eat to stay alive

8/9/2019 Eat to Stay Alive

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jm tohline

all of these stories are true,

even the ones that are not


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Dear Reader,

If you appreciate these pages, please lend a handplease try to think of three people you

know who might also enjoy these pages, and convince these three people to visit theEat

To Stay Alive home [http://www.jmtohline.com/p/eat-to-stay-alive.html]. I cannot

spread these pages on my own. In fact, I cannot spread these pages at all! Not without

your help.

Thank you for sharing your time with me.

Enjoy.

~JM


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Life is holy and every moment is precious.

~Jack Kerouac

The Dharma Bums

Our stay on earth is not for long.

Let us rejoice and believe and give thanks.

~Ernest Hemingway

The Sun Also Rises


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- 1 -

eric blair sees a pretty morning

Eric Blair watched the little red truck until it disappeared behind a bend in the road, and

rain began to trickle down through shattered rays of sunlight that made the day look like

smoke. On both sides of the road the Delaware countryside sparkled like a big green

orchard, full of tiny houses and tiny lives that were all ripe for plucking.

Eric smiled for the first time all day. He thought about the pretty girl with the red

hair, driving the beat-up red truck, and he pictured her smiling also, thinking about him

while her troubles melted into the warm summer air. Outside of the window the world

sprinted past Eric like water slipping through his fingers. Maybe, he thought, this trip

wont be so awful after all.

What are you looking at, little brother?

Nothing, Eric said, I was just watching the rain, but when he looked forward

he saw that the rain had quit already and they were driving over water.

He wont take his eyes off that truck, Bethel said from the other corner of the

back seat.

Thats not true, Eric said.

Is that true? his brother asked, and he turned around and searched for Eric so

the car swerved a bit, and Victor reached over from the passenger seat and grabbed the

wheel to hold them steady. No shame in that, little brother. Whatd you say to that

chick anyway, huh? Did you ask for her number?

No.

Man, I wouldve asked for her number. She was pretty good-looking. He turned


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right-ways again and took the wheel from Victor. Whatd you say to her, then? You

went back to talk to her.

I know.

Well?

I saidnothing. I just said, Have a nice day.

Bethel laughed from the other corner of the back seat so that his hair fell forward

across his face, and he closed his eyes while he talked. Jackson, man, looks like your

brothers a mysterious little bugger.

I know, right? Thats all right, he can keep his secrets to himself.

Thats what you gotta do, Bethel said. He leaned in close to Eric so that the

cinnamon gum on his breath spread a curtain around them. You gotta hold your own

with a brother like him. Dont give in, right?

What are you telling him back there?

Nothing, Bethel said. He slid back over to his side of the seat and the cinnamon

curtain snapped. I was just telling him what a bastard you are.

All right, good. Just wanted to make sure you werent feeding him any rubbish.

Only the truth, buddy. Only and always.

Eric watched the sun drip slowly toward the other side of the earth, and he and

his brother and his brothers two friends flew past cars and houses full of people they

didnt know, and Eric closed his eyes, and everything went away.

*

By the time they reached Virginia Beach the sun was gone, and the boardwalk shined


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like a glowing bubble of life. Happy people with happy faces slipped out from the patios

of restaurants and bars, and other happy people climbed up from the beach, leaving tiny

footprints of sand on the concrete. Families and smiling couples pedaled down the

boardwalk in surreys, most of them moving slower than the people on foot, and music

poured out of every courtyard and open door. The competing sounds all overlapped,

lingering above the river of people like a visible umbrella.

Eric bent down and took off his shoes. Someone bumped into him and

apologized, and Eric apologized also, then he hurried to catch up to his brother and his

brothers two friends.

Little brother, what happened to your shoes?

I just took them off. I have them right here.

Ha!youre too much. Say, he said, and he put his arm over Erics shoulders

and pointed past a group of pretty girls. See that restaurant; what do you say about

eating there? My buddy Steven told me that place is the nuts.

Oh yeah?

Erics brother laughed, and he slapped Eric on the back. Oh yeah. What do you

say, huh?

Sure, I guess.

Sure, he guesses. All right, then! Thats where well eat.

The wait for a table on the patio was 45 minutes, so Eric and his brother and his

brothers two friends sat on the railing of the boardwalk and watched the people who

passed.

Lots of the people who passed them paused and glanced at Erics brother. Eric

noticed this because most of those who stopped and glanced at his brother were very


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pretty girls. Sometimes his brother would wink at these girls, or sometimes he would

smile.

Eric sat there on the railing of the boardwalk beside his brother, and he wondered

something he often wondered: How on earth do famous people deal with all that

attention?not normal famous people, but really famous people, like A-list movie

actors and extremely beautiful supermodels. Eric always imagined that so much

attention from strangers must be troubling.

Eric kept thinking. He kept watching his brother.

His brother kept smiling and sometimes winking at people who smiled at him.

And Eric realized: Maybe, for those people who are really famous, it isnt all so

bad. Even before these people got famous, maybe they began to get used to the

attention, because they were always especially handsome, or especially good at singing

or sports or speaking. Maybe people had always looked at them and smiled for no

reason, and people who didnt know them had always hated or loved them just

because.

Maybe these really famous people had been conditioned for fame all their lives.

Eric felt bad for his brother right then, but he also felt proud. It seemed like all of

the hard work would pay off some day, and when it paid off his brother would be rea

Little brother.

Huh?

You doing all right over there? You look like youre in a daze, man.

Im doing fine. I was justthinking.

Thinking, huh?

Uh-huh.


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You want to be careful with that, all right?

I will.

Tell me. Erics brother hopped off the railing and moved down closer to Eric.

Since youre thinking and all, what do you think about that waitress in there?

Which waitress? Eric said.

Which waitress?

I dontum, are you talking about that blonde one?

Come on, Eric, I expect more from you.

Im sor

Look around, buddy.

Eric saw her. Yeah, shes pretty.

Shes gorgeous, his brother said. Here, come with me.

