A Common Pornography Part 7

The Palace

That summer, after graduation, I started to hang out at this place called the Bingo Palace. A couple of my friends actually worked there, calling out numbers and letters to the weeknight gatherings of oldsters. I thought it was a cool job and I was a little jealous. But the coolest thing about the Palace was the Friday night all-ages dances. After the brutal breakup with Pam, I decided that I had had enough self-pity and disgust. I was finally feeling confident about who I was, and besides that, it was a good place to show off my fas.h.i.+on sense. graduation, I started to hang out at this place called the Bingo Palace. A couple of my friends actually worked there, calling out numbers and letters to the weeknight gatherings of oldsters. I thought it was a cool job and I was a little jealous. But the coolest thing about the Palace was the Friday night all-ages dances. After the brutal breakup with Pam, I decided that I had had enough self-pity and disgust. I was finally feeling confident about who I was, and besides that, it was a good place to show off my fas.h.i.+on sense.

About a hundred or more pimply minors would go there every week, and it wasn't just Kennewick kids. You'd see the Richland punkers and preppies and the Pasco jocks and break-dancers hanging out too. The dance floor used to be a skating rink, so it was pretty big. Around the perimeter of that was a carpeted area with four big mushroom-shaped seats where each clique claimed their s.p.a.ce. The far back corner was where all the New Wave kids hung out, stuffing their trench coats under the mushroom and filling the air with clove smoke. Since the different cliques of people didn't mingle, there were never any fights. But many of the jocks and a lot of the Wavers were weekly regulars and they would sometimes exchange dirty looks or sarcastic comments. The DJ would have to play a wide mix of music to please everyone there. Whenever songs by Love and Rockets or ABC came on, the floor would belong to the Wavers. Then Def Leppard would signal the return of the jocks and everyone else. Sometimes the DJ would slip in Anita Baker or that love song from Footloose Footloose and the floor would fill with anxious and nervous slow dancers. and the floor would fill with anxious and nervous slow dancers.

The Friday night dances became the highlight of my week. I met many of my longtime friends at the Palace that year and I discovered a love for dancing. I even thought to myself: Dancing is my life! I live to dance! Maybe dressing up and dancing to my favorite songs was as close as I would come to being a pop star, so I went for it, and I felt euphoric afterward. I was starting to really feel myself physically in the world, self-conscious in a good way. Living in the moments of music. I remember being at the Palace and thinking about how sad it would have been to be somewhere else. All those people at home. All the people at work. Anyone, anywhere else but here-I felt sorry for them.

Water Softeners

I didn't have a job for a couple of months and I was starting to run out of money. I had a pretty large collection of records (in milk crates) and ca.s.settes (in fruit boxes) and I felt a voracious need to buy music. A friend gave me a tip on a job where all you had to do was call people on the phone. I didn't realize at the time how painfully monotonous it was going to be. a job for a couple of months and I was starting to run out of money. I had a pretty large collection of records (in milk crates) and ca.s.settes (in fruit boxes) and I felt a voracious need to buy music. A friend gave me a tip on a job where all you had to do was call people on the phone. I didn't realize at the time how painfully monotonous it was going to be.

I was cold-calling people from a photocopied list, trying to sell them some kind of water softener system. I wasn't even sure what it did but I was a.s.sured that it made taking a shower feel like wet heaven.

A couple of weeks into the job, I called in to take a night off. Instead of just faking a sickness, I told them that my dad had a stroke. They called my house the next day and found out it wasn't true.

Neon Vomit

My new friend Terry and I were goofing around one day and I showed him some poetry that I'd been writing. But I never called it poetry back then. They were simply called "pieces." I had seen Henry Rollins do some of his spoken word on a TV show called Terry and I were goofing around one day and I showed him some poetry that I'd been writing. But I never called it poetry back then. They were simply called "pieces." I had seen Henry Rollins do some of his spoken word on a TV show called IRS Records' The Cutting Edge IRS Records' The Cutting Edge. He read "Family Man" and I thought it was the most hilariously uncomfortable thing ever. That was the sort of prototype I was working with. Terry liked these pieces of mine and so we decided we would turn them into songs and record them.

