Devilcountry (28 page)

 
        
  
“Come on, Carin.” I had walked
ahead of her to the door.  She stuttered for a second as she noticed me at
the front perched like a dove waiting to take off.  She walked toward the
light as she noticed a smile creep across my face.  “It’s called
daylight.”   

TREES IN L.A.?

“It’s
been so long since I’ve been up this early,” she whispered to me as though we
were in a movie theater.

 
         
 
“Why are you whispering?” I whispered
back.

 
         
 
“Sorry,” she whispered.  Her steps
were small and frail, yet her face was lit-up.  About ten steps in she
started to gather steam and she was off.  All hesitation was replaced with
assertion.  It was like she was saying hello to an old friend.  She
put her head down, her arms out.  A picture of the huge Redwood came into
her head.  She decided to go searching for another.  

 
         
 
We had been walking for almost an hour up
and down La Cienega, all the way to La Brea.  At first I was worried we
may go too far out.  Her body was still frail from months of being
indoors.  But it didn’t matter
,  I
knew we
were being guided.  Her stride was powerful.  Her arms had a nice
waffling
sing-song
rhythm to them.  Her stride
was long.  She had runner’s legs and was finally putting them back into
use.  She resembled a speed walker in her demeanor.  She may not have
been wearing the perfect wardrobe for street hiking but she managed to keep a
breakneck pace.  I could see her drive returning.  I could see why
she had made millions as an actress.  She was a thoroughbred.  A
champion.  She was becoming, once again, invincible.  I began to feel
a sense of my own invincibility.  
A strength returning
inside me.
 I used to anesthetize my visions with THC, sleep, or
just plain ol’ depression.  It was easier to accept defeat rather than a
challenge.  When I accepted the challenge of re-entering Devilcountry, a
place I have treated with a reticence because of all of the pain I’d seen it
cause people over the years, I was saying to myself I no longer will fear you.
 For better or worse I will accept the challenge of navigating a labyrinth
in the pursuit of helping someone so as to help myself.  I did not expect
this at all.  Usually, when the visions have come, I bow my head and do as
I’m told.  This time the vision was telling me to keep my head up and take
over.  I could feel the mania recessing.  Moving on, bothering
someone else.
 
Everytime I felt its
attempt to overwhelm I could wave it away easily, like Ozzy could.  

I was following Carin.  She had darted out
way ahead.  I had my head down.  
Deep into my own
world.
 I caught up to her, almost running up her ass.  Jarred
from my headspace, I stared up at what she was staring at.

 
         
 
It was a huge pine conifer.  
At least fifty feet tall.
 Standing proud.  On the
corner of La Brea and Whatever, surrounded by shitty apartments, parked cars,
and bad air.  My God, it was a sight!  People don’t know this, but
there are actual old growth trees that dot Devilcountry’s landscape.  They
are rare, but if you look carefully you will find one.  Carin did.
 Both of us stared at it.  Could have been an hour, maybe a second.
 People who walk in this town are considered freaks.  People who walk
and stare blindly up at trees probably need to be locked-up.  We didn’t
care.  It was such a sight.  
Green as money.
 It must have been there for at least a hundred years, maybe more.  
Before all of this.

 
           I
would have never noticed it without her.  From then on, all trees were as
beautiful.
 
I turned away from her
and surveyed the area.  Across the street I noticed a small studio.
 “Let’s see what that’s all about.”  Carin broke her gaze and looked
where I was looking.  It was a yoga studio.  I had tried yoga a couple
times in the past.  It was cool and the women who did it were insanely
hot.  It had helped keep the visions at bay for a time.  A man and a
woman were entering in loose clothes and carrying yoga mats.  It felt
groovy. Instinctively, I grabbed Carin’s hand and walked her across the street.
 We would just poke our heads in and maybe see what was up.  

A class was gathering.  Maybe ten people
sat on the floor on their mats.  Some were silent.  Some were
whispering.  The street traffic behind us seemed to drown itself out.
 A small blond girl with broad shoulders, a Jewish nose, and absolutely no
neurosis whatsoever stood near the door greeting everyone personally who dared
to
enter.
 She was wearing a tight top and some
type of clingy form-fitting sweatpants that accented what had to be the most
impressive
lower-half
of all time.  To me, she
was the Jewish Messiah.  
Kosher heaven on a plate.
 
A turkey Reuben with fries, extra pickles and rye bread
from Brent’s Deli in The No’Ridge.
 She greeted us and shook my
hand warmly, putting her second hand on top of the first as she shook it,
making our first platonic embrace, a mere handshake, rivaling the kiss of God.
“Hey, how are you?” she whispered.

 
         
 
“We’re fine, just checkin’ it out,” I
whispered back. Carin smiled behind me.

 
         
 
“Come in and sit, take a mat. I’m Lacey,
what’s your name?”

“Craig.”

Hi CRAIG, it’s nice to meet you.  Your
first class is free, enjoy.”  Instantaneously I had the hugest crush on
Lacey that would be considered humanly possible.  She was placed in our
path for a reason.  I healed Carin.  Now Lacey was healing me. Carin
shook hands with her too.  

“We’re new to this whole Yoga thing,” said
Carin.

“Everyone’s new to it the first time.” Lacey
pointed to where extra mats were stored.  I grabbed two.  Both of us
took off our shoes and socks and rolled up our jean cuffs.  We were
dressed completely inappropriately but no one seemed to care.  
Especially Lacey.
 In a moment we were sitting on the
floor next to the two people who had come in before us, their heads bowed,
their eyes open, but elsewhere.  I think I recognized the dude from a beer
commercial in which he is chastised for drinking a girly beer and then large
fraternity guys appear and hit him in the nuts while slutty women with
augmented breasts look on with approval.  The actor, now placid on his mat
appeared at peace with his career choices.   He was calm.  I
became calm.  Carin seemed to be the calmest.  She shut her eyes.
 Lacey cued up some music.  Trancey, groovy, hip. Not
new-agey
.

