Every morning it's the same thing: I wake up, start the coffee and then
Doohaney comes in, mumbles something about me not waking him up, downs
some coffee (his way only: three sugars, loads of milk) and falls into
the shower. As usual I have already tried to wake him up about five or
six times to no avail. He comes, when he wants.
Now as I start reading the Guardian (a week late, but still interesting)
in the kitchen, Doo's vocal cords are straining away happily in the
shower. He'll never sing anywhere else, but give him a shower and a
radio and...
Doo comes out of the shower and drips into my coffee cup.
-Get in, he says with elegance and grace.
Me being the young wimp of the place struggle up and into the bathroom. I
find puddles on the floor, no dry towels, scummy soap, open shampoo
bottles, shaving cream on the mirror, and once in the shower, no hot
water.
I try to think, no, he's not a bastard, just going through a hard time
and then remember that I'm now a junior, have lived with Doo since second
semester freshman and during that whole time he's been a senior changing
his major every term. What a bastard.
So far everything is following the routine. I'm out of the shower,
shivering into wet towels. The next step is to go to the kitchen and
clean up the coffee cups.
Today I feel different. I decide to shave et cetera in the bathroom
first and let Doo clean the minimal mess.
-James? comes the roar from the kitchen.
Oh dear I've upset his biorhythms. Why haven't I done this before.
-Jameson!
Ooo he must be pissed. He only calls me Jameson when he's passing some
of his philosophy rhetoric my way.
-Shaving, I shout.
-Dishes.
-You do 'em Doo.
He's stumped for a minute, and then he must come to some sort of decision.
-I, crash, never, crash, do, crash, the fucking, crash crash, dishes.
Table goes over at the end of the speech.
I hope Doo's dad the millionaire will be understanding. He's had tantrums
before and checks arrive to cover the bills. Strange arrangement. I've
never met Mr. Doohaney.
Doo's calmed a bit by the time I'm dressed and out in the living room.
-C'mon, let's bail. Doo's always talking cool. Especially after a fit.
-Classes.
-Yep move your ass; I'm tired of waiting.
Doo has no patience. His car will tell you this. It's one of those rare
European sports things that reaches sixty in about four seconds and tops
out somewhere around 200.
We drive the four blocks to campus, never get over 35.
Most days I get control of the radio. Today I've angered his majesty
and the trip passes with changing flavors of static.
We get to school and separate without words.
Today I hate you, Doohaney.
* * *
Up, coffee in, speak at James, into shower. Entertainment, pass time,
lather, rinse and go.
Speed up James, too slow -Get in.
The Guardian. Old news, no interest, trash, bye. I do not want week old
news. Not news.
Shower stopped, where James.
-James? I shout to inspire him. If he does not follow routine he will
not work.
-Jameson! He doesn't understand what he needs to do.
-Shaving.
-Dishes, strong reminder.
-You do 'em, Doo. Interesting response, unexpected. To create desired
outcome action must be: anger, passion, violence. Will strike fear,
awe, respect.
-I never do the fucking dishes. One, two, three, four, five. Such
vulgarity. Vernacular is sometimes necessary. No response. Need
emphasis. Table.
Money will come. It always does.
Speak with casual air, lower self, rejoin but stay above.
-C'mon let's bail.
-Classes.
-Yep, move your ass; I'm tired of waiting.
Stay in your place.
My car. A waste. A solution to a problem. Does its duty will enough.
Radio plays no songs to educate populace.
School arrives. James has nothing to say.
Today I noticed you Jameson.
* * *
After class I decide to be a little late to the car to continue messing
with Doohaney.
I get to the spot ten minutes late and he's already left.
There are skid marks where he burned off his anger.
Four blocks is no huge walk.
* * *
Late. He does not understand. He must learn. He knows anger. Understands.
High revs, drop clutch, away. What an annoying noise.
He can walk. Maybe now he will learn self-sufficiency.
* * *
The Assistant Dean of Students advised against me taking Doo's offer
for a place to live.
After the end of a semester in a triple with two bastard frat shits
from hell I was desperate to get out but too poor to go on my own. Doo's
notice on the board in the Union looked good.
-Comfortable room in apartment, bills only, no rent.
Bills only amounted to half the electric and my part of the phone
bill. Usually averages out to about $15.00 a month. Not bad.
The Dean said people who took the room came back after two weeks begging
to be let back in the dorms. I vowed never to do that.
I pride myself on my adaptability, I instantly recognized that Doo had
a strange, but easy, routine. He expected coffee made in the morning and
dinner in the evening. I took a laid back attitude to the whole thing. I
thought, I want coffee and dinner anyway, besides he's paying the rent.
Doohaney smiled at me when he noticed how well I was fitting in.
* * *
Strange; empty car, wax nostalgic. Two years back James made himself
noticable. Everyone else feared me. He let me be. He should fear me or
advance. Today he might be advancing.
* * *
Sometime's I think Doo's retarded or something. He gets excellent grades,
but can't seem to interact correctly.
* * *
I hate small people. James does not have to be small.
* * *
Before I lost all my friends we used to try and figure out if
the advantages of my rent-free life outweighed the disadvantages.
The amicable asshole frat boys who hadn't quite clued that I moved
because I hated them thought it was a good deal because all I really
did was sleep there. My ex-girlfriend hated Doo, hated the apartment,
and decided to hate me too seemingly because three hates are better than
two hates and one love.
In my solitude I decided that the advantages were heavier. I had money in
the bank, a Bang & Olufsen to listen to and look at, and, if I remembered
my part, peace and quite. My normally silent parents send me stacks of
letters full of praise for their wonderfully intelligent son.
I've become accustomed to not having visitors. I see acquaintances between
classes and they tell me what Doo taught the prof in class that day,
and go on their way, merry or not.
People seem to have developed a respect for me, but they don't seem to
like me anymore.
* * *
Early James: small existing outside himself, relying on others; constantly
seeking fleeting gratification in selfless behavior.
Gratification does not come when there is no self.
* * *
Afternoon routine revolves around an early dinner prepared by me. Doo
is so adept at selecting classes that his end everyday at 4:30. It has
never been different.
When I first moved in Doo didn't offer the services of his Eurotaxi. He
waited for me to ask and then said, "of course," like I was an idiot.
So it's been two years since I've walked home. On a normal day we
drive past Nancy's New York Nosh without a second thought. Well, second
thought for me, first thought for Doo. In my walk today I've come level
with Nancy's.
Doo has a regular menu that rotates on an eight day schedule. We never
miss.
When I was a first semester freshmen it took great strength of will not
to go to Nancy's twice a day. I can't resist. I don't want to resist.
Doo stands up, frowns down to his feet and leaves the room when I come
in with a hot Reuben.
* * *
How to turn this regression into progression. He has gone to the outside
for gratification. He has lost control. Today was the day. Check
-Dinner?
-Yeah, hang on, let me eat this thing.
He is in the process of satisfying his own needs, why does he continue. He
hasn't learned a thing. Confront.
* * *
Doo comes out of his room and into the kitchen, fussed and blown, and
pulls me from my rummaging in the pantry.
Looks like a showdown. I don't feel scared.
* * *
-Why aren't you advancing?
Deliberate antagonistic opening
Summer, 1990
Chris Dent