Our first "alb.u.m" of punk rock songs was recorded on a ca.s.sette player in his bedroom and bathroom. Just Terry and me. We decided to call ourselves Neon Vomit. He was good at creating some heavy riffs based on my smallest suggestions (usually just me saying, Can you do something like this-and then imitating a guitar part with my clenched mouth), and then I would yell the lyrics in my best Rollins imitation. There were no drums, but sometimes we would bang on the toilet seat for percussion. Among the first songs we recorded was a sarcastic putdown of Doug, one of the more snooty guys in our little circle of community college New Wavers. It was called "Gee, Doug, You're So Funny" (chorus: "Gee, Doug, you're so funny / You make me want to vomit!"). Terry and I made a few tapes and pa.s.sed them around the campus of Columbia Basin College and it was soon the center of a rivalry as heated as West Coast versus East Coast hip-hop.

In a cla.s.sic double-cross moment, Doug somehow talked Terry into playing guitar for him on a song that he wrote called "Kevin, You're Such a f.a.g." I admit that it was a pretty catchy song, especially with the cool drum machine they must have borrowed from someone.

Even though it was fun to record the Neon Vomit songs, I still wanted to sing (not just yell) in a band that would actually play shows. My friend Len played keyboards and wanted to form a more traditional New Wave band-with expensive haircuts, high-fas.h.i.+on clothes, poetic lyrics, and a s.e.xy name.

I was writing more and more songs as Len tried to find a guitarist and a drummer. My lyrics started to sound a little less like Henry Rollins and more like a Prince protege. It was an embarra.s.sing mix of those two influences, with some Cure and Scritti Politti blended in. A cla.s.sic case of some journals I should have burned a long time ago. Thankfully, nothing ever came of it.

Daphne

I met Daphne at the Palace. She lived in Hermiston, so instead of driving back that night, she and a friend stayed at a cheap roadside motel. I went to the hotel too, and Daphne and I had s.e.x on the floor while her friend slept in the bed. I liked her immediately because she also liked Prince and she was easy, like me. Easy and eager. at the Palace. She lived in Hermiston, so instead of driving back that night, she and a friend stayed at a cheap roadside motel. I went to the hotel too, and Daphne and I had s.e.x on the floor while her friend slept in the bed. I liked her immediately because she also liked Prince and she was easy, like me. Easy and eager.

We saw each other off and on for a few months, whenever she came to town for the weekend dances or to shop at the mall. An alternating gaggle of other kids from Hermiston also would come up with her. They always stood out a little because their sense of style was actually more small-town than the Tri-Cities. They tried a little harder to seem different. But under their Goth makeup and torn punk jackets, they were hicks like us.

Daphne and I would have s.e.x anywhere, anytime. She wanted to do it in a cemetery once, so we drove to one and did it in the back of her station wagon.

She had a problem with acne, as did I, and sometimes when we made out, our mouths would inadvertently slurp up all the Neutrogena acne wash and cover-up cream. I thought that her skin problems were probably due to stress. I'm sure it was a burden to always be so h.o.r.n.y and to have a dad who was a minister.

One of the last times we had s.e.x was in the middle of my high school football field. We brought a sleeping bag out to the fifty-yard line and squeezed inside. We called it the Human Burrito.

Making the Band

David was one of the other Hermiston kids. He was a stocky grocery store worker, always trying to talk me into starting a New Wave band with him. of the other Hermiston kids. He was a stocky grocery store worker, always trying to talk me into starting a New Wave band with him.

Almost every weekend, David and Daphne and whoever else was around would sleep on Marco Torrez's floor. Marco was this guy all my other friends made fun of. He was a tall, black-clad Mexican who wore lipstick and women's hats.