Inside of the restaurant the hostess looked up, and her eyes flew open for a

moment when she saw Erics brother standing leaned forward in front of her. He smiled,

and she smiled also, and she tried to look relaxed. Good evening, she said, how can I

help you with?

How can you help me with?

I meanoh gosh, Im sorry

Erics brother chuckled and smiled some more, and the hostess made a face that

she probably thought looked cute.

Thats all right, love, no worries, he said. He started to look very serious while

he leaned on his arms on the counter. Actually, would it be all right if I asked what your

name is?

Me? My nameIm Carly.


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Carly? My name is Jackson. Its a pleasure to meet you. He reached out and

took her hand, and he kissed her hand and she laughed.

Its nice to meet you too, Carly said.

See, Carly, Im wondering if you could help me with something.

Help you? Sure, absolutely.

Well, Im on your waiting list right theretable for four; under my buddys

name, Bethelandwell, theres this waitress out on the patio. Tall, dark hair, green

eyes, and I wanted to see if theres any way you could seat us in her section.

Youre talking about Nicole?

Sure, I guess. I dont know what her name is, I just thought she was really

pretty.

Shes gorgeous, Carly said.

She is gorgeous.

Yeah, definitely. Ill see what I can do.

Youre a doll, he told her.

She smiled and laughed some more.

Three minutes later they were sitting at a table in the corner of the patio, next to

the boardwalk, ordering drinks from Nicole.

Nicole, love, this here is my brother Eric. And see, hes not twenty-one, but I

wondered if there was any way I could order a drink for him also?

Not twenty-one, huh? How old is he?

Eric noticed that Nicoles voice was lovely. He also noticed that she looked

perfect. He listened to her voice while she and his brother spoke to one another as if

they were the only two people on the patio. He watched her, and he kept watching her


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when she walked away from the table.

Eric had never really drank alcohol beforenot besides champagne one time at

his cousin Shawns wedding, and a sip of Jack Daniels at a friends house when he was

twelveand actually, he did not want any at all. But Nicole came back and set the drinks

in front of them, and Eric did not want to be rude to his brother so he took a small sip.

The drink tasted delicious.

He took another sip.

Pretty soon the glass was empty.

Little brother, that was fast.

Jackson, your brothers a champ.

You want another glass, little brother?

Sure, I guess. Ill take another glass.

Nicole brought another glass to the table, and Eric tried to drink it more slowly.

She brought a third glass with his food. Somebody (Eric wasnt sure who, but it might

even have been himself) said something funny, and Nicole laughed and leaned against

his shoulder.

Eric started a fourth glass while they cleared away his plate. He couldnt

remember what hed just eaten or whether or not he had liked it.

They ate dessert and it was delicious, and Eric finished his fourth drink. His

brother and Bethel and Victor ordered coffee, but Eric didnt want any.

Seriously, his brother said, Eric, you need to drink some coffee.

Why would I want coffee? Its nighttime, big brother. In ca-a-a-se you didnt

notice.

Bring him a cup of coffee, yeah? And a glass of water.


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No, no, Eric said. Nicole walked away from the table. No, Nicole, I dont need

coffee.

Nicole set the coffee in front of him and he drank it and it was divine. He finished

a second cup and his brother made him drink some water, and Eric realized that his

bladder was full.

You need help getting to the bathroom? his brother asked him.

Im fine. Fine? His legs felt like they were under water. His feet felt far away

from his body. He tried to take a step, and he laughed, and he grabbed the back of a

chair. His brother jumped up.

They walked to the bathroom together.

Dont watch me pee, though.

I wont.

Im seriouslyI meanIm serious. Dontabout that. Dont watch me.

I wont, Eric.

You promise?

I promise, man. I dont want to watch you pee.

You dont have to be rude about it.

He was finished peeing and his brother was making him wash his hands.

They were back outside and he was about to sit down and he wondered if the

chair would hold him, because he just felt so heavy.

He was lying down on the boardwalk and people stepped over him. Someone

stopped and asked Was he okay.

He was sitting in the sand.

He was running toward the water.


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He was lying face-down in the sand after falling with water washing over him.

He was sitting in the sand again, and it was just him and his brother and nobody

else.

Sa-a-a-y, big brother, wherere Bethel andVictor?

I told you, theyre looking for girls.

Looking forI want to look for a girl.

You already have a girl. Remember?

Eric looked around. He didnt see a girl anywhere. Already have a girl?

Carlythe hostess from the restaurant. I told you this already.

Carly? I dont see her.

Shes not here right now. Shes coming out later, with Nicole.

Shes coming out here with Nicole?

Uh-huh.

Okay. Hey, big brother?

Yes?

How did I get Carly?

Nicole and Carly got off work and met them on the beach, and Bethel and Victor

returned with a couple girls who were not very pretty.

Eric asked Carly how he had gotten her, because he didnt remember his brothers

answer.

How you gotme?

Yeah. I dont remember.

I dont know what you mean.

I dont mean anything. I justI drank too much. I dont remember asking you to


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come out here with us. Im trying to remember what I said to youI hope I didnt say

anything stupid.

Eric was sitting by himself in a lifeguard tower, watching the ocean rise and fall.

He could not remember what else hed said to Carly, but she had gone away.

He was at a different beach now, sitting in another lifeguard tower and watching

the same ocean. His head felt clearer. He could see Bethel and Victor further down the

shore, asleep in their sleeping bags and looking like lumps of rock, and somewhere

beyond them, past where the long line of houses began, he knew that his brother was

nestled close to Nicole.

*

Erics brother had talked him into this trip by saying that it would be fun.

Besides, Erics brother had said, when else do we get to spend time together?

The answer to that, of course, was Never, and had been Never for almost three years.

Almost three years earlier Erics brother had left home in York, Maine, and had

moved to New York, New York where he attended film school at NYU. He didnt call it

film school at NYU, but instead called it Tisch, and at Tisch he changed his name to

Jackson, because Eddie Blair just doesnt sound quite as catchy as Jackson Blair does,

and people told him that he was a really good actor, and he started to dress different and

act different, and he became friends with people like Bethel, who was intelligent and was

studying film production at Tisch, and Victor, who was very ugly with heavy eyebrows

and a nose like a hawks beak, and who lived in a warehouse where rent was cheap and

he worked on learning how to write.


