Getting to Know Him

GETTING TO KNOW HIM

by

Louis Lopez

© 2023 by Louis Lopez.

All rights reserved.  It is allowed to reproduce and distribute copies of this book PROVIDED that (1) full credit is given to the author Louis Lopez, (2) it is copied exactly as found here without any alterations to the wording and (3) no more than $20 is charged for each copy.

I wondered what it might be like to break down on that hot June day---predicted to get to 106--as we drove across the New Mexico desert on two-lane U.S. 285.  Ken had expressed confidence that his 20 year old '59 Plymouth Duster could make the trip, even though the odometer read 61,000 on its third time around.  Such were the finances of someone who had been working on a Ph.D. for six years.  There was not a sign of human life for miles, just endless desert, and it looked like even the cactus was sagging. 

We chatted about my plans to go into private practice as a psychologist within two years.  I was working for the state of Texas at the time.  He asked if I would ever go for a Ph.D., but I told him an M.A. was all that was necessary for counseling.  Ken's specialty was applied mathematics.  He was going to an institute in Boulder where he could use a very powerful computer for his research.

    "You know," I said, "this friend I'm going to see, Sam, is very bright.  He's the only person I've kept in touch with from college, just like you're about the only one I've kept up with from high school.  I was thinking.  He made an 800 on the verbal part of his SAT and you had an 800 in math, so I guess I've been smart to keep hanging around you guys.  Maybe some of it'll rub off."

He asked, "So what does Sam normally do?"  I had told him earlier that Sam was presently unemployed.

    "He got a B.A. in journalism at Stanford and then had some jobs with newspapers but never for very long.  I think the longest he's ever been in one place was at the Daily Cal while his ex-wife was getting her Ph.D. at Berkeley.  Then right after she finished, she asked him for a divorce.  He hasn't been able to get it together since, suffered quite a bit from depression, and hasn't had a job to speak of."

    "Sounds like some of your good counseling could help."

    "His wife wasn't very kind during the divorce.  She got custody of their daughter to whom he was pretty close, but he's got to make more of an effort to get over it.  I may prod him a little to look harder for a job.  We're very honest with each other.  I think he'd agree that I probably know him better than any other person in his life right now."

    "Looks like we'll make it into Denver by midnight."

    "You can stay at Sam's overnight but you'll have to sleep on the floor.  He hardly has any furniture. I brought a sleeping bag for myself."

    "That may be a good idea.  It could be another hour or more to Boulder."

We skirted Santa Fe, kept going by Espanola and Alamosa, and eventually came out of the mountains west of Denver.  By 11:30 I knocked on Sam's door.

    "Come in."  Sam was sitting on a mattress placed against a wall in the living room, dressed only in his briefs. 

    "Hey, Sam," I greeted him.  He smiled at us.

"I just finished beating my meat," Sam said.  "It felt good."

    "This is Ken, the friend from high school I told you about."  They exchanged greetings but neither one reached out a hand to shake.

    "Well, the place isn't much but you're welcome to stay, Ken.  The carpet is actually pretty soft," Sam said.  We talked a few minutes and told Sam about the trip up. 

"I think I'll go ahead and go to Boulder tonight," Ken said.  "I still feel pretty wide awake, so it shouldn't be a problem.  That way I can get an early start tomorrow."  I thanked him, paid him for my part of the gas, and he went off. 

The next morning I got up early to run on the track in a park nearby.  I wanted to beat the heat, which promised to be high again.  When I got back, Sam was awake in bed reading a book, Pensieri, by Giacomo Leopardi.

    "Ever read Leopardi?" he asked.

    "No, never heard of him, I'm sorry to say."

    "He talks about the gap between man's dreams and reality.  I tried to clean this place as good as I could but watch out about going barefoot.  There may be chicken bones."

    "Chicken bones?"

    "Yea, this roommate that just left last week was something else.  He would eat chicken and leave the bones all over the floor.  He was very messy."

