THBBM - Cat Dreams

Cat Dreams
Five forgotten chapters from an August novel...
4-30

BARTY

Red.
So this is red.

The sky was an odd mix of dark gray and black shapes, with a hint of white trying to break through the fast-moving clouds. But everything else was red. Bright, full red.

It was translucent and mysterious, a wide-open horizon above him. Everything he saw took on a new sense of importance. Shadows became harsh, and the world seemed smaller and curved, as if he were looking at it through a scope.

Mike Barty leaned against a wall. One of his feet rested flat against the concrete, while the other anchored on the ground, holding him in place against the fast moving world in front of him. His well-worn black high tops were capped at the toe with strips of duct tape. The tape didn't cover up any holes in the shoes. It just looked cool.

Shaggy hair peeked out from under a wool hat that provided warmth to his smallish ears. The hair stretched out from the sides of the hat in stringy black threads that moved towards his shoulders, but hadn't quite made it yet.

Barty had been pretty bored standing around until now. But since the world had turned red, everything was new and exciting again.

He stood alone against a building, holding a bottle of cherry soda in front of his eyes.

"This," he said, "is trippy."

He had spent most of the morning killing time by carefully stripping the label off of the bottle. Now that most companies were using plastic containers, this had become more of a challenge than it used to be. Labels came off of glass bottles pretty easily, especially if you let the condensation loosen the glue up a bit. It was a skill. A skill requiring a soft touch and the concentration of a Zen master.

When he was a kid, his older brother had shown him how to remove the label off of a beer bottle all at once. He watched his brothers hands twisting the Miller Genuine Draft label carefully back and forth to loosen the adhesive, and then sliding it off the top of the bottle like a sock. Barty's brother had been to college, and learned all sorts of fancy things. But this was by far the coolest thing that his brother had ever taught him.

He bounced around the front of the building, examining everything and everybody, much to the annoyance of the crimson colored businessmen all around him. This was also probably due to the fact that as he approached everyone he looked at through his cherry flavored lenses, he kept repeating the word "red" over and over in a robot voice.

Old women with shopping carts backed away in surprise from this cherry cola Cyclops, and the young girls in their business clothes giggled as he leaned in towards them; holding the bottle with one hand, and waving frantically at them with the other.

........

TERENCE

After not seeing him in front of the building, Terence found Barty leaning over to look at an old black woman sitting on a bench at a bus stop.

The woman turned a dark shade of gray as Barty looked at her through the bottle, but her multicolored hat was positively alive with strange colors. There were odd yellows and shades of blue and orange in the shape of flowers. It was fascinating. He saw his own red hand reaching out towards it when the gray faced women suddenly turned to him.

"Oh no you didn't" she said, backing away
"This," he said through a laugh, "is trippy."

He reached for the hat again.

"You do and you'll be pulling back a stump." She snapped.
"Red, red, red." Barty said to her in the robot voice.

She stared at him in wonder.

Terence put his hand on Barty's shoulder. Barty turned around, and Terrence was surprised to see him holding a bottle of Red Pop in front of his eyes.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" He asked.
"Red, red, red."

"This a friend of yours?" The old woman asked.
"Yes ma'am, I'm afraid he is."

She looked Terrence up and down with an accusing stare. After a moment's contemplation she said, "So, where's your bottle?"

Terence looked back at Barty, who was lost in the flowered hat again, mumbling to himself. "I... I must have left it at home." Terence stammered, trying to sound as apologetic as he could.

"Mmmmm-hmmm" she said in a long, knowing tone. She glanced at Barty again. "Well, maybe you should go back to the mothership and get it."

She poked her umbrella towards Barty, who bobbed and weaved to get away from it while he waved his arms in mock kung-fu gestures. She looked Terence in the eye, then turned away as if she was done with him. "When you go, make sure you take Mr. Roboto here with you."

Terence put his arm around Barty's shoulder and ferreted him off in the opposite direction.

The old woman straightened her hat and took a deep breath."...White folks."

........

WALKING

The wind had picked up a bit. Terence snapped the collar on his jacket so that the leather would protect the skin on his neck.

"So, how'd it go?" Barty asked.
"What?"
"The job interview. How'd it go?"
"Could have been worse."
"Did you get the gig?"
"I won't know until the second interview"
"So you got a callback"
"...Something like that."

They continued a while in silence, talking about nothing and everything at once. Killing time, wasting the day; they moved steadily through the busy street corners and construction signs. Barty walked backwards, facing Terence.

"You're kinda quiet."
"Weird morning."

They walked for a while; one stepping backwards, the other looking at his shoes.

Barty was tiring of the silence. Holding his arms out like a he was walking a tightrope, Barty closed his eyes. He was going to call Terence's attention to his trick, when he suddenly backed into a mailbox, and stumbled to the ground.

Terence moved quickly to where he was, and asked if he was okay. Barty opened his eyes, and looked up at him for a moment."You're going to move away from here, aren't you?"

Because Barty was always so goofy, Terence was rarely prepared for these sudden interludes of seriousness. To be honest, Terence really didn't like this part of his friend. Barty was fun, and brought out the crazy, fun side of him that he usually hid from the rest of the world.

When he hung out with Barty, Terence could let it all loose. People who saw them acting nutty would know that it was just two friends having some fun, and not assume things about Terence that weren't true, like him being childish and irresponsible all the time.

That's what people thought about Mike Barty.