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These days, whenever Erics brother came back home to where people still called

him Eddie, he acted like he hardly knew them. His old football and baseball teammates

had given up on hanging out with him. Every conversation with him had something to

do with the environment, or with foreign films or foreign countries or all the ways that

the Republican party was trying to destroy America.

During the days leading up the road trip, Eric sat in his room and stared at the wall and

realized that what it really all boiled down to was this: He himself was scared. As far

back as he could remember, he had hoped to be a filmmaker. He wanted to write and he

wanted to direct, and he even dreamed that he would work with his brother someday

after his brother became famous and after he himself became successful and respected.

But in the spring Eric had received a letter from NYU, congratulating him on his

acceptance to Tisch, and after the excitement wore off, and after his brother came home

for the summer, Eric started to wonder if maybe he wouldnt prefer accounting.

Maybe he wasnt cut out for New York. Maybe he wouldnt fit in, and maybe no

one in the world of film would respect him or take him seriously, because maybe he

didnt talk right or dress right or have the right ideas. Maybe he didnt have any talent at

all.

Maybe there was something else he ought to do for a living.

He was probably in over his head.

*

Eric woke up in the morning before the sun, with a slight headache in his head and a

much sharper pain in his foot. He kicked his foot, and he didnt really wonder what was


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causing the pain, and his foot stopped hurting. He started to fall asleep again, and the

pain returned.

Eric sat up. His eyes felt thick with sleep, and he tried to focus but he couldnt see

much. The ocean on the sand made sounds in the darkness, like purring, but like a tiger

purringexpressing a contentment that you hope will never end.

Finally Eric could make out the water, and the sea foam spread out from the

black like a thick white afghan.

Pain jolted through Erics foot again, and he looked down and yelled.

The sand crab bolted. Disappeared. But now Eric had seen it, and he looked

around and started to see others. Lots of others, hundreds of them, scuttling sideways

and digging holes and popping in and out of existence. Tiny ones and huge ones. He

jumped up and grabbed his blanket, and he shook his blanket to get rid of the sand

crabs, and he hurried over and climbed to safety at the top of the lifeguard tower. He sat,

and he breathed, and he watched the crabs.

Each crab was like a tiny chasm inside of which Life had fallen and become stuck,

and Life rattled around and tried to escape from the shell, and this caught-Life caused

each crab to grab a pile of sand, and move it, and grab another pile, and keep doing this

until it dug a hole just big enough for its Life-containing, Life-rattling form. Then it

slipped inside of this hole and disappeared and reappeared and dashed away and started

over again.

The sun peeked up from the water, sending out feelers and testing the morning. It

started to climb. Soon its body was halfway emerged, and Eric felt like it was important

that he was watching this, even though he didnt know why.

He didnt see Nicole until she spoke. Good morning, Eric.


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Whoa! Oh, God.

Im sorry, she said. She looked up from the bottom of the lifeguard tower and

she looked pretty with the sun on half of her face. Did I scare you?

I didnt see you coming.

Im sorry. How do you feel this morning? Do you feel okay?

I feel okay.

I wasnt sure if you would, you drank a lot last night.

Yeah, wellyou should come up out of the sand. Those crabsll get you.

Oh, theyre harmless, she said, but she climbed up and sat down beside Eric.

Its sure a pretty morning, he said.

Nicole didnt say anything.

Have you been up for a while? he asked.

Nicole looked down the beach, past the two lumps of rock that were really Victor

and Bethel.

Anyway, Eric said, I slept pretty good in the sand, but the crabs woke me up.

They were snapping at my feet.

Your brother seems like a really nice guy.

Huh? Oh, yeah he is. Id be careful with him, though.

You seem like a really nice guy too.

A lot of girls like my brother.

Yes, I imagine.

And then they both were quiet.

Eric could see the ocean, and now it sounded less like a tiger purring and more

like a beautiful, far-away roar.


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Eric could feel his heart beating inside him.

I bet youre pretty excited about this trip, Nicole said.

Huh? Oh

Your brothers sure excited, he kept telling me all about it.

Sure, Eric said. Yeah.

How long do you think it will take you guys to make it to San Francisco?

I dont know, Eric said. It depends.

Yeah, I guess thats right. Your brother was telling me all about your trip. He was

telling me all about the place where you guys will be staying in San Francisco.

Oh yeah?

It really sounds like fun. He said its just like all these artists and musicians and

writers and stuff, and they all live in this big storage area behind a record store. It would

sure be fun to live like that.

Sure it would, Eric said. Nicole looked very pretty and her voice sounded the

way a snake charmers flute probably sounds to a snake.

I really like your brother, you know. He seems like a really good guy.

Sure, Eric said.

The ocean sang into the morning.

He sure talks about you a lot, she said.

Huh?

He talks about you.

What do you mean?

I dont know, he justhe talks about you. You know, Oh, isnt Eric so awesome?

Isnt he the best?


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Eric said nothing.

Oh, you should see some of the short films Eric makes, he really is amazing. He

kept saying stuff like that, just that and other things.

Other things?

You know, just other things like that.

No, Eric did not know. What other things? What other things?

You know, just other things like that. About how great you are and how smart

you are, and how talented you are at movies. I guess hes pretty excited about you going

to New York in the fall.

Is he?

But I guess that makes sense, Im sure youre pretty excited also. Anyway, he

kept saying how he cant wait for you to get there because youll make all the other new

students look foolish. I dont ever use that word, foolish, but that was the word he said.

Foolish?

I guess youre pretty good. You must be pretty good, huh?

I

Beyond Nicole, Eric could see the lumps of rock both moving.

Closer, Eric could see his brother walking along the edge of the white afghan.

You must be pretty good, he told me that he only wishes he had as much talent

as you. Youll remember me, wont you? When youre famous?