    "He must have definitely had a bad case of the grungies, if someone like you would say that."

    "O.K., O.K., I'm a slob but I'm not that bad.  I clean up pretty good after I eat."  I had to admit that was true.  The apartment was mostly disorganized.  There were papers all over the living room.  It didn't surprise me that there wasn't a chair in the whole apartment.  The only furniture was one small bookcase, which was full, and a 9-inch black and white television with a picture that sometimes went black but could be brought back by hitting it on the right side.  When I took my shower, I noticed a little yellow puddle, about an inch in diameter, right in front of the middle of the toilet bowl.  I was careful not to step in it.  It continued to reappear each day.

After we ate breakfast, I told Sam, "I don't want to use up all your food.  Maybe we can go buy some groceries a little later."

"I need to get some stuff, too.  There's a Safeway about five blocks away and a health food store run by the Moonies down the street on Colfax.  You'll like it.  There's a lot of food for vegetarians and the price isn't bad."  After a pause, he sighed and said,  "Shit, I got to try to find a job." 

    "Hey, don't let me get in your way.  I can take care of myself all right if you want to go out and interview for a job.  I wasn't planning anything special when I came.  Just some change of scenery and relax.  I'll be happy to stay here and read if nothing else."

    "How long you planning to stay?"

    "I've got three weeks coming.  I don't know, I may stay the whole time, if it's O.K. with you."

    "Yea, I guess it's O.K.  As long as I don't start getting bummed out and being too much of a fucking drag."

    "You still getting depressed bad?  You look all right to me."

    "Yea, but I'm taking medication for it.  It helps . . . ."

    "But not completely."

    "No."

While food shopping, we caught up on what each of us had been doing and about current social trends and national politics, which we always discussed.  Not that we hadn't talked about these things in the two years we hadn't seen each other.  We kept in touch through letters and the telephone.  Although we both cared about social problems, we still joked and poked fun at many situations and well-known people.  As we were coming back, Sam said, "After lunch let's head down to the 'Y' for a swim.  I try to go everyday.  I have to or else I put on the weight."

    "What time does Donahue come on around here?"

    "Shit, it's already over.  It comes on at 9.  I've gotten tired of him.  They ought to call it The Original Amateur Man-Bashing Hour."

    "Yea, but they still have some good topics.  Just try to ignore Donahue's pandering.  Hey, wait a minute.  You're the guy who used to preach to me about how women were treated so insensitively.  I mean, you were the original Mr. Feminist."

    "That was partly that my dear little old ex had me brainwashed and intimidated.  No, I still believe in all that, but the pendulum could afford to swing back a little now.  I simply refuse to take the blame for all of women's problems, particularly my ex's."

    "Is she still pushing her High Polygamy movement or whatever it was?"

"I guess, I don't know."

    "She needed a goddamn Ph.D. in clinical psychology just to push that.  How does she make her money?  You said she doesn't have a practice or a job, right?"

    "Not as far as I can figure out.  I can't get too mad at her about that.  She's an unusually horny woman and I'm the opposite.  Got too many problems with sex.  My only resentment is that she could have let me down more easily."

    "Yea.  She could have at least avoided your catching her screwing her ex-boyfriend in your own living room, knowing you were trying to sleep in the bedroom."

    "Yea."

We took a bus to the YMCA, which was the way we had to travel all the time since Sam didn't have a car.  I didn't mind since I think buses are a good idea, and they were in good condition and ran often.  We both swam several laps and later sat down beside the pool. 

    "Maybe tonight we can go over to my friend Sholem's," Sam said.  "He's probably my closest friend here in Denver.  He's a computer time salesman."

    "Whatever happened to Alex, the guy you first lived with here, right? Not this last one."

    "He got to be real shitty.  Got real hard to live with."

    "How come?"

"I guess it was because I couldn't help him with the rent and things.  I couldn't find a job for several months after I got here.  But he never said anything about it, just acted pissed."

    "Do you ever see him?"