One night, David and Daphne met me at Shari's, one of those twenty-four-hour restaurants that we often found ourselves in since we were too young to go to bars. David kept going on about how he was learning guitar and buying a drum machine. "We could be like the Jesus and Mary Chain," he said. "There're only two guys in that band." David seemed to think I was going to be the singer in his band. "We have to think of a good name and we have to take press photos," he said as he sipped from the oversize milkshake in front of him. I looked at Daphne to try and gauge her position on the matter.

"You should take naked photos," she said. "That would get some attention and create controversy. I could use my uncle's camera. He lives up here."

"That's awesome," said David.

I wasn't sure what to say. I wasn't thrilled by the idea of posing nude for photos but I liked taking my clothes off in front of Daphne.

The following Friday, we met at Marco's before the dance. I'd been to his place only once before. It was a small one-bedroom apartment with big posters of the Cure and Bauhaus looming over the front room. There were black curtains and black candles and a black fake leather couch. David sat in a director's chair, writing band name ideas in a notebook. He told me Daphne was on her way and that her uncle was coming over to help her set up the camera. "Don't worry," he said. "Her uncle is cool. I met him once. I think he used to be a model."

There was a little kitchen in the apartment and I went in there to say hi to Marco. I was hoping n.o.body else would be there to watch this. Marco was wearing a satin bathrobe and I asked him if he was going out later. He shrugged and took a pizza out of the oven. "I guess we'll see what everyone feels like doing," he said.

"What do you mean?" I said.

"We're all going to do it," he said. "It's going to be cool."

One of Marco's Goth friends came out of the bathroom, a girl named Alexis. I didn't know her very well. She was sort of new in town and over twenty-one. She bought all the alcohol. She was tall and skinny and wore clothes that barely stayed on. She made up her face to look like a china doll. In fact, her whole body looked like it was powdered white. She could glow in the dark. She was probably the first person I knew who wore such s.e.xy clothes. Garter belts. Lace. She probably had to go to Seattle to buy such things. I said hi to her and wondered if she was going to get naked.

Daphne came in with her uncle then, carrying a tripod and an awkward camera. Her uncle was a chubby forty-year-old with a fringed jacket and feathered hair. "Hi everyone," he said, a little too jovially. "This is going to be fun." He helped Daphne set up the tripod in front of the couch. "So, should we do the band photos first or just start with everyone?" asked the uncle. No one said anything.

Daphne turned and snapped a photo of my blank expression. "We have lots of film," she said. "Let's just do some candid shots first. See what develops. Get it? See what develops?" She turned and took a photo of her uncle.

"Oh, G.o.d," he said. "Whatever you do, don't let your dad see me in these photos. He'd d.a.m.n me to h.e.l.l-again!" Everyone laughed a little about that. We all started drinking then. I put more vodka in my Big Gulp cup, mixing it with the last of my c.o.ke. I liked the burn in my throat. The sensation of almost throwing up with each swallow. Five or six swallows later, I was over that hump. I became loose and daring.

"s.h.i.+rts off," yelled Marco. He had Depeche Mode on and I was watching Alexis dancing out of the corner of my eye. Five s.h.i.+rts were thrown into the corner.

We looked at the uncle with his striped polo s.h.i.+rt still on. "I'm only here to doc.u.ment," he said. Then he asked Daphne if there was supposed to be someone else there. "I thought you knew an Asian boy," he said. He seemed a little disappointed when Daphne told him that her Asian friend wasn't coming.

Alexis grabbed my arm and led me to the couch. She had on a black see-through bra and I saw her small nipples sticking out a little. "Let's see how tough you are," she said. She had me lie down with my shoulders on the armrest of the couch. She grabbed a burning candle and dripped wax on my chest. It stung just lightly before drying in clumps. I peeled the pieces off my smooth chest and looked at them closely. She tried to make designs on me. A question mark. The anarchy A A. There wasn't quite enough wax melted to do them in one try. She straddled me and leaned over with the candle. One of her bra straps was down and I was hoping that she'd move close enough for me to brush my mouth against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s but the candle went out and she leaned back, laughing. I remember some things vividly: her bra slipping down a little more as she laughed, the quiver of her body, the anxious erection in my pants.

