sinbad loves minneapolis

8/12/2019 Sinbad Loves Minneapolis

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Sinbad Loves Minneapolis

I made this book for you.

Illustrations for The First Girl I Ever Danced With ! 2007 by Kristoffer West Johnson

Cover Photography ! 2007 by Jacob Treichel

All poems! 2007 by Jason R. Garcia



Some Stuff I Wrote

My Problem… 1

The First Girl I Ever Danced With… 2

Mercedes-Benz S 420… 4

We Always Have To Wake Up Early… 5

Like Warm Vodka Mixed With Tap Water… 6

I Was Always Quick-Witted and Inconsiderate… 7

Self-Destructive… 8

Fifty Degrees and Sunny… 10

A Short Poem About Two Months of Regret… 11

The Return of Ray… 12

The Track… 13

The Cruel Things We Did to One Another… 14

It’s Something Like Grenadine and Rain Water… 15

The Writer Falls In Love Too Easily… 16



My Problem

“You drink too much,” she tells me.“I drink too much with a broken heart,” I respond.She doesn’t know there’s a drink in my hand as we speak.

There is a long pause in the conversation.“You drink too much,” she says again. “You should get help.”“Like someone to make me drinks?” I say.

She doesn’t laugh. This isn’t funnyto her. I can tell by the way she sighsand probably thinks about hanging up on me.

I don’t think she knows she broke my heart.I couldn’t hold it against her either way.

She can’t help being beautiful.

Please,” she says finally. “Please get help.I can’t stand to see you destroying yourself this way.”

“I’ll get help,” I promise, and she relents.

“I love you, you know,” I say.“I love you too,” she replies before hanging upand falling asleep next to the person she actually loves.



Mercedes-Benz S 420

You.

You cursed at me todaywhile I was stopped at a green light

giving a dollar to a homeless man.

I’m sorry I delayed you

for that minute.

That man was dying.You can tell when you look at his eyes and handsto see how red and straining they are.

And maybe you were on your way to the hospital

to see your husband who has end-stage renal disease

or maybe one of your kidsmissed a bus and was scared and needed you.

But I doubt it.

I bet if you were here now,you’d lecture me for giving that man the dollar.“He’s only going to spend that money on alcohol,”you’d say.

I was only going to spend that money on alcohol.

Some of us don’t have luxury sedans,big houses in Kenwood,or diamond rings you can see from a car length away.

We have a bottle and problemsand we have to watch out for each other.We’re all in this together.

When you sped past me on the on-ramp to 394

I noticed you had a Jesus fish on your car.



We Always Have to Wake Up Early

One of us will groan and turn off the alarm we’ve set.It’s seven, maybe eight.Sometimes we’re not even in the same bed

but eventually on of us gets up,wakes the other with a nudge or the sound of an opening door and footsteps.

We’re not much for breakfast together. Just splash some water on my face and brush my teeth while you get dressed.I avoid looking in the mirror because your reflection makes mine look so worn. So damaged.One last kiss before we step apart and don’t look back. We taste like toothpaste together.



Like Warm Vodka Mixed With Tap Water

Lately I’ve been thinkingabout how her hair used to slip out from behind her ear.She’d brush it back-it was a quick, impatient motion,

but she’d smile when she did itwhen she knew I was looking.

Sometimes she’d sit across the room from mefor hours while we talked about meaningless thingslike my last pet’s name or her favorite book(she hated reading)and eventually she’d ask me what the appeal was,why I was still with her.

There isn’t a good answer to that question. Not for me.

So I’d make a joke about her cookingor the fact that she loved to vacuum hardwood floors.

But the real reason was the look on her facewhen she’d brush her hair back orthe way she’d sigh instead of yawning when she was tired orhow she could ask me questions about my pets’ names.

In those days, we went well together.



I Was Always Quick Witted and Inconsiderateshe put a cigarette out on my belly once

-crushed it in there real good-

to see if it would hurt,

she said

It did hurt and my skin stunk up the room

a 600 degree circle will always cause discomfort,

I told her

so she asked me why I didn’t scream

I think I said

because that would be telling a lie about

postmodern romance

or something like that

I was always quick with a stupid line in those days

she was quick to cry

we really never took those things

into consideration

after a lot of vodka

and consideration these days

I notice she never said

if she was trying to hurt me or hurt herself



The rest of the day is a blur of sad stories.Some of them are even yours.At dusk, when people are filing into the diner kitty-corner from your apartment,you realize you’re going to need more whiskey.

You pass her in the hall. Neither of you say a word.

Your best friend is watching a reality show when you get into the third bottle of

the day.You wonder what you really have in common with anyone anymore.

At 3 AM, you decide you hate your life, hate yourself,you even hate your bed. So you pass out on the couch.It’ll be closer to the bottle in the morning, anyway.



Fifty Degrees and SunnyShe died six nights ago.

I spent over a year with herand right now,

this is all I know.

She wanted to be a writer so badly

and I barely caredabout the future-I thought it was irrelevantto the time we had together.

I told her she was too good for meenough times that she finally believed it

So now I sit in bed with a glassof whiskey and iceand know that it was true.

I wonder if her parents will call me back.If I’ll ever know any more aboutthese past few monthsandwhy she never wrote me back.

She said we’d be together foreverabout three weeks before she told meshe couldn’t see me anymore.

She was right both of those nights.

Right now my friends are worried about me,about what I’ll do tomorrow,but today,it was a beautiful day

for a funeral.



