The Mission – Part 1

The word has so many ways to go I’m not which one to play off of first. Can we just jump to this part of the story? At this point, during the mapping out phase, i think it’s possible. The focus of the story has shifted again. I can’t get a real hold on it. Trying not to make it a drug narrative filled with vampires and odd things. Much of the Early 90s were like that and it was a time I’d like to forget, but I think that, for a good portion of those happenings, at least for me, it was a time that helped to shape where life is at right now. I want to set the backdrop a little more clear so let’s keep on going with Patrick’s man struggle. I don’t like that name for a main character – He’ll be something else.

It was time to eat and the sun setting against the buildings of the mission district. Patrick and his lady sat in Delores Park with a burritos and Orchata, sitting between the hill where the families played and the flatlands were week was sold. The sun didn’t mind being out just a little longer. Man, I am really stuck here. I can’t put down what I’m feeling. The story is slow in coming. Perhaps it would be best to step away from the first person narrative structure and go into a different way. The “I” might be restricting. Can’t tell at this moment. This character just lost his job as a bike messenger and might be better working at the museum with Vince fixing those old machines. I can’t tell. I hope I haven’t been wasting my time writing this story when I should have been working on the epic. That is of great concern to me at this point. Who is the main character?

I keep trying to work myself through this book and it’s not working out the way I thought it would. The themes are all there. I’ve walked away from it a few times and still keep coming back to it. It’s very much a story that I’d like to tell. Should be writing itself. This one was supposed to be more character driven that the last. Not really about the city itself. More about the people inside of it. Perhaps the bike messengers are just going to be a side story. Yes, that will work out a little better rather than making it them main focus of it all. He would be more likely to work in the museum fixing the machines than Vince would. Yes. So, let’s do that when we go back on the rewrites and have this guy working in the museum with all of the machines. Any other way we’re going to get stuck in there and that’s not going to make for an interesting tale. Damn. Spent nearly a week on that character. We need to get our main character moving again. Keep him away from the job at Loehmans. He should lose it at some point.

What about his relationship that he’s in. This needs to get shown a little more. Humor. Let’s bring it.

So, I think I told you already that Josephine was one of those girls from Orange county who was confused enough to think she was bisexual. She loved women but I think she loved Marcy enough to wish that she herself was gay and would be good enough to lay down with her. Does that make any sense?  I think she was looking for some form of identity but she wound up just going around killing people. Some women in nice packages are like that if you let them, but it’s the men who let them be like that. Where am I here in this damn story it’s killing me. These are the darker times I think. It’ better to be out here in the middle of the street trying to find out where you are than alone inside your room or office or wherever and trying to find it. I should switch over to the bigger story I think.

Anyhow, must move on. Where is the sun in all of this? The brightness. School was something that was – wait. I remember this now. Oh, how did I get myself into this space again of writing these damn stories of ghosts and other dead people. I’d really like to put something funny or historic down. There is a wall being put up in front of me trying to keep my characters from moving as they should and I am sitting here in the morning banging my head up against it and thinking why I even started this damn book. Trying to get something finished soon is not a good enough reason. Those damn vmapires wanted to be immortal and now look. Even though they stole everything from me. Even though it was that house that I met the girl that eventually caused my San Francisco to fall down around me, I am still giving them exactly what they want by putting them into these pages. Who knows if they publishers even want this mess. My San Francisco was crumbling down all around me.

My San Francisco was crumbling down all around me. The past which I found so much glory in. The reflections of old stories were not so clear as I made my own past. My own history. Josephine was now an job. Most of the time was trying to keep her out of the pain she had caused, but had I looked beyond her body, I would have seen that she was trying to drown herself in the pain in hopes of taking it away from the boy she had killed. It was all very healthy you see.

There was no city anymore. I didn’t notice what was happening. We had both decided that it was time we moved out. Wait. No, not yet. Have I talked about the first time we made love? Can you call it love. I’ll pull back the curtains so you can watch and you can tell me. Now, the main problem was that I thought she was so good looking. We had kissed a few times and made out, but the first time I took her paint off – i think she was wearing these green sweatpants – I saw what I had been imagining. It was not that late the first time.

Around, I think, let’s see, 10 or so. We had been making out in my room and she wasn’t stopping me from doing anything. I pulled her pants down, leaving her panties on for a moment so I could see how the fit on her body when she was naked. I pulled them a little more to reveal the first row of pubic hair. All of my clothes were still on as she made no moves whatsoever to take those away. I did that myself. I undid her bra and finished the job on the rest, leaving her naked and me with more work to do by taking off the rest of my clothes. I was always working. Damn.

I was so excited to see her naked laying down underneath me. Everything was as it should have been. As I planned it to be. The right music was on and the record player wasn’t skipping this time. San Francisco in the background. No vampires or goat face boys disturbing me. I put a condom on and moved inside of her but could control myself. I came a few second afterwards and felt terrible about it. There was no enjoyment. She could care less either way. We laid there. My heart was beating. This was not love, it was the acceptance of infatuation. I tried saying something that would make the moment shift, but it just got even odder. The record played the right music and lasted much longer than I did.

“You know, when we used to make love, time stopped,” Josephine said. “But I was the one who taught him things there. I was much more experienced than he was. That was the part of our relationship that balanced everything out.”

She went on to tell me about everyone she had ever laid down with. The meth dealer whose breathe smelled like menthol. The huge muscle goth guy who would hammer her so hard she would breath. The gay guy she was sleeping with before me.  I stopped her before she listed any more. Finally, the record stopped playing. I got up to keep my needle from wearing down.

“These are hard to find these days,” I said. “More expensive too.”

‘The best stuff is usually expensive,” she replied. “Don’t think too much about what happened. We’re going to have plenty of tries at that. I like sex, so that’s good for you. Just don’t ask it to be anything more than that and we’ll  be fine.”

She smiled. I smiled. Why? Because I heard that and my mind translated it to mean that she was progressive and liberal about such things and that she would open up a new world to me. What I should have heard what that ” I like to have sex. I’m going to keep on having it.” I didn’t. I think there are women who teach us lessons in different ways and this was one way that was going to learn what a whore was. If you like sleeping with whores, and many people do, so I’m not hating, then good for you. I was in search of love but couldn’t get past my cock. For that, I had to pay. How much of the city would I have to sacrifice for that?

We went at it a few more times as the night went on, and though I last longer, I found the pleasure being taken away each time because I was trying to please her instead of finding what made me happy. She was out of balance. I was warned. We went on like that for the next few weeks and as we did, I found out what caused her to cum and I made her each time, which made me happy and satisfied. I got the job done. Always concerned with that. The rest of the world started stripping away from me.

We were hanging with Marcy one day when she remarked that all of their food had been disappearing. They were on to everyone in the house.

“We need to move,” Marcy said.  “I’m looking today. This shit is too crazy. Why didn’t you tell us?”

They both looked at me and I had nowhere to turn. I knew why and so did they.

“Wherever you want,” said Josephine. “I trust you Marcy. We’ll get out of here.”

I had enough money to leave as well, but I wondered how that would change things between us. Without her in the same house as me, I would have to try even harder to hold on to her. That was going to take even more money. In the house, I could plan little dates and fun meals, but outside, that was going to take cash. Cash I didn’t have, especially since I needed to fork out more for the move. Life is about change and things were about to move once again.


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