What? Oh. Yeah, of course. Welldirectors dont usually get, you know,

famous.

Yes they do. Some of them do, Im sure that youll be famous. I just cant wait to

see you do a movie with your brother. He said thats his dream, to work with you on a


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movie. Im sure that youll be famous, Eric. And when you are, Ill tell people that I knew

you. Ill tell them that I served you alcohol and got you drunk.

Id never been drunk before.

Really? No, I dont believe you, youre probably just saying that so Ill have

something to say when youre famous. But thats okay, I dont mind. Ill pretend that its

true and Ill tell people anyway.

It is true.

No, its not, but thats okay I dont mind. Youll remember me, wont you?

Ill remember you. Erics brother was close now, and he called something that

Eric couldnt hear. Ill remember you, of course.

Good, Nicole said. I really hope you do.

The sun was in the sky all the way and Erics brother was climbing into the

lifeguard tower.

Scoot over, little brother.

Jackson sat between Eric and Nicole, and he put his arm around Nicole, and he

put his arm around Eric. He kissed Nicole on the cheek. He rubbed Erics head.

Its sure a pretty morning, Jackson said.

Eric watched the ocean and the infinite horizon.

Jackson nudged Eric with his elbow, and Eric looked up.

Isnt it, little brother? Its sure a pretty morning.

Yes, Eric said. Yes, Eric thought.

He nudged Jackson in the side also, and they looked at each other and smiled.

They watched the ocean.

Its sure a pretty morning.


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- 2 -

mariel maybe

Mariel Donnelly sat on the cusp of the grass and watched the city wake up. Fog rolled in

from the bay and draped itself over the buildings, and even though Mariel was not

happy she couldnt help but feel good. The park was nearly empty, which was nice. The

park was quiet, and the only thing that could have made the morning better was if her

mind was quiet also.

There was a lot going on inside of Mariels mind that morning, but seeing the

skyline from far away always helped. The city was so gorgeous in the fog. Mariel

wondered if they had built the city like that on purpose. Maybe other people felt good

also, when they woke up earlier than they wanted and were not happy with their life.

Maybe they felt good because the city looked so gorgeous in the fog.

A breeze rolled down the hill and tumbled over her back. She shivered a little bit

even though it was a pleasant morning, and she figured that this was because she hadnt

slept much lately and she felt so tired.

A squirrel ran past her and sprinted up a tree.

I wish that I was a squirrel, Mariel thought.

No, I dont really wish that, she thought.

She thought about Victor, and she hoped that he was still sleeping.

The fog evaporated off the buildings. Mariel watched the fog and thought about

Victor. She thought that she maybe loved him. He maybe loved her too.

Oh well, Mariel thought. So what if we love each other? Its our own stupid fault.

*


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Mariel was poor, and Victor was poorer than her.

Is that possible, Mariel wondered, is it possible to be poorer than Nothing?

But Mariel knew the answer: Of course it was possible. She knew it was possible,

because she had nothing. But Victor had less than nothing, because he still owed money

to people in New York.

Not that Victor was in any sort of dangerhe didnt owe money to those kinds of

peoplebut he owed money, and he planned to pay the money back, and what did that

leave for Mariel and Victor?

It left them with less than nothing. Nothing besides what maybe was love.

It would sure be fun to live like that, people always said to her. Oh, it made her

so angry when people said that to her. What?she wanted to say to themit would sure

be fun to be so poor you dont know where your next meal will come from? It would sure

be fun to live in the back of a record store because you dont have the money to live

someplace else? Sure, its great fun! Would you like to trade places?

Sigh.

At least she had Victor. At least that was something.

She really did think that she maybe loved him.

Maybe he loved her also.

Mariel was walking back to the record store now through the Mission District of

San Francisco, and everyone she passed was speaking Spanish, and she wondered: What

is love, anyway?

Que es el amor?

Nada y pues nada y pues nada.


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It was all nothing, and she was nothing too.

Pardon, Miss? Pardon.

Mariel kept walking.

Pardon.

She realized that the man was speaking to her. Yes?

Pardon, but you could tell me how to reach here?

Excuse me?

Yes, you could tell me how to reach here, Miss? He held a map in front of

Mariel and pointed to something that she couldnt read. The map did not even look like

a map of San Francisco; it looked like a different city. Yes, Miss? You could tell me how

to reach here. He shook the map in front of her.

Yes, she said. Down that way.

Down that way?

Yes.

Thank you, Miss.

Mariel descended deeper into the Mission District, and the air grew warmer, and

the sun shined brighter. Music trickled out from behind a closed door. Her feet made no

sounds on the sidewalk. The murals on the buildings danced with color, and Mariel tried

her hardest not to cry.

Stop thinking, she told herself.

This used to be my dream.

Dont think about that.

It was afternoon now, and Mariel had no clue where the morning had gone. She

watched the waves. The waves smashed into the sand like they were angry. She held


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Ulysses open in front of her, and she had read forty pages, but she couldnt read any

more now because the pain pills had kicked in. She had swallowed the pain pills with a

small bottle of whiskey she kept in her purse.

The sun fell toward the water more quickly and Mariel hoped it wouldnt crash.

That didnt make sense.

She opened Ulysses and started reading again, and it didnt make sense either but

that was okay. It probably wouldnt have made sense if she was sober. Time passed, and

that was perfectly all right.

In the evening the couples emerged. Most of the couples were good-looking.

Mariel was long-past the point where this made her jealous, but sometimes it still made

her sad.

She looked down at her book again, but it was too dark to see the words.

Bonfires had popped up in a line down Ocean Beach, and if someone was

standing on the bow of a ship in the water, escaping this place, they would probably feel

like a hundred orange eyes were watching them, and they wouldnt care, because they

would be saying goodbye.

Where would Mariel go, though, if she escaped this place? She didnt really want

to leave. Did she? She only wanted things different.

She had thought that things would be different.

When she met Victor, she thought that things would change.

