Betsy Shebang - Column for 1/29

Chapter 9

Eugene was the smartest person I knew growing up. He drew really well, he read constantly and he wrote essays and mailed them to people, which made everyone else think he was emotionally unstable, but to me it defined cool behavior. There was nothing he didnÕt enjoy doing. He started meditating when he was ten, I think. Once he said he achieved some kind of meditative trance while walking around in a circle in his backyard, and for years he tried to do it again, over and over. I donÕt think he ever got it to work a second time.

In college we sorta did comedy together. He was very funny. I rented a room from his grandmother after college and then he moved into the room when I moved out.

Eugene meant a lot to me growing up, but I had kinda given up on him since college. HeÕs 29 now and as far as I know he never leaves his grandmotherÕs property. And the best thing I can say about his grandmother is that sheÕs not as bad as his parents.

EugeneÕs grandmother Grace is a retired physics professor who published some groundbreaking new model for acceleration derivatives or something when she was in her twenties. SheÕs very very smart, very sweet and generous. SheÕs a virtuoso harmonica player and she washes all her garbage and stacks it in bundles throughout her house. She never throws anything away. New stuff comes in but nothing ever goes out. IÕve heard sheÕs gotten worse since I lived there. Fortunately, she has only one cat.

When I moved out I tried to convince Eugene to come with me. I called him five years ago and he said he was going to move out when he was ÒreadyÓ. HeÕs never going to be ÒreadyÓ. Everything heÕs ever owned is in his grandmotherÕs house and now heÕs stuck there like a pile of aging newspapers. Eugene really, really needs somebody to burn his house down.


I thought about calling ahead but I didn't. IÕm not sure if I could remember the number or not. Somehow parking in front of that house reminded me of the time IÕd spent living there. It felt threatening, like the disease ward IÕd only just escaped. I left my car parked in front of the liquor store at the end of the block, as if to protect it, and stepped over a few fresh newspapers on the porch as I arrived at the door.

I was hoping I wouldnÕt find him there, actually. I was hoping his grandmother would tell me heÕd moved out without telling her where. I got excited as I knocked.

Eugene answered the door wearing a bathrobe.

ÒToby!Ó

ÒEugene!Ó

ÒWhat are you doing here?Ó

ÒIt's a long story. Can I come in?Ó

ÒYeah, I'll clear some space.Ó I was afraid heÕd say that.

Eugene carefully turned to look behind him, adjusting his robe. Underneath it he was wearing loose grey sweatpants and a Rush t-shirt. I think I was with him when he bought it.

ÒWhere's your grandmother?Ó I asked him.

ÒShe's at a Mensa meeting.Ó He backed into the house, pushing things aside as he did. I took a step inside.

Beside the door was a row of bales of folded plastic bags, each bound with string and stacked three feet high. Beside them sat a tower of five rusty VCRs balanced atop one another, like a depressing suburban totem pole. Every flat surface in the living room held a stack of newspapers. Piles and piles and piles and piles of newspapers. A couch, some chairs and some kind of home-gymnasium thing poked up from underneath the lake of boxes and garbage and newspapers.

The dining room to the right was filled with furniture, with several matresses stacked vertically against the wall Ð or, against the rows of bookshelves, filled with books - with bed frames and headboards leaned against the mattresses. Two couches were placed facing each other beside the bed frames, each stacked high with fishtanks and paintings and more boxes filled with bottles and papers and antique board games and books; all of it was packed with great efficiency, as if the whole house had been due to arrive at some distant island where several city blocks of worn-through civilization could be unpacked and reassembled.

Grocery bags full of brand new packages of napkins and toilet paper lined the hallway. The shag carpet had long since suffered a slow, terrible death.

ÒDoes all this stuff belong to your Grandmother?Ó

ÒYeah, it's been like this for a while.Ó

ÒShe fixes VCRs?Ó

ÒNo, she just keeps them.Ó

ÒDoes she have anyVCRs that work?Ó

ÒYeah, on her desk.Ó

I hadnÕt even registered that there was a desk in the living room, but I couldnÕt pretend to be too surprised. ÒHuh. So, Hi! Good to see you.Ó

ÒYeah, hi. Thanks for coming by. CÕmon.Ó

I followed him down the hall to my old room. It smelled no different than it used to, like a used bookstore after a minor flood. I donÕt think IÕd ever noticed that before. ÒSo how's life in Portland?Ó I asked.