If people saw Terence doing something silly with Barty, they usually assumed that Barty was behind it. In their eyes, Terence was just going along and being a good friend. Even if those wacky ideas were actually Terence's to begin with, people still saw the guy with the duct taped high tops as the irresponsible one.

It was easy for Terence to quietly pass the blame for a lot of his silly behavior off on Barty. And that was OK - Barty was always the clown. People weren't looking for Barty to be restrained, trustworthy, or ambitious. Everyone wanted the guy to do funny stuff - and he was usually happy to oblige. But after the joke got old, people wouldn't pay as much attention to him anymore. You could tell when that time came, because that's when Barty seemed to need the most attention.

Sometimes he felt a little guilty for pigeonholing Barty like that, but it seemed like the natural way to view their friendship. He felt sorry that Barty couldn't see how other people perceived him, but in the end it worked to Terence's own advantage. Everyone has friends they keep around for certain purposes. The guy you know who always knew where the next party was, the girl you go clubbing with because none of the doormen ever made her pay a cover charge, or the dude who could always score you some quick weed when you needed it...

These "friendships" (if you could even call them that) were based off people using people. It happened all the time, and even if it wasn't a totally respectable practice - what were you going to do? Lord knows getting emotionally involved with the girl who could get you into clubs would be tons more trouble than it was worth. Besides, anyone with a brain knew that that girl wasn't looking to fall in love. She just liked to be seen with people, ...right?

Older folks call it politics. We don't call it anything. We just go ahead and use one another.

Barty was still lying on the ground where he had collided with the mailbox, looking up at him in silence. Terence didn't want to answer any questions. Barty wasn't 'the friend who asked the deep questions.' That wasn't what he hung out with him for.

The two exchanged a moment where they just looked into each other's eyes. One of those moments where understanding was more important than answers, a moment where being a friend was more important than being right...

Terence reached out towards Barty, who put his own hand up so that Terence could help him back to his feet. But instead, he snatched the wool hat off of Barty's head, and took off running.

Still sitting on the ground, Barty sighed and shook his head. Then he abruptly got to his feet and took off after his only true friend.

........
RUNNING

Barty did not like to run. Running was a violent activity, and it attacked his sense of style. But more than that, it reminded him constantly of the fact that that the pack of Marlboros that he kept in the inside pocket of his jacket were not doing him any favors. Besides that, sometimes Barty resented the way that his friends made him chase after them.

He had made a solid effort in catching Terence early on; but after the initial burst of speed, Barty's chest began to feel progressively heavier. Every time his feet made contact with the ground he felt a quick jolt, starting in his heel and moving quickly up the length his leg. But the worst thing of all was the sound. Whenever Barty found himself running, all of the noises around him disappeared, and the only thing that he could hear was the foreboding soundtrack of his neglected physique. It was a terrible, ill noise that he heard whenever he exerted himself. The noise of each breath, amplified a hundred times over inside of his ears. Then after several paces he would begin to hear the sound of his own heart beating.

It was never a pleasant sensation.

Some men worry about how fit they are. Barty was not one of them. Only 23 years old, he felt no need to question the way that he took care of himself yet. He smoked casually, ate whatever sounded good. Worrying about what you ate was an old man's game. But any sort of physical exertion, and running especially seems to add a few years onto you. It was when each step felt heavier than the last, and the sound of his own strained breath blasted into his ears like there were headphones wired directly into his ribcage that Barty felt those extra pounds that normally he didn't notice that he was carrying.

With one last hop step, he came to a halt. Up ahead, Terence had slowed to not more than a jog, only half-playing the keep-away game that had started all of this. He had yet to look back over his shoulder to see that Barty had given up the charade.

Silently watching his friend bounce ahead; his breath coming in deep huffs that moved his entire torso; Barty took off his coat, a stood a moment.

"Screw this."

From the pocket of the coat he held draped over an arm, a pair of sunglasses appeared. They covered his eyes with black spots. After a moment to catch his wind, Barty slung the coat over his shoulder, and started to walk.

........

STOPPING

There was a point where he knew that Barty would not chase him anymore. Terence was fast, but Barty had a linebacker hiding inside of him; and if he had wanted to catch Terence, he would have been long since caught. The fact that Barty was not giving chase left Terence feeling guilty, even though he wasn't sure why. Sometimes for all of his antics, Barty simply couldn't take a joke - especially if it was aimed at him.

Terence had changed his pace drastically to give Barty have a chance to catch up to him so he could find some way to apologize, but after a moment it was clear that Barty was making an equal effort not to meet up to him. Let him pout, Terence decided after a moment, knowing that his attempts at reconciliation would probably fall flat anyway.

They walked a while with this distance between them.

By the time he reached the door of the record store, Terence could hear footsteps close behind him. He stole a quick look over his shoulder towards his friend's eyes, but found only black discs and the wires of sunglasses. A long glance was exchanged, followed by a quick nod. Somehow that was enough for the two of them.

Standing before the door, Terence handed the wool cap back to his friend, who slipped it into his pocket.

Author's Note:

First, off -- if you've made it this far, thank you.

During the summer of 1999 I had this notion that I was going to write something that would land somewhere between Bret Easton Ellis, Carl Hiassen, and Kevin Smith. The result was a novel called "The Man Who Didn't Want Cats to Dream," that for a variety of reasons, I was never able to finish. The plot involved music stores, small town dreams, and talking housecats. Despite the wreckage, there was something about these two characters that I didn't want to lose.

These excerpts are presented in their original form, except for the formatting.