Victor had come to her from the passenger seat of that gaudy new Mercedes like a

dark angel of life. He was tall and he was ugly and he was absolutely terrific.

On that first night they left the record store at two oclock in the morning, and

while people were getting mugged and raped and probably killed all over the city Victor


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and Mariel held hands and glided down the streets on a runway of moonlight.

Ive never met anyone more perfect than you, she told him, and she knew that

he had probably never heard that before.

Ive never met anyone more perfect than you, he said, and she knew that she

would probably never hear that again.

But she was wrong. Victor said that to her many more times over the rest of the

week, and when Bethel and Jackson and Jacksons little brother decided to pack up and

move on, Victor asked her if he could stay.

She was so certain that things would be different. He was brilliant and she wasnt

really so bad herselfshe was so certain that his writing or her paintings would give

them a leg to stand on soon. She saw the two of them getting married and moving

someplace wonderful. He would write, and she would paint, and they would never have

children because neither of them were as beautiful as the things they created. And

people would respect them and love them for their art.

She hated being wrong.

It had been three months, and they were still living in the back of the record store

with nine other people, wondering all the time why no one recognized the quality of

their work. She and Victor had bled their hearts onto canvas and paper, and they hardly

had anything left.

The waves threw themselves onto the land.

Mariel closed her eyes, and she tried not to cry.

*


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It was a cold evening and Mariel had taken a shower for the first time all week. Victor

had taken a shower also, and he even trimmed his beard so that most of his face was

visible.

You look very handsome, Mariel said to him.

Thank you, he said. You look very handsome as well.

Mariels brother James was standing there and he started to laugh because maybe

he thought that Victor was making a joke. But then he stopped laughing, and he smiled.

Mariel didnt mind. Handsome was a good word for describing herself. And

besides, today she looked very handsome indeed.

Shall we go? she said.

Lets go, Victor said. He opened the door and stepped out into an evening that

looked like metal. She and James stepped out behind him.

Mission Street exploded with noises and lights that stretched in both directions

like a stairway to heaven. Victors big chest and broad shoulders muscled their little

party through the noises and lights and also through the people, and Mariel felt full of

life because the world was life around her.

A mariachi sat in the road singing the American National Anthem in Spanish. A

pair of Greek-looking men stood outside of a bar and took turns punching each other in

the face.

An old black man in a wheelchair did wheelies on the sidewalk.

A little white boy with green hair held a huge pile of green flyers, and he handed

one out to anyone who would take one.

Mariel called something to Victor, but a car honked its horn at the same time, and

the driver leaned out of his window and yelled something at someone, and no one heard


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what she said.

She smiled. This was the Mission District of San Francisco, and it was jubilant

and spontaneous. It was a muse, an inspirationa living and breathing ball of

unpredictable, heart-pumping, bone-shaking energy. It was the only place she knew of,

in the entire world, that fed its inhabitantsinstead of the other way around. She could

dig it like Kerouac. It was her home, and it was everything she could ever hope to find in

a single place, and it was even a whole lot more.

The three of them were at a caf now, at a table on the sidewalk. They each sipped

their aperitif, and none of them spoke, but there was an air about them, visible in their

mannerisms and in the smiles on their faces, of self-assurance and accomplishment.

Mariel even imagined that some of the people recognized her. Of course they didnt, but

it was fun to imagine.

Youre sure drinking that slow, James said to her.

So what if I am, she said. I want to enjoy it.

Well Im going to drink another one before we leave here, then. If youre going to

drink so slow.

Go right ahead, she said.

Dont drink another one, Victor said. We have a long night ahead of us, and

you dont want to get so tight so early.

Im not tight. Whos tight, anyway? Not me, man, Im going to drink another

one.

James whistled at the waiter, and when the waiter looked over at him he tapped

the rim of his glass with a bony middle finger. Another one of these, amigo.

He drank the second one more quickly than the first one, and they all finished at


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about the same time.

They sat there together for a little while longer. The night passed them, fading

into the past, but looking out at the street you would never be able to tell. The sidewalk

was thick with bodies. The noises of the night thrummed steadily, pleasantly, like a

symphony of life.

Here in front of them, right before their eyes, were people who were living. Many

of these people would die young, and some were old already, but all of these people were

experiencing. None of these people were wasting.

Mariel whispered these things to Victor, and she kissed him on the beard.

Thats so true, he said to her. He stood up from the table, and he stretched his

arms above his head.

Whats so true? I want to know, what was she just saying to you?

Nothing. Just something about the people.

About the people, huh? Yeah, theyre something else, arent they?

Um

Dont I know it. But hey, we better get a move on unless we want to be late for

dinner. Now James stood and stretched his arms above his head also, and he clapped

his hand on the top of Victors arm and nodded toward the street. Come on.

Right you are, Victor said, we sure dont want to be late. Mariel? You all set to

go?

Mariel stood up and stretched her arms above her head. Sure, Im ready. We

dont want to be late.

The three of them sat at a table in the back of a fancy restaurant with nine other

people they did not know, and with one person they did, and they all drank wine that


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tasted very cheap, and probably was, and everyone shared off of four big appetizer plates

in the middle of the table. Soon, the conversation flowed as quickly as the wine, and the

conversation was just as difficult to swallow as the wine because none of it really made

sense. But no one seemed to mind. The wine was great, not because it was good wine but

because they were young and celebrating, and the conversation was excellent not

because anyone understood what anyone else was saying, but because they were young

and celebrating and drinking wine and talking. They felt like they had accomplished

something, and in celebrating that accomplishment they did accomplish something:

They each were living life.

James was seated down the table from Mariel talking to two girls who were both

pretty in an unconventional way. They probably thought that he was handsome in the

same way, and they seemed interested in whatever he was saying.

The title? I changed it a couple times before I finally felt right about it.

Oh really? the girl closer to him said. I didnt knowthat.

Of course you didnt know that. Howwouldyou know that?

Yeah, she said, wellI really like the title a lot.

What was the title before you changed it? the second girl asked. The second girl

was prettier and softer-looking than the first girl.

The title?