ÒUhÉÕsokay.Ó Eugene crossed the room to the bed, stepping across a wide moat of magazines and papers. A pair of scissors and a thick stack of cut-out articles waited beside a Eugene-sized depression in the blankets, the shape framed on all sides by more old magazines and newspapers, like a chalk outline. Hundreds of worn books had been lined up against the wall beside the bed, each jagged row arranged directly on top of the row beneath, as if all the shelves had vanished at once and the books settled together like a jigsaw puzzle. This was new.

ÒYou ever think about putting up shelves?Ó

ÒIÕve thought about it, but...you know, that'd be like a commitment to stay here.Ó

ÒYou're not going to?Ó

ÒI dunno. I'm sick of it. I'm ready to leave.Ó

ÒYou are?Ó

ÒYeah. I just need to get away.Ó

ÒYou said that five years ago.Ó

ÒYeah. I needed to get away five years ago too.Ó He chuckled, like IÕd asked the wrong question.

I glanced around. Again, there was a desk I hadnÕt noticed at first. ÒYour grandmother ever heard of storage lockers?Ó

ÒSheÕs got three of them.Ó

ÒWhatÕs in them?Ó

ÒEhÉlower-priority stuff.Ó

ÒHuh. So, what are you doing nowadays?Ó

ÒEhh, Just...I've been sorting through some stuff. Trying to get organized. What are you doing here?Ó

ÒCan I move this stuff?Ó I picked up a stack of records and clothes from the desk chair.

ÒYeah Ð just put it down there.Ó He pointed where I was standing. I did my best.

ÒI'm driving down the coast. Sorry for just dropping by. I just figured I haven't seen you in forever.Ó I sat down.

ÒThat's okay. Where are you going?Ó

ÒDown South. Southern California. You been doing any writing?Ó

ÒNo. I've been meaning to. ThereÕs like, surface tension. It's hard to get started.Ó

ÒHuh. Been drawing or anything?Ó

ÒNo. My stuff's in a box around here somewhere.Ó

ÒWhy haven't you been writing?Ó

Eugene had been scratching his back behind his neck and swaying his head back and forth. Now he looked up at me. ÒWhy are you asking me that?Ó

I glanced around the floor again. ÒSorry. I remember liking your writing. I was hoping you were still doing it.Ó

ÒHaven't had time. I'm trying to avoid stress.Ó

ÒYou been working?Ó

ÒUhÉI was doing phone support for Think Link for a while. I guess you were here when I did that.Ó

ÒAnd you stopped doing that?Ó

ÒMmmh. People are afraid of technology and they take it out on the phone people. Anyway, thereÕs space for me here.Ó

ÒSo have you been working here?Ó

ÒHelping my grandmother out with stuff. That's my rent.Ó

ÒMmm hmm.Ó

I was still looking around, but something had changed. I got nervous. I was going to say something to him. I didnÕt even know what yet. I stood up.

Eugene was still looking up at me. ÒSo...you came by for a reason.Ó

ÒYeah. Eugene...grab five things. IÕm taking you to Los Angeles.Ó

ÒWhat am I grabbing five things for?Ó

ÒWe're going to Hollywood. We always talked about making movies. If you want to do it before you die, you need to come with me. Now.Ó

EugeneÕs head jerked to the side a few times. ÒSo youÕre going toÉshow up in Los Angeles?Ó

ÒJust like the Muppet Movie. And youÕre going to go with me. Come on.Ó

ÒI think your business plan is missing some paragraphs.Ó

I nodded. ÒI know. Grab five things. I'm kidnapping you.Ó

ÒOh! You're not kidding.Ó He laughed and looked down again.

