Milkman in the Moonbounce | by Benjamin Champagne

Dave was preparing to shoot a beer can or something from the top of Callahan’s head.  It was expected to be a success and therefore everyone would cheer.  There were probably some girls that would make out with one of them, if not both.  Maybe my ex.  She was there that night.

“Hey, come on quick! When the arrow punctures, Callahan’s going to chug the beer.  You’re going to miss it!” The person closed the sliding door.  I never even turned my head.  Cheers erupted.  God knows what they were up to.  My milkman walked out onto the porch.

“Hey, buddy, how are you feeling?” The milkman walked to the railing and gazed down at the rest of the apartments.  More people were shuffling up to my apartment.  My Milkman walked back and took a seat in the folding chair next to me.

“You’ve been reading the poetry of Alan Dugan?” he questioned. “And honestly, what profit has it been to you?” my milkman said quite sharply. He fixed his eyes into mine.

“Yeah, but this isn’t the same.  He’s in there.  My nemesis.”

“You are making this more difficult than need be,” my milkman said.

At that moment, Whitney and her friend Taylor opened the door.  Party noise was ubiquitous outside.  Everyone shouted, ‘Burning Down The House!’ simultaneously.

“Oh my god, what an awesome party! How did you get Dave Eggers to show up? He is so much fun!” Whitney shouted over the music.  Taylor had bent over to pet a mysterious dog that had showed up to the party. I wasn’t really sure who the dog belonged to.

I looked inside. Dave had a lampshade over his head and was walking like an Egyptian.

“Why are you out here?”

“Yeah… I just can’t go in there with him. He makes me look bad.  Everyone knows we got into a fight outside the bar last week.”

And it was true.  Everybody knew.  I had my eye on the receptionist at the sculpture garden.  I thought everyone knew that.  I had asked her to go to a Graffiti By Numbers performance after we bumped into each other in the Fine Arts center at school.  It was weeks away.  Anyhow, one day, the day in question, she calls and says she won’t be able to make it.  I went to the bar to meet some friends. The place was packed and I’m standing in line to get a drink and who cuts me? Callahan cuts me.  He didn’t even acknowledge me.  He turned with two drinks in his hand and I began exchanging words with him.  Right as I begin flying off the handle, the receptionist walks up.  She grabs the second drink and kisses my nemesis right on the mouth. I felt like a total asshole.

“What? About that girl? She isn’t even here. I don’t think those two are even together,” Whitney encouraged.  She lit a cigarette and leaned back on the railing. The wind blew her dress forward.

“That’s not the point.  If I go in there with this expression on my face, he’ll see it.  He’ll know I’m a loser,” I said with no pity in my tone. I couldn’t pity myself, but I suppose that is how people fish for sympathy from others.  I was ashamed because Dave Eggers was the life of the party and I had to pay him to come.  I thought I’d be able to show off that I was friends with Dave. I invited my ex here as well and now she’ll see me all hang dog. And on top of it all, Callahan was a hit with Dave.

Taylor stood and grabbed Whitney’s cigarette.  Whitney fiddled with her phone.  If someone outside saw me with these two girls, they’d probably think I had the swag of Mick Jagger, what with their pixie cuts and leather boots.  They looked like indie princesses.  Saying ‘later’ with a coquettish twinge, they extinguished the cigarette and went inside.

The sliding door belched hops and drum-breaks. But it closed just as quickly and the warm air let me know my solitude was somewhat shared.

I rented this apartment because the living room was a Moonbounce instead of the regular old television, couch, Diane Arbus coffee table book.  When my nemesis first arrived, he navigated the Moonbounce without spilling a drop.  A keg cup at that!  I suspect he must have topped me by having an anti-gravity simulator or some such at his pad.  Before I walked out to the porch, I spotted him helping a young girl down into the dining room area.  I wondered if he had caught me spying.

I walked to the rail and took a deep breath.  The complex made a little semi-circle.  We shared a communal backyard.  In the center I had placed a kiddie pool with soapy water.  I put two giant wands in it.  The party had finally spilled outside.  The Milkman was running with the wand, dragging six foot bubbles.  People cheered him on.  Neighbors came to the window to look.  A bubble floated near me.  I leaned over to pop it, but before I could it exploded and misted me in a light film.

“Come on down man!” somebody shouted.  Everyone turned and looked up.  Someone yelled ‘Jump’ and it broke into a unified chant.

“I can’t!” I yelled back.  “I have socks in my holes!” I repeated that a couple of times until they finally understood.

Everyone dispersed unenthusiastically.  The word bummer was audible over the murmur.  I should have done it.  Damn it.  I lost my moment.  I think my ex was out there too.  Or maybe it was Callahan, my nemesis.  It’s hard to keep track of who is who when you’re feeling like that.  Everyone seems to be wearing these androgynously chic clothes these days anyway.  So if everybody looks the same and I’m not sure who I am supposed to impress and who it is that I am having problems with and I’m not certain I really like myself, well, I can’t just go jumping over rails without the right grip now can I? But there was still time.