Yes, what was the tile originally?

Its funny that you should ask that. I actually changed the title a couple times

before I finally felt right about it.

Across the table from Mariel two guys who she didnt know were talking about

Jamess story also, and they were saying how really good it was and how they hoped that


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he would write for them again.

Next to Mariel, Victor was watching everyone, and he was sipping his wine and

looking aristocratic. She was so proud of him right then. She had never been more proud

of anyone in her life.

Reggie rattled his fork against his glass. The conversation and the tinkling of

silverware faded, and Mariel looked away from Victor, and everyone looked at Reggie.

Reggie stood.

Good evening, fellow artisans of renown.

Everyone chuckled.

Tonight I ask that you call me by my birth name: Reginald. I feel that we have

accomplished enough to make me worthy of wearing such an austere identification.

Everyone chuckled again.

Okay, being serious, though. Tonight were splurging a bit, and I know that this

is out of our budget. But Im proud of you guys. And I wanted to make sure and treat all

of you right.

Hear hear, one of the guys across from Mariel yelled.

Everyone chuckled.

Yes, Reggie continued, Im proud of you guys. Eight months ago when we

started A Spot Of Botherwe had no readers, no advertisers, and no clue what we were

doing. But look at us, guys. Look how far we have come.

The two guys across from Mariel started clapping, but no one joined them, and

Reggie kept talking.

I havent told all of you this yet, because Ive been waiting for tonight. But, do

you know how many copies weve sold this month? In our first week, guys, in our first


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week aloneweve sold almost sixteen hundred copies.

Applause!

High-fives!

Hear hear!

Yes!

Yes, Reggie said, holding his hands up so he could speak, and thats in one

week only. Guys, people are interested in what we have to say. Were not just a bunch of

disillusioned twenty-somethings blabbering nonsense into a dark room. Were saying

important things, and people want to listen.

Hear hear.

Yes.

Moderate applause.

Of course, some Thank Yous are in order. Everyone on staff, all of you, thank

you because this doesnt happen each month without your hard work. I know weve been

hungry at times, and were almost always tired. But I think were making a difference,

and I think were seeing that its worth it, and

Hear hear, the one guy who kept saying Hear hear said.

Daniel, Reggie said, cut it out already with all that Hear Hearingits god

damn annoying.

Hear hear! people around the table agreed, and everyone laughed.

Mostly, though, Reggie said, I have to thank three people who made all the

difference in this last months issue. After all, weve sold more copies in the first week of

this issue than weve ever sold in a month, and I cannot pretend that this would have

been possible without your contributions. Firstly, James, and he raised his glass to


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James, and everyone clapped, for the incredible story he donated to this issue. James,

The Reason Why Vanessa Never Listens To The Beatles was one of the most beautiful,

most heartbreaking stories I have ever read, and I am in your debt forever for giving that

to us to use.

Cheers, James said, and he raised his glass.

Cheers, everyone said, and they drank.

Secondly, Im grateful to Mariel, and he paused so the table could clap for

Mariel, for the unbelievably beautiful, mysticalmind-blowing painting she let us use

for the cover art this month. Mariel, that was one of the most inspiring pieces of art Ive

ever seen in person, and I can only imagine how many issues weve sold already just

because of the undeniable, absolutely addictive draw of the painting we have on the

cover. Mariel, thank you.

Applause.

Drinking.

High-fives for no reason.

And lastly I would like to thank Victor, and Reggie did not pause this time,

because no one would have known what to say. Mariel told me that it was one of your

poems that inspired her painting, and even though the two of you wont let us read it

well, I imagine that you deserve a lot of the credit this month for our success. Thank you,

Victor. And I can hardly wait for the chance to publish one of your stories as well.

Victor raised his glass. Everyone raised their glass. They drank and the party

continued.

Later, James was standing and telling everyone about how he met Vanessa at a

coffee shop when he was living in a cabin in the mountains in Colorado, and how they


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spent the day together, and how in the evening she told him her story.

Later, they were bouncing around the bars of 22nd and Mission while the night

disappeared.

Later, they were settled into some basement bar drinking beer and listening to a

four-piece jazz band that was so good it almost hurt.

Later, they were walking, and Mariel had no clue where James or Reggie or any of

the people who she didnt know had gone. It was just her and Victor and a living city and

a sky that was perfectly clear.

They made their way out of the Mission District and walked for a while with no

particular purpose until they stumbled upon a park.

I would like to sit, Mariel said.

Okay, Victor said.

Its sure wonderful out tonight, she said.

Yes, it certainly is.

She could see the lights in the patches of the city where people were still awake,

and she could see the darkness where they slept. She could hear the noises of a soul-

searching humanity, and she could feel the heartbeat of a restive generation.

She reached for Victors hand.

Youre more perfect than anyone Ive ever met, she said.

So are you, he said.

Am I?

Of course you are. Youre the most perfect thing in the world.

Im proud of you, Victor.

Im proud of you also.


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Thank you, Victor. Victor?

Yes?

Will you recite that poem for me?

Which poem?

Stop it, she said. You know which poem.

Mariel Maybe?

She nodded.

Okay, he said, Ill recite it. But first you have to kiss me.

They kissed for a long time.

Maybe we have questions

Maybe we dont understand

Maybe we both have lots of talent

Mariel maybe

Maybe you have passion

Maybe you paint all the time

Maybe you will be great someday soon

Mariel maybe

Maybe I am lucky

Maybe I want you around

Maybe I love you with all my heart

Mariel maybe

Maybe the sky is blue

Maybe the nighttime is dark


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Maybe the ocean is deep and wide

Maybe, Mariel

Maybe

When he finished she kissed him again. She held his hand. They both were

happy, and they smiled and watched the city.

Good night, San Francisco, Mariel said. She closed her eyes. She squeezed

Victors hand.

Good night, he said.

And Mariel, and Victor, and San Francisco slept.


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- 3 -

the reason why vanessa never listens to the beatles

Vanessa and I were sitting above a quiet creek on a warm summer night, in middle-of-

nowhere Colorado, when she told me that she had grown up as a missionary in Africa.