Daphne lit some more candles and was starting to take photos. She wore a white bra and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s looked heavy in it. I noticed a few acne scars on her back. I wanted to look at them closely but I didn't want everyone else to think I was weird. Marco sat by me on the couch and Alexis grabbed another candle and moved over to him. "Let's see if you can take the pain," she said to him. Marco was more lighthearted about the whole thing. He laughed and squirmed and pretended like it was really hurting. I felt sort of foolish and I got up to grab my drink.

David was standing behind Daphne as she paced around and aimed the camera in odd angles toward the couch. He seemed a little stoned or nervous. I got the feeling that he wanted to see Alexis naked too. He fingered the belt loops on his pants and breathed awkwardly as he drank three cans of beer in quick succession. Daphne's uncle eventually tried to sneak out of the apartment, growing disinterested. "Where you going?" Daphne called out. He said he'd see her in the morning, and left without saying good-bye to anyone else. "Oh well," said Daphne. She set the camera down and unsnapped her bra. Alexis and Marco hooted their approval and she kept going. Her socks and pants were tossed sloppily in the corner. David nudged me and we followed her lead.

"Check this out," Marco shouted over the music. He stood up, dropped his pants, and had his p.e.n.i.s sticking out the fly of his boxers. The girls laughed. The mood seemed so much lighter after Daphne's uncle left; it almost floated. I saw Marco's p.e.n.i.s and it was the first time I had seen someone else's p.e.n.i.s. It looked big around the head but the rest of it seemed splotchy and discolored. Daphne took some photos and Marco covered his face, suddenly shy. "I should get it hard first," he said. Then he paused. "Right? We don't want our d.i.c.ks to look small."

"Nothing looks worse than a dead d.i.c.k," David said. All of us burst out laughing.

"I'm not helping out in that department," said Alexis. My antic.i.p.ation was killed a little when she said that.

Daphne's camera turned our way. "Okay, future rock stars," she said. She stood on a chair and took shots of us from above. I put my arm around David and he felt tense. He pushed me away a little and said he had to go to the bathroom to check himself out in the mirror. "We'll use only the best ones!" Daphne shouted after him. She gave me the camera and told me to take over. I wanted to snap a photo of her but she dashed away, following David into the bathroom, saying something about how she didn't like pictures. I thought I heard David getting sick in the toilet.

On the couch, Alexis laughed as she tried to put her bra on Marco. But it wouldn't fit and ended up looking like a weird sling or bandage. I took photos of that, trying to keep Marco's p.e.n.i.s out of the frame. Then I took some really close snapshots of Alexis's lips, legs, and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She was drinking a lot and posing with a bottle of cheap vodka that was almost empty. I started to wonder if she might throw up, but she reached behind the couch and grabbed a blanket. I put the camera down and joined them on the couch. I squeezed in between them and Alexis slowly closed her eyes as she turned her back to me. I tried to kiss her shoulders but she shrugged me off. I was starting to feel a little dizzy as well. I felt Marco pressing against my backside. I figured if I was going to make a move on Alexis, I wouldn't be able to get rid of him, so I tried to block him from my mind. I felt his hands on my hips, slowly moving to my p.e.n.i.s. All three of us were under the blanket. I wondered what was happening with David and Daphne. I heard the shower in the bathroom.

"She won't let you," I heard Marco whisper. It took me a second to figure out what he said and what it meant. The music had stopped playing but I could hear Janet Jackson being played from somewhere else. Marco's head went under the blanket and I s.h.i.+fted a little. I could still feel Alexis, warm on one side, as I looked at the ceiling. I felt Marco put me in his mouth, but it hurt and I pushed him off. I turned back toward Alexis and he started to work me with his hand. I stared at Alexis's neck and the spill of her hair on the couch as he touched me more. I moved my hand back and found Marco's p.e.n.i.s. I closed my eyes and flipped over. I heard Alexis breathing, slurry and asleep, on one side of me, and I heard Marco, breathing through his nose quickly, on the other side. We both came on the other's hand. We didn't say anything to each other. I heard the shower turn off in the bathroom. I felt frozen and unsure of what to do next. Marco used the blanket to wipe himself off and nodded for me to do the same. I heard Daphne and David exit the bathroom and slip into Marco's bedroom. David looked pale and weak from vomiting. I pretended to fall asleep, hoping Alexis would wake up or flip over to face me. I thought maybe she wasn't really asleep. I thought about the photos I took of her and then I realized that someone else would see them-the person developing the film. I felt a nervous sickness then.