    "No, he went to Israel."

    "It sounds like he was afraid he was going to have to support you indefinitely."

    "Yea, I guess.  I can't say I blame him."

    "You eventually got that job with Kelly Services, right?  How come you left?"  I was curious and had no intention to reproach. 

"I tried to take it, but I just couldn't stand it anymore.  Being a file clerk is just deathly boring."

"I imagine you have applications in with the Denver Post and other newspapers around here."

    "Yes, but the competition is really tough.  I don't want a reporter's job, but it's probably even harder to get a job as a copy editor."

    "Why not as a reporter?  Don't they expect you to start at the bottom?"  He was getting uncomfortable with the questions, I could see. 

    "Copy editor is pretty much at the bottom.  I just don't think I could take the pressure as a reporter.  Deadlines all the time."

That night we went with Sholem and his girl friend to eat at Lambretto's, an expensive Italian restaurant.  Sholem was very gracious and an easy conversationalist.  He called me Jorge although I never used that version of my name.  Afterwards, we wanted to go see a movie, but Sam didn't.  He seemed to withdraw. Said he was tired and wanted to turn in early.  I wanted to go to the movie but decided against leaving him alone so we just went back to the apartment.

A week went by that we were content to idle away.  We went to swim at the 'Y' every day and often went to the park nearby.  I got to know downtown Denver as well as a couple of Sam's other friends.  One day we went to a Greek festival that we had to reach by taking a long bus ride and then walking a mile.  I mostly enjoyed the baklava.

The next morning he got up and said, "God, I've got to get out and look for some work."

    "If I can help in any way, let me know.  Maybe I can go with you and be an instant reference right there on the spot.  I'll tell them how wonderful and eager you are and how easy you are to get along with."

    "You can tell them how bad I need the bread.  How I need to at least buy some furniture for my apartment so my friends can have a better place to crash."

    "Ken mentioned going to hike in Rocky Mountain National Park on Saturday.  Let's work real hard at finding you a job so we can go and have something to celebrate."

    "O.K., but I'm not sure I want to go.  We'll see.  Let me look at the want ads.  Maybe there's something there."  He thrashed around the clothes, papers, and books that were scattered in the living room.  There were Sincerity and Authenticity by Lionel Trilling, The Roots of Treason by E. Fuller Torrey, a biography of Ezra Pound, Mr. Palomar by Italo Calvino, three scattered copies of the Denver Post, two New York Review of Books, the Pareveh News, a Salmagundi, a Massachusetts Review, and a couple of Southwest Reviews.

    "It's amazing," I said.  "I've finally met someone who reads these literary reviews and isn't an English graduate student or professor."

    "Yea, I suppose they ought to give me some sort of award for that."

    "You bet."

    "I've been spending too much money on books.  That's probably my one vice."

    "Is your mother still helping you out with money?"

    "Yea.  She doesn't like it and, of course, my stepfather absolutely hates it."

    "Well, if you get your ass in gear maybe you can find something today."

    "O.K., O.K.  I'm going."  Sam made a few phone calls later that morning inquiring about work.  I was sure he realized that I was not sympathetic to his staying unemployed indefinitely.  My main worry was that his mother would cut him off eventually.  He was lucky she was giving him anything.  When he stayed with her right after his divorce, he had definitely needed psychiatric care because of a deep depression.  Even now he was going to see a psychiatrist regularly, but she refused to agree that it was serious even though she herself was a psychiatric social worker.

That night as we were coming back from visiting Sholem and went to cross Colfax Avenue, there was this black woman standing there waiting for the light.  She had short shorts and high heels and as we got closer, I noticed what a fantastic figure she had.  Sam noticed me staring intently as we approached but ignored it and kept talking.  We came to the edge of the sidewalk and stood several feet to her right.  As I stared at her, she turned and gave me a big, friendly smile.  Her sudden friendliness surprised me, but I smiled back and still managed to notice her full blouse.  By then the light had changed and Sam hurriedly started to cross.  I followed.  She stood where she had been for a couple of seconds and then started walking slowly.  I felt like she wanted me to start a conversation with her, but it was obvious Sam was uncomfortable.  After we got out of hearing distance, I said, "Goddamn, did you see that?  What a body?  And I think she may have liked me. She flashed me a friendly smile. When I came up from behind, I felt so much like putting my . . ."

