angela, sophomore year, who pinned me against her daddy's wrecker and asked "do they hurt?" about my braces before kissing me. I had no idea, and I told her so. My first kiss! She was a "bad" girl making a stab at straightening up, with a heart tattoo on her breast that I saw when she fetched pills from her bra. I was the good boy, and her mother loved me. I spent too much time fueled by that one kiss I guess. And we had another, in the back of her mother's huge Caddy, but it was too late. After staying by my side all year long, one day she left our seat on the bus without a word and sat somewhere else. It was done.

Sandy, after high school, with whom I felt I was being bold and forward, putting my hands exactly where I wanted even as she complained to herself aloud, "Okay, I guess it's okay that this is moving so slowly." She was sexy but insane.

Jesse, who would show up unannounced at my home and sit on my bed for hours while I made giddy small talk without doing a damn thing. A decade later I bumped into her and tried to chat, even making passing reference to how much I enjoyed her visits. She didn't say one word to me. She just glared, and I walked off.

Vanessa, who tried desperately to seduce me. Shit, I just wanted to be friends.

Laura, who on the second date suddenly found a hot game of quarters far more interesting than spending time with yours truly and kicked me to the curb instantly. I guess she found a ride home.

***

This isn't meant to be a litany of my romantic failures, okay. I've figured it out here and there. But you know, given the stereotype of the guy as the sexual animal, the one who only wants one thing and won't take no for an answer, I've got to say that it's mostly worked the other way around for me.

I am all guy, and always have been. Some comedian once said something like, "If women knew what we were really thinking they would never stop slapping us." An exaggeration perhaps, but it makes my point.

But just looking back, you know... was there anything so wrong with being innocent?

***

Take care.