ÒNo. We're leaving now.Ó

ÒOkay, Toby, I think itÕs a great idea, butÉÓ He sighed. We both knew what he was going to say. ÒWhere are you going to live?Ó

ÒIÕm not sure yet - Ó

ÒOkay, come on, how much money do you have? I canÕt even afford to get my own place here. And people who canÕt afford to live in California make a lot more money than people who canÕt afford to live in Oregon.Ó

ÒI know. We'll have to get crappy jobs for a while. I've got my computer in the car. We'll write scripts together. You know we can do that. Our main goal at first has to be to get attention.Ó

ÒWhere are we going to live?Ó

ÒWe'll get a place. I've got some money. Not as much as I started out with, but what's important is that we get there. Nothing will happen unless we get there.Ó

Eugene lifted his hands in the air, sortof shrugging. I said it again. ÒNothing will happen unless we get there. WeÕre just going to be stuck doing the same things for the rest of time and when we die theyÕll say we were very talented and never did anything with it.Ó

ÒToby...good luck.Ó

ÒEugene, you're coming with me. Come on.Ó This was weird. I was angry.

ÒToby, how long is your money going to last? A month? A week? How much do you have?Ó

ÒLook, I don't know what we're gonna wind up doing. Worst case scenario, we'll run out of money. Worst case scenario, at least we tried to do something. Then after we run out of options we can turn to crime and drugs. And through that, we can meet people and start networking.Ó Eugene didnÕt laugh. A door slammed in the living room. I was hoping to be gone by now.

ÒThat's my grandmother.Ó Eugene said. We each looked at the ground again. End of round one. The mad referee had arrived. We heard her shuffle through the living room and she appeared in the doorway, carrying two grocery bags filled with toilet paper. For some reason I was furious. I smiled.

ÒWhy, hello, Toby!Ó she said, like I lived next door and was her favorite person. She does have a way of annoying people while failing to actually piss them off.

We moved into the kitchen and Grace put some water on the stove for tea. The cupboards above her were stacked with dishes and held closed with twine. Dozens more plates and cups and pots were stacked on the counters. IÕd lived here before and I could think of nothing but what long-dormant substance might soon be floating in my cup.

Grace smiled again. ÒSo are you moving back to Portland? Do you need a place to stay?Ó

ÒNo, actually, I'm just on my way to L.A.Ó

ÒOh. Well, it's good to see you, Toby. You know there'll always be room for you here Ð Oh, Eugene?Ó SheÕd placed the bag of paper products on the kitchen table; now she picked it up and handed it to him. ÒÉcan you put this in the hallway? They were on sale, I couldn't resist Ð Ò

Eugene took the bag and she continued. ÒThanks. So, were you going to be staying here tonight?Ó

ÒNo, actually, I was just hoping to come by and be taking off right away. I gotta be going.Ó

ÒOh, I'm sorry to hear that. Have you had any soup? You need some soup.Ó

ÒOh, but I was just leaving. I actually donÕt even have time for the tea, IÕm sorry Ð I really appreciate the offer, though.Ó

ÒI'll give you a couple of cans of soup. Do you like cookies? Everybody likes cookies. Have you eaten lunch yet? I'll get you some groceries for your trip.Ó

ÒOh, thank you very much, but you don't...Grace, are those VCRs in the living room working?Ó

ÒThe ones by the door? You know, they're not. Some of them are a bit rusty. I just hate to throw them away, you know.Ó

Ò'Cause this is gonna sound strange, but when I get to Southern California, I'm actually going to be working with some friends on a video installation at a gallery, and I noticed you had all these VCRs that you didn't seem to be using.Ó

ÒUh-huh.Ó

ÒAnd they're on a very very low budget. And I was actually wondering if you weren't using these VCRs, if this group could possibly make use of them.Ó

ÒCan your friends fix them?Ó

ÒThey're very good with things like that.Ó

ÒWell, I was hoping they'd go to a good home. Do you want to take one of them?Ó

ÒWell, if you weren't going to be using any of them, actually, I was hoping my friends could use all of them.Ó

Eugene took two, I took three. Somehow we got the door closed. Grace stayed inside.

ÒWhich way is your car?Ó

ÒBy the store.Ó

ÒYou didnÕt tell me about your friends in Southern California.Ó

ÒI don't have any friends in Southern California.Ó

ÒHuh?Ó We walked past my car.

ÒYour grandmother is very sweet, but she's a sick woman. And now, she's a sweet sick woman with a little more available floor space. If she gives away one pile of garbage every dayÉsheÕll be able to escape when the fire happens.Ó

An inviting dumpster poked out from behind the liquor store and after a moment we stopped beside it. The lid was open and I threw my pile of equipment over the rim without stopping. I turned to take the remaining two from Eugene.