In and of themselves, these words meant nothing to me, and the idea behind

these words was so fundamentally vague and simple that it caused me to create all sorts

of complex scenes. I pictured naked people with bones in their noses, communicating

through grunts and growls, eating porridge whose primary ingredient was monkey

brains. I pictured people who were fascinated to see The White Man transporting

messages through symbols on a page. I pictured vast jungles infested with backward-

thinking savages who would just as soon eat you as invite you inside their home. Or hut.

Or cave. Or whatever it was exactly that savages like that lived in. Maybe they lived in

trees. I didnt have a clue.

Vanessa spent much of her adolescence in a small but thoroughly modern (and

entirely comfortable) house on a hill, on the edge of Freetownthe capital city of Sierra

Leone. Freetown is perched on the far western edge of Africa, and it is almost

thoroughly modern itself. Its primary language is English.

When Vanessa told me these things, I lost interest.

Sure, she had lived in AfricaBut she hadnt really lived there, had she? She

hadnt been in the bush, with the bushmen and the hunters and the warring tribes who

worship the sun. I meanAfrica, sure. But whatever. She may as well have told me that

shed grown up in Jersey.

The moonlight rippled over the water below us in little triangles of light that


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made the creek look alive. A fish jumped out of the water and splashed back down. I

heard other noises, too, like wind in the trees and an owl far away and some sort of

rodent or something crashing around in the brush.

I was about to start telling Vanessa about where I had grown up, on the Gulf

Coast of Florida, when she started talking again.

Ive never told anyone this story before.

Thats okay, I said, you dont have to tell me.

No. I want to, though. I want to tell you this story.

Okay.

I want to tell you this story. Ive never told anyone before because I didnt think

that anybody would really understand. I think that you will, though. I think that youll

understand.

Okay, I said.

She said nothing.

I waited. This was shaping up to be a real waste of an evening.

Vanessa looked away from me and stared at the trees.

When she spoke again, her voice had fallen quiet.

I was fourteen years old when the rebels invaded Freetown.

*

Vanessa was reading Cannery Row by John Steinbeck, who just happened to be her

favorite American author. She brought the book with her to Boomies house, and she

couldnt be more excited, because Boomie just happened to be her favorite African


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friend, and she and Boomie were going to have a regular old sleepover, just like back

home in the States. Vanessa had taken a nap in the afternoon so she could stay up late,

and she had borrowed her dads copy ofThe White Album by The Beatles, and she had

even packed an extra set of clothes in case she got lucky and could stay an extra day.

Her dad drove her down to Boomies house at 5:00 in the evening. Boomies dad

opened the gate for them, and he closed the gate and locked it behind them. Vanessa

kissed her dad on the cheek and jumped out of the car and said hello to Boomies dad,

and she ran toward the house while Boomies dad and her dad stood outside chatting in

the hot African night.

Boomie! Boomie, Im here!

Boomie ran around the corner laughing. They hugged, and they ran to Boomies

room.

She and Boomie stayed awake playing hide and seek and spying on Boomies dad

and telling each other stories until 1:00 in the morning. Vanessa even read some of

Cannery Row out loud to Boomie, hoping that she would like it. She didnt really like it,

but she did like The Beatles. A lot. Vanessa could hardly believe that Boomie had never

heard them.

Boomies favorite song on The White Album wasMartha My Dear. She said that

Martha My Dearwas the most beautiful thing she had ever heard in her life.

After they climbed into bed that night and said goodnight and both fell silent,

Boomie rolled over and punched around on the CD player. Martha My Dearbegan

playing, and when the song ended it began again. It played softly on a continuous loop

while they both fell asleep in the beautiful night.

Vanessa startled awake. The rattling of nearby gunfire ripped through the


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morning.

Paul McCartney was singing. Hold your head up, you silly girl.

More gunfire.

Singing. When you find yourself in the thick of it, help yourself to a bit of what is

all around you.

Vanessa heard an explosion.

Boomie lunged awake.

The door of the bedroom crashed open like an explosion of its own, and an

enormous black body blocked out the light.

Girls!

Daddy! Boomie yelled.

Girls! Keep your heads down!

More gunfire and the sounds of shattering glass.

Paul McCartney sang. Please, be good to me. Martha my love, dont forget me.

Martha my dear. The song ended, and it started over again. The jovial piano intro

banged out into the morning.

Through the open window and over the top of the wall Vanessa saw flames

dancing through the buildings. She heard gunfire in the streets. She heard screams.

People crying. People stopped crying when bullets thumped into their bodies.

Girls! Keep your heads down!

Daddy!

Paul McCartney sang. Silly girl. Take a good look around you.

Boomies dad squatted and ran toward the bed. He looked terrified. He looked so

small compared to the sounds of the rat-tat-tatof the gunfire.


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Off the bed! Come on!

People were dying so nearby that their final, crying, pleading breaths rattled

around the room and fell from the ceiling and soaked Vanessa like rain.

Boomie, sweetheart, come on. We have to go!

Vanessa felt her eyes go blurry. She felt an arm around her back, a hand clutching

at her side. She felt her feet moving. Boomies dad was pulling her.

They were in the hallway and the sounds of death were quieter, but maybe that

was only because Vanessas brain was fading.

Her feet had stopped moving.

Boomies dad was carrying her now. Was carrying both of them. Still running.

Boomies dad was so weak and helpless, so unable to protect them no matter how

strong he was.

He pushed them under the desk in the study. Vanessa first, then his daughter. He

covered them with his body.

Rat-tat-tat

Boom

Crying

Screams

The screams outside, inside. Bothside.

The screams, everywhere.

The crying, Vanessa. The crying, Boomie. The crying, Boomies dad? No, too

strong.

But how strong? Strong enough?

Probably not strong enough.


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*

Vanessa has no clue how long she laid beneath that desk, all balled up like a ball with

two black bodies on top of her.

