So this was awhile ago, back in the Golden Years of Soma. Not that there were any really, but. You know. Memory plays tricks.
I was hanging out, smoking probably, while Gaylord was taxidermizing a raccoon he’d found near his grandmother’s house.
Goes like this:
“I’ve told you a million times, Tee, not to smoke around the god damn animals,” he says. He’s wearing half-moon specs that magnify the shit outta things and stroking the nose very gently with this little brush.
I put the smoke out, then yawn, scratch my bush. “I’m bored, man. Let’s go ramblin’.”
“In a minute,” he says.
Next to the chair I’ve fallen into is a Mtlbtch magazine. I pick it up, start thumbing through it.
“I bet all these guys smell terrible in person,” I say.
“So I have a theory,” he says.
I flip the pages, idly. “Oh, yeah? ‘Bout what?”
“About Horace. And Seth,” he says.
That get my attention, you know, kinda. “Do tell.”
“I think they’re actually the same person.”
That makes me chuckle but doesn’t engage my mind much. “That would be far out, man.”
“No, think about it,” Gay says, stroking the raccoon nose very gently with the brush. “No one knows Seth. No one has ever seen him. He and Horace are never in the same place at the same time.”
I reach the end of the magazine, which has a gate foldout of Ritta Razorling naked and licking the neck of her guitar.
“Jeez louise,” I say feeling an intense desire to both be like her and to be inside of her. It’s confusing, but also not at all. I try to recall if I still have that guitar that Rabbit lent me.
“They’re about the same height,” Gay continues. “Or so people say. No one has actually seen Seth that we can confirm.”
“Right,” I say as I toss the mag aside. “That’s because Wendy made him up. Wendy does shit like this, sis. I’m not even kidding.” I’m ranting a bit now, “She makes shit up cos she’s bored or whatever, she likes to play her little head games with people …”
Gaylord interjects: “Like she did with you and Plum.”
“Like she did with me and Plum,” I agree by restating, “and she does this kind of shit, bro. She has, like, what five peeps in line waiting to date her at any time?”
“At least,” Gaylord says. He sets down the brush, wipes his hands on his apron, and appraises the work. Then he adds, “Or, you know, she used to.”
“Right,” I say. “Wait, whaddyou mean?”
“I mean her stock has fallen, Tee. Haven’t you noticed?” Gay carefully picks up the raccoon and transfers it to a spot along the back wall. There are a bunch of other animals back there—including a snake, which I can’t look at without getting scared; and a cat that I can’t look at without getting sad—along with some buckets and supplies and shit.
I think about it. “Huh. Well, no, honestly. I hadn’t noticed. This a new thing?”
“New-ish,” Gay says, then takes off his apron, hangs it up. “Maybe since the summer.”
“Wait, how did you notice this?” I ask.
“You and Horace weren’t the only ones in line, Tee,” he says.
It takes me a second to wonder if that’s his passive way of telling me that he was in love with her, or if there’s just a lot of people on the street who were, and they’ve been talking. My instinct is to clarify cos such is my nature; but, I think better of it, and decided to just leave it.
Gaylord slides on his black leather jacket, tidies up a few items. “But I’m telling you, they are one in the same.”
I make a raspberry-ish sound. “No way, dude. Seth is just made up is all. And Horace is a sap. I mean, I don’t mean that in any kind of a way other than …”
“I know what you mean, Tee,” Gaylord says, holding up a hand. He puts sunglasses on, and says, “All right. Let’s go blow some shit up.”
“Right on,” I say, and we leave to go be yobbos.
Play procedures:
You may add the copy of Mtlbtch to your inventory, if you like.
Since you weren’t in this scene, Gaylord doesn’t know you. But I can introduce you in the ‘current’ timeline you’re in, and he can take care of all your embalming and preservation needs.
Reflect on the discussion or the dynamic between me and Gay. You can think about my inner reaction to Ritta Razorling, too, if you want. Try to remember if you’ve ever felt this way, and write about it, if you want to. You can bring some of those elements into our story later.
Ritta reminded me of my reaction to Suzi Quatro as a teen...