A Short Poem About Two Months of RegretYou wish you still remembered

exactly what it felt like

that summer night you slept naked

with your left hand on her hip

Maybe then it wouldn’t seem

like five minor miracles

but something you don’t mind missing

And you wish you didn’t remember

in excruciating detail

the texture of her lips on yours

the way she blurred your light

But you’re not a bad person

-you tell yourself that-

you’re just reacting to your life

You don’t want to tell anyone

how lonely that life is

on autumn nights

when you’re not sleeping next to her



The Return of Ray

I hit this guy named Brian once

right in the faceright by the corner of Main and PrairieI know it seems awfully violent of me

but he had it coming

he and his girl had been drinking all dayvodka and beer and rumhe decided to pull her around by her hairand by the time I got there she was already crying

had blood on her scalp and had torn her skirt

It was a warm night in early Aprilso the ground was soft and wet when he went down

I don’t even really remember hitting him(I was drinking all day too)

just the sight of Brian laying in the mud

But the girl, the girl kept crying and screamingand calling me Ray

even when the police showed up and took our statementsshe wanted them to arrest meshe told them Ray was the one who started all the trouble

I was released in time for last call

at the hotel bar across the street from the police stationand as I drank the last screwdriver I’d drink for ten yearsI thought to myselfRay had a pretty big day, Ray had done alright.



The Track

We hit the track early that day,in time to bet on the first races.We were young and fearless,convinced we were lucky.

After a few whiskeys and a few losing betsI was not so sure,

but Hank was positiveand he’s not a glass half-full kind of guy.

He went to get cash and make a few more bets.I found myself standing next to a prettygirl who was not drinking at noon.She was already getting pink from the sun.

“Who do you like in this one?” I asked,wondering if she’d think I was talking to herand she did.

“Number three,” she said. And she smiled.

We talked for a whileabout horses and whiskey in the morningand about how sunburnt she was going to getbefore too long.

Hank came back then, loud and excitedAnd we all yelled and cheered,“Go, number three, go!”and we celebrated when they won.

That evening I drove them both to my favorite bar,heard them kissing in the back of my car,and I congratulated them on their victory.I, who was too afraid to bet anymore.



The Cruel Things We Did to One AnotherI told her I loved her

the second time we kissedeven though it wasn’t true

we poured each other cocktailswe really didn’t needand watched each other drink

she slept with my best friendin the bedroom downstairs from mine

she called my cell phone to tell me about it afterward

she borrowed my favorite cdthen loaned it to someone she knew

would never give it back

I picked her up from workwith my new girlfriend in the carshe told the girl I was bad at giving head

she said my writing was derivative and fakeand I said hers was purely narcissistic(we were both right on that count)

we made each other play stupid games

that the other person hated just to embarrass one another in front other people

and she told me she loved me

after we had sex last nightI think she may have meant it



It’s Something Like Grenadine and Rain WaterI wake up early in the afternoon and smell her in my bed

I get confused

because it’s been months since we slept together

But then I remember she woke me up at 2 AMHer stomach hurt

Her room was cold and she wanted to be comforted

My heart accelerates around this curve, trying

to remember

what it was like to have her next to me at night again

I realize that I don’t know because with her laying beside me

we didn’t touch

but I slept through the night for the first time in months

I wonder what time she woke up, when she left my room

flip the pillow

over and fall back to sleep hoping she was comforted too



The Writer Falls in Love Too EasilyThe Writer Fails in Love Too Easily

Yesterday I fell in loveWith a Mexican waitress

in a restaurantIn Waukesha, WIShe smiled shyly

But talked like a proIn English and Spanish, andEven made my order ofJuevos con chorizo

Sound more than a little bit dirtyas she wrote it downHer skin was the color of dark maple syrup

So sweet looking,

I wondered how it would tasteOn my tongueAs she touched my cheek softly

And encouragingly as I fumbledThe native language of her and my fatherAnd when she brought my foodShe gave me a wink, soft and subtle,Making sure my father wouldn’t seeMaking me forget the girl I had fallen in love withThe night before

Two nights ago I fell in loveWith a faux-dominatrixIn a strip club just southOf MilwaukeeWho was tough talk at firstBut settled into an uncomfortableBashfulnessWhen I looked at her eyes and not her chestSo she perched on my lap

-to pretend she was still working-

and brushed her long black hairthat smelled of honey and cinnamonagainst my throat and told meI was too much of a sweetieTo be spending my money on herIn a place like thatWe shared our uneasy smiles



And as a song called “Shoots and Ladders” endedShe pressed her black cherry lips to my foreheadAnd tottered off in stiletto-heeled bootsAnd I had completely forgottenThe girl I had fallen in love with a week before.

A week ago I fell in loveWith a punk rock girl

In an indie record storeIn Uptown MinneapolisWith scarlet lips and bleached blonde hairAnd a stud in her tongue to bootI knew she was the singerOf an up-and-coming local bandSo I bought her cd, which made her smile

And as she autographed the disc for me

We talked about the show where I had seen her playAnd the tight red dress she’d worn that was the colorOf her lips

And she laughed and blushed that I’d rememberSuch a thingBut that seems to be what I do soShe wrote her email address on the cd caseAnd told me to write her somethingBefore her next gig in townAnd she’d make sure to get me on the list

Or did she say on her listEither wayby the time we finished a beerAt the bar across the streetI was no longer thinking about the girlI’d been in love with a month before.

A month before I was still in loveWith my wife and thereWas no “other man”

No moving out

No talk of lawyersAnd most of allNo need for meto fall in love again.

sinbad loves minneapolis

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