Here are the things she remembers:

She remembers hearing Martha My Dear, faintly, either inside her head

or sharing the airwaves with a massacre in the streets

She remembers the sweet, salty smell of the sweat on Boomies dad

She remembers crying

She remembers hardly anything

She remembers hearing her dad, calling her name

Dad?Dad!

Vanessa!

John! Boomies dad was yelling also. John, in here!

Her dad burst into the room. He was holding a pistol. Vanessa struggled out from

underneath the desk and from underneath the sweet smell of sweat.

Did they hug?

She thinks they probably hugged.

Are you guys okay! her dad asked.

Were fine! Were safe!

Im taking Vanessa with me!

Go!

Her dad had gotten up early that morning to seek the Lord in the streets in


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prayer. The invasion begangunshots and explosionsand he ran back home and

inside the house. He grabbed his pistol from its hiding place in the cushions of the

couch. He told Vanessas mom to hold her Bible and pray.

Where are you going?

Im going to get Vanessa.

Be careful!

I will.

He snaked through the city and stuck to back alleys, and he ducked behind cars

and hid behind piles of trash. When he reached Boomies house, he found a smoldering

hole in the wall around it. From an RPG? From a grenade? He had no clueand it didnt

matter. If the rebels had seen the hole already and were inside the house, he had his

pistol. He would do his best.

He clambered inside. No rebels.

His daughter.

Back outside.

He forgot to warn Boomie and Boomies dad about the hole in the wall outside

their house.

Vanessa never saw Boomie or Boomies dad again.

*

Vanessa ran alongside her dad ducking behind cars. She followed him through alleys

bent over with her head nearly touching the ground.

They hid around corners and waited for soldiers to pass.


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Dust floated in the air in the streets. Smoke. It was difficult to see.

The morning passed the way mornings like that passlasting for years while it

lasted, but leaving no memories besides smoke and phantom forms.

They hid behind a truck across the street from their home. They had made it, at

last.

They started to cross the street, heads down, feet fast.

He grabbed her arm, and they stopped.

Rebel soldiers in the street. In their yard, outside their walls. The lead soldier

tested the gate.

Had her dad remembered to lock it?

Yes.

The lead soldier yelled something to the others, and that was that, the end, they

moved onto the next yard.

The next yard belonged to their neighbor Mago.

Please, Lord, let his gate be locked. Let Magos gate be

No. Not locked. Mago, no.

The soldiers were dragging Mago into the yard. One of the soldiers punched

Mago in the teeth. One of the soldiers threw the butt of his rifle into Magos belly. The

soldiers threw Mago to the ground. One of the soldiers stomped on Magos face. Once.

Twice. They stood on Magos hands and legs to keep him from fighting. Two of the

soldiers dragged Magos wife outside.

The lead soldier held a big knife in the air. The soldiers cheered. The soldiers

would not let Mago move.

Mago was screaming. An awful scream, a scream that it hurt just to hear. But the


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soldiers didnt hear it.

The lead soldier yelled something.

The other soldiers yelled something.

The soldiers stopped yelling, and now they stood, and they watched. They waited.

The lead soldier stepped forward and faced Magos wife. He faced her swollen

belly. He pointed the knife at her swollen belly.

The whole world paused a moment. The dirt in the streets stopped swirling. The

sounds of explosions and gunshots were muted.

One jab only. Then a pull. A tear.

The lead soldier stepped back and let the woman fall.

Someone stomped on Magos face.

The soldiers swamped forward.

Someone emerged from the ruckus with the baby, held high in the air.

Its a girl! one of them yelled.

Cheers.

Groans.

Pay up! one of them yelled.

And they tossed the baby aside, and beside it lay Magos wife, her blood mixing

with the dirt, and the dirt rising from the ground.

It should have been a boy!

Someone kicked Mago in the neck.

It should have been a boy!

Someone picked the knife up out of the dirt.

It should have been a boy.


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The soldiers laughed.

One of the soldiers pulled down Magos pants. One of the soldiers stepped

forward with the knife. He leaned over Mago.

A scream.

The soldier stood and held the flesh high, and he pressed the flesh against Magos

noseIt should have been a boythen the soldier tossed the organ aside, and it rolled

through the dirt and stopped against the baby that it had helped create.

The soldiers rushing inside the house.

Lets go, her father whispered. Quickly. Across the street.

There was nothing that anyone could do.

*

The creek was quiet as ever below us, but it sounded like an earthquake compared to our

silence.

Vanessa kept staring at the fir trees.

Wind in the trees. Owl. Rodent.

My mind felt like it had been broken into a thousand tiny pieces.

Finally, I said the only thing I could think of. And?

And Vanessa said nothing.

I reached for her hand.

And, she said at last, we ran across the street and made it into the house. My

mom was lying there with her Bible, praying. We knew that we all were safe.

Buthow did you make it out of there? I said. How did you survive the


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invasion?

Vanessa answered my question, and she spared every detail. Just the facts. As

painless as possible.

Because both the rebels and the government were corrupt, and because Vanessas

father was an intelligent missionary, he made no strict political alliances. He kept

inroads everywhere. He was neutral, when it came right down to it, because he agreed

with neither side.

Eventually the phone lines were restored, and her father managed to contact

Charles Taylor. Leader of the RUF. Commander of the rebel forces.

Charles Taylor was in possession of the city for only two weeks, but that was long

enough for him to send a helicopter to remove Vanessas family from the city. It was also

long enough for him to inflict scars on the heart of Freetown that will probably never

heal.

It has been ten years now since the invasion of Freetown, and Vanessa told me

that her dad has been back there several times.

Vanessa told me that she has been back there once.

Vanessa told me, she cannot wait to go again.

She was born to be a missionary to the people of Freetown.

Its more exciting than it sounds.


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the next three stories comprising eat to stay alive are as follows:

la loteria de vida

new new orleans

mcsweeneys todd

these three stories will be available on June 17, 2010

Thank you for reading, Dear Reader.

Thank you for finding three people

who you think might also enjoy.

Ill see you again on June 17.

Cheers

eat to stay alive

Documents