I got one leg over the railing and I heard the sliding door open, “Scaramouche, Scaramouche, can you do the Fandango?” came roaring out.  No, I thought. But I bet Callahan can. I made to throw my other leg over and my youth pastor’s sweet voice rang over.

“You could break a leg.  It doesn’t look far, but it’s high enough.  You’re drunk.” I wasn’t that drunk.  She took a pull from the tubes on her beer hat.  “Come here, I want to ask you something.”

I came back over the railing and sat in the lawn chair next to hers.  She smelled like lavender and chamomile.  A walking box of Bigelow.  I leaned in and told her how great she smelled.  She blushed a little and took another sip of beer.  I spotted the tea bags tucked into her bra.

“Why don’t you come in? Everyone is having a great time.  I’m really glad you finally invited me after all these years.” I didn’t remember inviting her.  The Facebook neural images were a cyclone of head mash face mix. There was just no telling. It made it easy to throw a party these days.

“A guy I didn’t invite showed up and he is hogging all of the attention.  Everyone loves him and I just don’t get it.  He is a fun thief.  So what if he recycles or whatever, it doesn’t make him a good person.”  Callahan had started a small door-to-door recycling non-profit.  It was designed to help little old ladies.  It had since expanded into a city wide division with plenty of employees.  The office had drapes made of hemp.

“Do you remember when we went on the ski-trip? One of the other kids hit a tree and lost their memory.  Well, you took it and used it in your stream of identity consciousness.  Do you remember?  We all laughed and called it recycling,” she raised her eyebrows.  She was smiling.

“That wasn’t me,” I mumbled.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, the point is, it is easy to change your mind.  Just adopt one of the loving positions around you that you see.”

What could I say to that? I was set.  I could wait it out.  Most people were used to bar time.  My nemesis would leave by 2AM.  My old youth pastor would retrieve a box of Franzia for me.  Maybe the Milkman would join me again. I thought about Callahan in my second bedroom, looking over my paintings.  My Milkman would walk in and straighten him out, right? Explain the motifs and currents in the paintings that are still in process.  Surely my nemesis wouldn’t outright understand it without some help.  He’d need my Milkman to explain.

Am I losing it? My nemesis wouldn’t just meander about from room to room, trespassing on my rights.  I could picture him. He was probably chatting with my ex.  Probably detailing an experience when he met Brian Eno.  Or maybe the other way around.  Wait, maybe it was I who met Brian Eno. Or was it Kid Cudi? I wished that Whitney would come back out to the porch.  She could whisk me away under her purple dress.  I could forget all of this if I could make out with Whitney.  I could remember the good things in life if I could remove the oversized belt from Taylor.  I meant Whitney. I closed my eyes and reclined.

“Where you been all night?” Dave Eggers popped a Goose Island and handed it off to a beautiful girl.  He offered me one.  I smiled back a purple-toothed grin and patted my box of Franzia.  “This is Lauren,” he thumbed her and she twisted at the hips, lit up and wiggled her fingers at me.  “Your buddy Callahan is a fucking riot.  He said he’s gonna have a party next week.  I might just stick around.  He says Kerouac’s zombie might show up!”

“Fuck,” I groaned.

“Whoa, what’s the matter?  This has been one hell of a night.  It’s like Donnie Darko DJ’d – who picked the music? Look, you gotta get inside.  All the girls are asking about you.”

“I’m embarrassed now.  I spent the whole night out here pitying myself.  I don’t want my ex to see me like this.”

“Look, is this about Callahan or whatever? Just go in there and apologize for being a dick at the bar.  He’s cool man.  And everyone’ll see how laid back you are.”

“It’s not that easy,” I said.  But a grin broke on my face again.  I was a liar.  It was easy. It was simple.  All I would have to do was walk in with Dave and go straight up to my nemesis and tell him I was sorry.  Everything was out of proportion.  Tell him I was drunk that night. For all I know, the receptionist didn’t even mention me to Callahan.  “Will you walk in with me?” a hint of pleading was in my voice.

“Yeah, man,” he put his arm around Lauren and I.

I walked in first.  We went in unnoticed and I told him I wanted to get a beer from the refrigerator.  I could hear Callahan from inside the Moonbounce, followed by laughing.  On the fridge there was a paper I hadn’t put there.  It read:

Tribute To Kafka For Someone Taken

Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

Are you, you?

I’m me.

Well, come along then.

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Next time on The Hindsight Bridge: More tales from the Hole in the Wall. Robbie Pieschke continues the story of three literature majors who fail to find work and open a bar in this It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia meets Casablanca vignette. Be sure to re-visit THB on July 22^nd for more! Also, be sure to like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.