An Evening For The Ages

The names have been changed to protect real people.


When I was living in Iowa, I was asked by two of my actor friends to share an apartment with them. I was going to become a junior and spent my first two years in the same dorm, in the exact same room. Mostly. The last couple months of my sophomore year I vacated that room due to an abusive asshole roommate to live with my best friend, but I ended up staying in the girls' wing living with my girlfriend anyway. That summer she and I split up while I was back in town seeing acting friends, and Chrissie and Marv asked me to join them in their new apartment whilst I stayed with them that visit. This was exciting. I had been doing plays for the past three semesters with this student theater group, and now two of the members thought I was cool enough to share a pad with. I's excited.

Chrissie Opinicus and Marv Simpson were about as yin and yang as the magnetic poles. Chrissie was bright, sparkling, irascible. A thin blond Vegetarian (with a capital "V", meaning no meat whatsoever) from New York City, she worked in the make-up department at the University Theaters and was best known for scene-stealing cameos, on and off-stage. Marv hailed from Marshalltown, Iowa and was passive, blunt, a lump. His SAT scores spelled "Harvard", but he was an Iowa dropout who worked at Blimpie's and conjectured artistic brilliance. They had been roomies for years, joking that they had only a couple years to go before they were common-law spouses. Chrissie was the fuel behind Marv's baby-step development and Marv was the vehicle for her greater wants and needs. Sometimes literally. Chrissie had no car, so when she needed groceries she'd playfully entice Marv with her girlish charms and the promise of a home-cooked meal if he put down his Playstation controller and drive her to market. Platonic for years, Chrissie was the loving, nagging housewife to Marv's surly, magnanimous sugar daddy. Now I was to be put in the mix.

We got along just fine for months. Rehearsals were held at our place. Regular MST3K evenings. Planning meetings revolving around a new public access sketch show. At night I would go to bed, stare up at the ceiling in the dark, and think about how this room was mine, that I was paying for the roof over my head. Made me feel good. Out of my room I played a versatile foil for both Marv and Chrissie. I was handy in a kitchen and would help Chrissie around the house, but I could sit on the couch and grunt along with Marv just fine. They, in turn, opened me up to a whole new world of people, new friends and new opportunities. Broken up from my first girlfriend ever, they provided distractions and distance. I had my first video rental card and would pick up the weirdest cult movies and avant-garde art films, sometimes alone, sometimes with a companion. Shortly after I moved there a tornado hit nine miles south of Iowa City and left the town in shambles. No power for days, so after driving around to look at the fallen trees and sparse wreckage, we loaded up on booze and had a social get-together in the dark. Led to my becoming a man at the tender age of 20 to a shapely redheaded Irish girl. Good times. Good people. Good apartment.

This was the '90s and Lollapalooza had its first incarnation, a travelling carnival of the hottest alternative bands and keenest underground acts. Summer concert festivals have never been my bag, but since I fell into popular music in high school and was a radio DJ now, I read Rolling Stone and Spin by the stack learning about all the lineups. The one that caught my full brain's attention since I heard the smallest buzz about them was the Jim Rose Circus Sideshow. Modern primites, regurgitating the freakshows of the twenties, actual human oddities laying on beds of spikes, swallowing roadkill, lifting weights with piercings, chewing broken glass, causing controversy across the nation. While I was shopping in the University Bookstore my freshman year I wandered away from the textbooks and found Jim Rose's autobiography for sale, which slipped neatly under the pile of Biology notes in our shopping cart and ended up on my parents' tab. Read that thing dog-eared and memorized the part in the back where Rose explains the secrets to all the tricks. The book still finds its way in my bathroom for months at a time. I yearned to have seen them on Lolla's Second Stage or as the openers to Nine Inch Nails' world tour. Alas, this was 1998, and Lollapalooza had withered into happy memories by the status quo, so no chance of an audience with them any time soon.

However, there existed a tape. Rose had commissioned a video in the early days of the troupe as a media handout and concert merch, and whaddyaknow, my local video store had a copy. Ooh, I was gonna enjoy this. Once it was in stock at the store, I was gonna watch the shit out of it.

It was a light autumn dusk. Marv was at a friend's house creating a modern retelling of Shakespeare's Richard II. Chrissie was busy with dress rehearsals all day at the Theater Building. The apartment was mine. Our building was only blocks away from the Ped Mall, the unofficial focal point of downtown. I had just strolled outof one of my usual hangouts: Record Collector, Tobacco Bowl, The Deadwood, whatever. Buzzed by That's Rentertainment just next door and scoped out the Cult Films rack. Holy shit, the black tape's in. The tag's just sitting there. Jim Rose is in the house. Not for long. I'm bouncing as I can feel the videotape rattling in its case, enrobed in my jacket, strolling down the street away from town. This is going to be an evening for the ages. Chinese take-out, couple of beers, and shots of fainting vomiting hipsters. Nothing could make me excited-er.