ÒWhat are you doing?Ó he protested, clutching at them.

ÒWhat you should have done five years ago.Ó He threw one arm on top of his load, lifted one knee to support it, lost balance and I pulled the weight out of his hands. Stumbling, he chased the rusty pile into the air, and watched them tumble over the rim of the dumpster. He turned toward me.

ÒToby, you're not going to change anything. She's just gonna fill up the space with something else.Ó

ÒThat's not my problem.Ó Eugene followed me back toward my car.

ÒSo what are you going to do now?Ó

ÒLeave.Ó

ÒWhy'd you leave Seattle? What can you do down there that you can't do up here? Really?Ó

ÒIt's gonna sound stupid.Ó

ÒYou already sound stupid.Ó

We stopped in front of my car and I fumbled for the keys. I didnÕt really want to find them yet. I stopped looking and stood awkwardly in front of Eugene, trying to look earnest instead of disgusted and not sure if there was a difference. ÒThe only things we talked about as kids were movies and girls. We didn't even really talk about girls. We just talked about movies. Making movies. We knew that's what we were going to do. Not because it was practical. It wasn't practical. We just knew that's what we were supposed to be doing. Now I don't even know what that feels like. What am I supposed to be doing? I don't know. What do I want to be doing? I barely know that anymore. I haven't written anything because nothing is worth writing about. Nothing feels necessary to me, and that's a really scary feeling. So I'm not going there because it makes sense to go there. I'm going there because nothing makes sense.Ó

Eugene didnÕt say anything. I tried to remember what IÕd just said.

Eugene said ÒYeah, that's rational.Ó I think he was joking.

ÒEugene...what if we get there and we find a secret? Something we can bring back here?Ó I started fumbling for my keys again. ÒI don't know, I'm sounding like an idiot.Ó

ÒToby...Why don't you stay at my grandmother's house, and we'll ÐÒ

ÒI am not going to stay at your grandmother's house. I'm sick of talking to you about this.Ó I unlocked the door.

ÒToby, you're making a mistake.Ó

ÒI can't learn from my mistakes if I never make them.Ó

ÒOkay. Bye.Ó Eugene waved and walked away.

I climbed in and closed the door, wanting to vomit. My car smelled like sweaty bananas. IÕm not even sure IÕd noticed it before. Everything I owned was packed in beside me. I was no better than Eugene.

I felt like I had watched him drown. I threw him a rope but he wouldnÕt let go of his fucking newspaper clippings and moldy book collection and lifetime supply of toilet paper long enough to take hold of it.

I thought about getting some kinda snack food but I just started the engine. I had so much of everything IÕd need I wanted to throw most of it away again. All of it. I pulled on the seat belt, glanced in the mirrors and backed out of the parking lot.

Now I didnÕt even know which direction to drive. There were freeways in each direction. I tried to think of something I could do there that I couldnÕt do anywhere else, to convince myself I hadnÕt wasted the hours it took to get there. I didnÕt want to study a map. I wanted to be somewhere else as quickly as possible. I had a weird feeling like IÕd just spent an hour in the company of ghosts. I dunno. At least EugeneÕs grandmother leaves the house once in a while. I sat in the car, engine running in the middle of the boulevard. Finally I put it in first and drove back across the mouth of their street, back the way IÕd come.

First I wondered if I knew anybody in Northern California who needed to be rescued from his or her miserable life. Then I had to admit that I was just looking for a way to put off arriving in Los Angeles. Then I decided that the only person that needed rescuing was myself and the fact that Eugene was so pathetic made me feel better and that was a kind of satisfaction I desperately needed to avoid. I was tired of being a scared fish looking for smaller and smaller ponds. The rest of my life would be a one-way trip away from EugeneÕs grandmotherÕs house. Then I wondered what IÕd do when I got to Los Angeles and ran out of money. By this time IÕd passed maybe seven houses from EugeneÕs street and I was ready to strangle both of us. I glanced in the rear view mirror to watch the street sign retreat in the distance, somehow out of fear it would follow me. What I saw, running toward me down the middle of the street, was Eugene.



Copyright 2002 Betsy Shebang