The whole day was spent in my room after Clementine left. In the beginning, the first hours included me at the window, the translucent clouds hypnotizing me into thinking deeply about what she had asked of me. My arms folded, chin wresting atop the soft of my right wrist, leaning on the sill, my eyes were the only things that moved and I relaxed to let the wheels in my memory turn without interruption. I remember us in high school, my crush that lasted all four years on the one girl I ever talked to besides my mother. Clementine was as gorgeous and serene then as she was today, the thought of her being in danger made me want to spring into action.
The digital clock next to my bare bed flashed noon. She told me that if I wanted to be of real help to her and actually go through with the plan, I’d need to get started before the work day ends. I’m still not sure if I can do it, pushing off the wall and pacing, I recalled that Clem was a very seductive, persuasive, person and that this could all make me look very stupid in the end. Maybe she was serious this time, this was a serious subject, murder. But, I thought, if I get rid of all the men in her life, that’ll just leave me, by process and elimination, that could mean that we end up together; meaning that I’d be doing this more for me and not her. That sounds better. God that sounded selfish.
Needing inspiration, I went for my CDs, I dragged up my two favorites, System of a Down’s Mezmerize and Marilyn Manson’s Smells like children. They cost the most because they were released about three months ago in stores, making them kind of new. Mezmerize goes in first, I turned on track three, Revenga. The song played and I did my best to use my imagination and imagine myself as part of the song: “poison in a drink, bleeding in a sink, choking with a link, killing with a stink, trust your mother’s ho,” the voice in the headphones said. He’s talking about different ways of killing people and gaining revenge. It’s a surprising lyric because System’s band members are so thoughtful and promote world peace and justification for politics. I stopped the track, the disc spinning into terminal velocity when I opened the player and I popped in Manson’s. I listened to Sweet Dreams all the way through, I didn’t imagine anything but I felt more relaxed. There were two different messages from two different artists here, both bottled in my mind and I worked like a cryptologist to decipher them. Manson said that everybody’s looking for something while System told me that revenge is sweet. My thoughts became more violet and before long I was asking aloud if I was going insane over this. I said no. I said that Clementine gave me the names of the three gang members Bruce was involved with and that maybe I should drop in on them for a spell and maybe see where they worked.
I took the bus into town, today must’ve been my lucky day because as I fished for some fare in my pocket, the driver said to just take a seat. I might’ve been the thousandth passenger or something until I noticed that more than five people were staring at me out of the corners of their eyes and looking apologetic. Oh, I see, it was the bruises. It’s good to know Hollywood is sympathetic to a person who wasn’t toned and caked with makeup and they showed it by giving them free bus rides. I lounged in the plastic seat, at ease in the nice air-conditioning and out of the blistering sun for the first time in days. I watched the buildings sweep past and enjoyed the ride for about thirty minutes before I needed to get off. I was guided by the paper with names and business addresses Clem wrote out: the first one was Dan Grazer; a professor of culinary arts at the AI of California.
The sight of my dream school was a hunting ghost when I approached it. I entered its doors only once for an open house, back then when I thought I would be an author. Going back to it today knowing that I was unwelcome and un-enrolled made me feel like I was as blatant as a skeleton walking among the students in the halls. None stared, but I could feel the unwelcome gravitating in my paranoia. I knew, somehow, where the culinary art wing was, but needed some help finding Mr. Dan Grazer’s classroom. I targeted a student who looked around my age, maybe he was a late-starter, looking at fliers tacked to a board.