    "She's a hooker, dummy," Sam said, uninterested.

I hadn't imagined.  "You think so?  This area doesn't look like it would have hookers."

    "There aren't many, but they're around."

I put on my imitation big black man's voice, "Sheeeit, man.  You're just a motherfuckin,' racist honky who thinks every beautiful black sister on the street is a hooker."

    "No, that's not it.  George, you're just a hick who doesn't know what's coming down in the big city."

Back at his apartment, I kept talking about her, on purpose.  I wouldn't have done anything if I'd had the chance, but I did feel that Sam was being a real stick in the mud, withdrawing again.  "God, she had a good body.  I can't stop thinking about her.  So what if she was a whore?  Would you let me bring her here?"

"I can't say I'd like it.  I don't like to condone exploitation.  Boy, it sounds like you're problem is that you haven't gotten laid in a long time.  I can't believe an up-and-coming yuppie like you doesn't get laid all the time?"

    "It's not that easy meeting women, or at least half-way intelligent ones that you can talk to for more than a half-hour.  There's some cute clerks in my department, but they all seem to be married or hungup on young jerks who all they know is 'party all the time, dude' and never even have a job.  Oops, didn't mean to knock the unemployed."

    "That's all right.  I know the world hates all us slackers."

    "Those girls at the office don't seem to mind slackers."

    "Maybe you should take me back with you."

"Sorry, but they don't go too much for guys with beards and a paunch.  You'd have to smoke pot and maybe do some crack, own a Camaro with a $2,000 sound system."

"I guess I'll pass."

We were sitting in our customary positions, Sam on his mattress, back against the wall, with me on the carpet half-way across the room, partly lying on my side.  We reminisced about the past as we often did, bringing up the same episodes we had discussed many times before, partly for the enjoyment of going back to relive them in our minds and partly to examine them carefully to find, I suppose, what the perspective of the passing years could illuminate for us.  They were sometimes pleasant experiences and sometimes bittersweet.

"I was thinking the other day about working at the Faculty Club," he said.  That was where we had first met at Stanford while working as student waiters.  "I remember how much food had to be thrown out.  Before then I never realized how much waste there was in restaurants."

    "Yea, they can't risk having the food spoil," I excused.

    "Then there was all the food left on plates that people just didn't eat.  Like I imagine a lot of the ones on diets ended up leaving most of their steaks and baked potatoes.  It was actually fun working there most of the time. There were some fine looking women that worked there. I remember Chris Viggers had a great body and so did Lucy Dewell. You went out with both of them."

    "Lucy had the most beautiful face I've ever seen--all the movie stars included. Nothing developed because i was hung up on Sharon Winslow, but she was infatuated with some young black guy in prison. She was a bleeding heart social worker type." I went on to point out, "You seemed fairly happy then."

"I have to piss."  We were revved up in our conversation so I followed him to the restroom and stood in the doorway. "Yea, I was happy for the most part," he continued.  "I'd just gotten married.  I was definitely better than I've been since then."

    "Unlike me, you actually enjoyed school," I said.  "Hey, now I realize where that little puddle comes from."

    "What?"

    "You like to stand pretty far away from the pot, don't you?"

He looked around puzzled, "Uh, I do?  I never noticed."  I was sure he was not going to be insulted.  We often talked about private matters. He was the one who first started that. At first I was taken aback but later realized friends should be more relaxed about that.

    "Look, when a man pees there's sometimes a little drip that falls straight down.  You can see it now." I said.  He looked and saw the dripping.  "The day after I got here I was wondering how that little puddle got there and now we see.  You need to stand closer to the bowl.  Hadn't you ever noticed that?"