I slipped off the couch and put my clothes back on. I noticed that it was past 2 a.m. by that time. I stepped outside and breathed in deeply. I thought about getting the film out of the camera and taking it. I tried to go back inside, but I was locked out. I pressed my ear to the door but couldn't hear anything. In a way, it sounded like nothing had happened.

Elvia

During the time I was seeing Daphne and hanging out with the other New Wave kids from Hermiston, I met Elvia, a beautiful and quiet Hispanic girl who dressed more conservatively than the rest. I started to talk to her more and more when she made it up to the Tri-Cities on the weekends. Pretty soon, we decided we would be boyfriend and girlfriend. But first, I had to tell Daphne and stop having s.e.x with her. This was tricky because they worked at the same place, a burger joint called Arctic Circle. After news broke about Elvia and I, Daphne was stone cold to us both. I would come pick up Elvia when she got off her s.h.i.+ft sometimes and Daphne stared hatefully at us. Soon enough, Daphne's anger boiled over and she spray-painted a message for me on a water tower near the highway exit. It said, KEVIN SAMSEL IS A d.i.c.k. I was seeing Daphne and hanging out with the other New Wave kids from Hermiston, I met Elvia, a beautiful and quiet Hispanic girl who dressed more conservatively than the rest. I started to talk to her more and more when she made it up to the Tri-Cities on the weekends. Pretty soon, we decided we would be boyfriend and girlfriend. But first, I had to tell Daphne and stop having s.e.x with her. This was tricky because they worked at the same place, a burger joint called Arctic Circle. After news broke about Elvia and I, Daphne was stone cold to us both. I would come pick up Elvia when she got off her s.h.i.+ft sometimes and Daphne stared hatefully at us. Soon enough, Daphne's anger boiled over and she spray-painted a message for me on a water tower near the highway exit. It said, KEVIN SAMSEL IS A d.i.c.k.

Elvia and I went out for about a year, and even though I had a couple of prior girlfriends, I felt like this was the first girlfriend I could really get into. She was so pretty, with perfect olive-brown skin and thin-but-plump lips that my mouth will never forget. Her face often displayed a s.e.xy pout or a smile so giddy and mischievous that it ignited her whole being. Our s.e.x felt alive and loving and totally open. Plus, she had a mysterious personality that intrigued me. She lived with white foster parents who were very religious and wouldn't even let her listen to Top 40 music in the house. Once, they threw out all the ca.s.settes that she had hidden in her closet. Even her David Hart ca.s.sette. She had cried about that and I tried to ease her pain by making her mix tapes, which were eventually found and thrown out as well.

Her own parents were somewhere not far away, but it was always kind of vague as to why she didn't live with them. Maybe they were too poor.

Sometimes, during the week, because we couldn't see each other, we would write letters. In these letters, she was more goofy than she was in person. She'd crack jokes, make fun of her foster parents, and quote fake Bible pa.s.sages. If she hadn't lived with such conservative white people, she may have been a Goth or a punk.

One week she sent me a serious letter and told me that she was pregnant. I tried to make a plan to see her that weekend (we'd sometimes sneak long-distance phone calls to each other), but she told me she was grounded. She asked me to send her $300 so she could get an abortion. I emptied out my bank account and scrounged up some more tip money and sent cash. A week later she called me and said she hadn't gotten the money yet. I really need it, she said. She was crying. I told her I'd send it again, but this time it would be a money order. But first I went down to the post office and asked them if the letter had not been sent for some reason. I kicked myself for sending cash and my suspicious mind kept thinking that a crooked mailman probably stole the valuable letter. I could picture him sitting in his mail truck, holding it up to the light and glimpsing the hundred-dollar bills through the envelope.