The apartment is getting darker. Sun's going down but there's no need for electrical light yet. And it's quiet. Deliciously quiet. And still. All except me, I'm bubbling with just this pang zow ka-wowwie 'cause I'm about to watch someone stick something into somewhere it ain't supposed to go. And it's not porn. And who cares I'm still buzzing! Digging through the catch-all drawer, searching out coupons, phone numbers, menus. Huzzah! Easyplace! Decent shrimp and broccoli, free delivery, nothing more than $6 plus tip, and an eggroll comes with. Perfect. Dance over to the fridge, grab a Milwaukee's Best. Click. Ssssst. Snap. Glug. MMMmmmm-mmmmmm. It's watery and noxious, but damn if it ain't cheap! And it'll getcha drunk! Singing some song at the top of my lungs, I plop on down into Marv's barcalounger. Way too giddy he ain't here! Reach over across the aisle and grab the cordless phone from its cradle, set it down on the arm, and get to poring over the menu to see if something else sounds better.
Phone rings.
"Hello!" "Hello! Is Chrissie there?" "No, Chrissie's not here right now. Can I take a message?" "This is her sister! Tell her to call home as soon as possible! There's been a family emergency!" "Okay. I know she's at the Theater Building, but she usually comes home for dinner." "Tell her to call home as soon as she gets in! Our mom's passed away!" "Okay. I will. I'm so sorry. I'll tell her." "I'm sorry! It's just been happening so fast! Just tell her to call home." "I will. I will." "Okay. Thank you. Goodbye." "Goodbye."

The girl was frantic. The whole phone call happened so fast. I don't know what... just... Wow. Pang. Ka-wowwie.


The apartment is silent again. Except for the clocks ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick. It's getting darker. No lights are on. Tick. Tick. Tick. What's the time? VCR says 6:38. That's about right. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick.


Tick.





Tick.







I waited for her a long time. It felt long. But the sun was still out when I left the house. The Theater Building is way across campus, across the Iowa River and exactly kitty-corner from us layout-wise. Didn't know what route she'd take. I just couldn't sit there anymore. We lived on Dodge, so I was just gonna take the main roads and see if I could catch her. She, I could spot anywhere. Especially now. Got down to the first main intersection and marched on towards town.
I was just about at the Vine and spotted her right outside Sera-Tec Plasma Center:
"Kevin! Hi!"

"Chrissie!"

"Hey! I was just on my way home!"

"Yeah!"

"What's up?"

We started walking back to the apartment.

"Your sister called. You have to call home right away. There's been a family emergency."

"Oh. Okay. Huh. Did she say what it was?"

"Not really. You should call home. Talk to your sister."

"Okay. Huh."

We chatted a bit. A lot of silence. She turns to me.

"Y'know, I really wish she had told you what the emergency was, so you could tell me, so I wouldn't be so worried."

"Uh... you should just talk to your sister."

More uneven silence. We're getting close to home. Her puzzled face turns to me one last time.
She again wishes I knew what the emergency was.
We were less than a block away from our back door.
Just about to turn down the alley into the parking lots.
My eyes close.
At that point I did something.
I took a gulp of air.

"Okay, Chrissie, your sister told me why you have to call home."
Head nod. Deep sniff.
"Your mother's passed away."

I had never seen a face so bright go so cold so fast. Her eyebrows slid down like a rusted roof wicking away rainwater. Her eyes fell, a somber glaze of shock, disbelief, fear, anger. Her lips curled low and agape, a silent scream of a Noh-drama. But she wailed. And cried out. Right in my face.
I have read many things in that face since.
We didn't talk anymore. Looked only at the ground. I tried to hold her hand during the walk and she grasped it briefly before letting both just drop to the side. Up the stairs, into the silent apartment where the sun still made no other light necessary. Chrissie went right on the phone. I just sat on the couch and tried not to squirm. Chrissie talked with her sister, let her know she knew already. Their talk was brief, and with a promise of calling back later that night, Chrissie was off the phone and in her room changing her clothes. She didn't eat. She didn't stay long. We exchanged pleasantries, said goodbye, and off she went back to the Theater Building.

After a long while I picked up the phone and dialed Easyplace. The tape was okay. Food, yeah. And I got drunk.

I never really knew Chrissie after that. She left halfway through our lease to go back to New York. Our encounters together during that brief period were minimal. I just couldn't bring myself to more. More blame. More hurt. Didn't know if it was really there or not. I only knew one thing: She requested three times, and I finally obliged. Couldn't tell you what she saw. And she left like the fog in the night, clean as a whistle, paying her rent off from afar, leaving me and Marv to each other.

I can still tell you where that exact spot is. Where I told her. Haven't been to Iowa City in years but I can still stare in its direction from anywhere in town.

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