“Drop into your breath,” she said.  Her
tone was subdued.  Just above a whisper.  Her voice never going up
above a slight tenor, and so very soothing.  The front door was closed.
 The shades were drawn.  “Just breathe,” Lacey whispered to us.
 “All of that outside is done and gone.  It’s time to let it go.
 Focus on nothing but yourself.  Focus on your body.  What does
it need? What does it require?” Lacey paused for a second as she walked between
all of us, making her way to the front.  “Nowhere to go, just someone to
be…”

By about twenty minutes in, I was sweating
harder than I’d ever sweat before.  Carin too.  She was breathing
hard, but relaxed.  I almost fell over when I tried to do a pose where one
leg is up high and the other is on the ground.  It didn’t matter though.
 Lacey made us feel that whatever our bodies required, that is what we
did.  We had wandered in off of the street, having been guided by higher
forces, wearing completely incorrect attire and still she had welcomed us in,
and let us experience.  An hour and a half later we exited, soaked in
sweat, having thanked her profusely, we felt rejuvenated and able to focus
clearly.  I took a flyer. Yoga with Lacey would become a regular
occurrence for me. Her energy was rejuvenating.  I started to see curses
as blessings, voices as guides and visions as gifts.

On our way out Carin noticed a small cup with a
picture of a Hindu God on it that was on the corner of Lacey’s tiny IKEA
computer desk near the door.  There was a bubble over its head that said,
“Lakshma says tipping is good for your Karma”.  Carin took out the folded
green paper with the name “DICKIE” written on it.  She stared at it for a
second.  She tore through the paper to reveal the raw one hundred dollar
bill underneath it and shoved it into the jar.

We walked home in silence, a milder pace.
 I could see my whole life in front of me.  
My
goals, my dreams, my hopes, all of it.
 
A clear
path.
 I wanted to help people.  People like Carin.
 Anyone really.  I wanted to embrace the gifts given to me.  I
wanted to be an adult.  

By the time we got back, half the day was done.
 We sat side by side on her couch, paused for a moment.  I needed to
rest for a bit and then I would head out.

“I needed that, “ she said calmly.  She sat
back on the couch.  Her head back toward the ceiling.  She knew what
needed to be done.  All of it, the strategy
,
 
the
phone calls to an attorney
friend who would hire one of the best forensic accountants in the United
States.
The getting in touch with her old sponsor and finding
a meeting.
 Carin was a sharp cookie. One thing she knew how to do
was kick ass when asses needed kickin’.

She stood in the middle of her meadow, put a
hand on the redwood.  “Nowhere to go, just somewhere to be.”  She
repeated to herself.  She felt the rest of her life unfold before her like
a dream.  She took a deep breath in, and let it out.

A
PEACEFUL CONTEMPLATION OVERTAKES...

Pudgie
chuckled as he told me the last part about throwing his keys to some local.
  I still can’t believe it.  Randi seemed so nice.  All of
them, Rick, Randi even Lisa.

Lisa…

 
         
 
That’s the one that breaks my heart.
 She didn’t seem like the baby-snatcher type who carries mace.  That
explained why Rick quit. That also explained the opened wedding invitation,
sitting on the bar next to my empty plate of spaghetti and one meatball that
Pudgie had prepared for me off the menu.  It was quite good, actually.
 Pudgie had some talent after all. The wedding invitation, the top of the
envelope torn off, lay stained next to the plate. It was for Steven “God”
Bergeshwharzz,
yes it said “God” on it, and Lisa Goldberg,
soon to be Lisa Goldberg-Bergeshwharzz of Beverly Hills, California.
 “Would
you, PUDGIE and a guest be in attendance?”
The bottom of the invitation
read.
We both stared down at it for a moment, contemplative. We both
knew that the A-list would be in attendance.  A Pudgie wet dream.

Things had happened fast. As planned, Lisa
seduced Steven, and within two months they
were engaged to be
married
.  Steven then helped Rick and Randi become all they wished
to become, and more.  Lisa was so brilliant at it; she made God believe it
was all his idea.

Toolin’ Around
starring Randi
Thompson, a mid-morning home improvement talk show, was set to debut on Fox in
the spring.  There were huge billboards that dotted the landscape showing
Randi in a tight bikini top, her massive, freshly-surgically-enhanced cleavage
captivating traffic. She wore a frilly carpenter’s tool belt and held a spray
bottle in one hand and a hammer in the other.  No one ever questioned the
billboard’s storyline. What object on the planet required both watering and
hammering?  Randi’s
smiling,
buxom image seemed
to fill in all the gaps in logic.  She was finally where she belonged.  
On billboards, everywhere.
 She was all over the net,
too.  After the show’s second season had finished, she would become a huge
star resulting in millions of dollars in endorsement deals and appearance fees.
 Randi also had signed a massive, seven-figure publishing deal, which
proved stressful for her because she could only read and write at an eighth
grade level, and when the publishing company tried to bring in ghost-writers
for her she ended up beating three of them to a pulp. Throughout her scholastic
career she had given academically-oriented handjobs to key teachers in exchange
for passing marks, so now Randi would have to backtrack for a time and be
tutored onset by Honey, who had made parole and was now serving as Randi’s main
security force and counsel.  Rick was allowed to comfort her in her
trailer between camera setups by screwing her in the woman-on-top position
followed by a litany of positive talk, usually ending with Rick saying, “Don’t
worry, baby, you’re like the smartest eighth-grader I’ve ever screwed.”