The people at the post office couldn't solve the mystery for me.

Two days later, with a rock of heavy embarra.s.sment in my gut, I had to call Elvia and tell her that I could send her only $150. She seemed disappointed and cold and then told me that she was probably going to move after her upcoming high school graduation. What do you mean? I asked her. I'll tell you later, she said.

Daphne and the other Hermiston Wavers were still coming up to the Tri-Cities on weekends, but Elvia wasn't catching rides with them anymore. I heard from one of them that Elvia had moved away. I had this person snoop around and a couple of months later, I had a new phone number for Elvia. One in Yakima. Someone thought that she had moved there with a cousin. An older Mexican guy.

I called the number one night when Mom and Dad were gone. I was able to sneak long distance calls on our phone sometimes, even though Dad would get mad about it. Elvia answered. I said h.e.l.lo and her voice answered back, sounding shocked and sad, as if she had been caught stealing something. At first, she seemed regretful that she hadn't spoken to me. I asked her why and she became vague and nervous. I told her that I loved her and that I wanted to come see her. Finally, she told me that she had moved to Yakima to live with a new boyfriend. An older guy I knew nothing about. I asked her all the selfish questions: Why did she do this to me? Were they having s.e.x? Was the s.e.x better? Did she ever love me? We both started to cry, but I was trying to stay calm.

Mom and Dad drove up the gravel driveway at that moment. I was using the phone in the kitchen, where they were about to enter, arms full of Kentucky Fried Chicken buckets. "Get off the phone. It's time to eat," said Dad. They sat down just ten feet away at the dining room table. I tried to stretch the phone cord into the hallway, but Dad got angry and told me not to pull it so hard. It was already crackly. "It's time to eat!" Dad shouted. It was as if he and Mom had gotten into a fight on the way home. He was in a foul mood.

"Are you going to go to school somewhere there?" I asked.

"I don't think so," she said.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to have babies," she said.

I thought she was saying this to hurt me, to make me give up. "You're going to have babies with him with him?" I said.

Then Dad walked over and pushed his finger on the hang-up b.u.t.ton. "Did you hear me?" he said.

"I'm not hungry right now," I said.

I went to my room and paced around, hoping the tension in the house would decrease. I went out to the kitchen again and told them I wasn't feeling well, hoping that would calm things down. Dad bit into a piece of chicken and tore off a chunk of meat. He was the kind of eater who devoured everything to the bone.

As they ate their dinner, I snuck down the hall and into their bedroom, where the other phone was. I picked it up and called Elvia again. She answered after several rings and started crying. I felt like I was now in the position of comforter and I started telling her that things would be okay and that I loved her. I wanted to ask her what she meant when she said the baby thing, but she was too upset to go back to that.

After a few minutes, a man's voice came on. Her new boyfriend. "Just leave her alone," he said. "She doesn't want to talk to you any more."

"Yes, she does," I said. I felt stupid, like I was challenging him to a fight from seventy miles away. "Who are you?" I asked.

"Look, man, it's over. You're upsetting her." He said this like he was trying to be cool. "C'mon, dude." dude."

In my head, I tried to imagine her, in this s.h.i.+tty little farm town, crying in the corner of some tiny one-bedroom house. I knew I'd probably never see her again.

I told myself that it wasn't my fault.

Yvette

When I was nineteen, I briefly went out with a black girl from Pasco named Yvette. The first time I saw her, she was wearing a very s.e.xy turquoise dress at a Pasco High School dance. When I introduced her to my brother Matt, I could tell he liked her too and I felt guilty about that. nineteen, I briefly went out with a black girl from Pasco named Yvette. The first time I saw her, she was wearing a very s.e.xy turquoise dress at a Pasco High School dance. When I introduced her to my brother Matt, I could tell he liked her too and I felt guilty about that.

I went to eat dinner at Yvette's house and the food was totally different from what my family ever had. It was soul food. Her mom even called it that.

She was a virgin and we often talked about having s.e.x and where we should do it.