    "No, I guess I didn't."

The next morning Sam didn't seem very energetic.  He read for several hours.  Finally I asked, "What are we going to do today?"  He had not done anything about looking for work since the calls he had made a few mornings before.

"I was thinking about going to the Denver Post and seeing the managing editor.  It's a good idea to keep in touch.  Besides I want to check out a couple of bookstores downtown."  He put on some dark slacks that looked clean but a little wrinkled and baggy around the knees, a blue shirt with thin, black and red stripes, and a gray corduroy sport coat that looked well worn.

    "These aren't the best clothes for job hunting," he said on our way to catch the bus, "but I'm afraid it's the best I've got for now."  He was fidgety and clearly not too eager.  At the newspaper office, he went into the office of the editor's secretary very quickly and came back out.  "They still don't have any openings.  Let's go." He looked relieved.  We went to two local bookstores that were well stocked.  He was looking for the latest issue of the New York Review of Books and also wound up buying Texasville.  I didn't buy anything because I was still trying to get through much of what he had in his apartment.  At my request, we went to look at some of the state capitol buildings and then hurried back at 4 so Sam could go for his daily swim. 

The next morning Ken came to go on the hike we had planned.  We couldn't convince Sam to go, said he wanted to spend the time looking for work.  I didn't get the feeling that he didn't like Ken, but he appeared withdrawn, afraid of something.  I got in too late to talk to him that night.  He usually turned in early.

After some breakfast the next morning, I brought up something I had been thinking about.  "I didn't get the chance to clarify to Ken a comment you made the other day."

    "What comment?"

    "The night we first got here, the first thing you said was not 'hello' or 'how's it going?' or 'welcome' or anything like that.  The first thing you said was 'I just finished beating my meat.'" 

He broke out laughing, "Well, it was the truth."

"I know, but to someone you're meeting for the first time?"  I was laughing, too.  Actually his comment that night had not been a complete surprise.  Since I had known him, he had always been ingenuously open.

    "What do you fuckers expect?  I'm proud after finally having been able to do it just a few months ago for the first time in my life."  Sam had told me previously that one of the major problems with his marriage had been difficulty in ejaculating.  I told him to practice by himself, which was also difficult, but there was eventually a breakthrough. Now he was enjoying it and apparently wanted me to know that my advice had born fruit.

    "That's good, but maybe you can restrain yourself long enough to say 'hi' first, especially when meeting a complete stranger.  Like maybe you could study your conversational timing a little better?  It was like the other day at that Greek festival when we sat and talked with those two blondes.  They were friendly, but then you soon made the heavy comment that the fundamental tragedy of human society was that people were basically insulated in their own shells from other individuals and unable to truly reach out to others."  He laughed uncontrollably.

   "Well, I have to confess.  Picking Up Women was a book I never got around to reading."

    "Anyway I was wondering what Ken might have thought from that, I mean about our sexual orientation."  He burst out with a big guffaw and kept laughing.  I continued, "I wanted to clarify matters, but I wanted to do it in a natural way or else he might not have believed it and thought I was lying.  But I never felt I had the chance to bring it up."

    "Well, fuck him if he's worried about it."

    "It's no big thing.  He's a pretty cool guy and wouldn't care anyway."

    "Shit, he may not have even heard what I said."

    "Could be, except that he gave an indication when we were coming that he was going to stay here so he wouldn't have to drive another two hours or so before he got to sleep.  But once here, he seemed very sure that he wanted to go on."

He burst out laughing again, "You mean the poor bastard had to drive all tired and sleepy in the middle of the night just because he was afraid he might wake up being buggered?"

    "Possibly."

    "At least he could have slept in the kitchen and kept his back against the wall all night."

    "Well, at least you're making some progress in your sex life, even if you don't have to immediately announce it to every stranger that comes to your door."

    "Boy, if only my ex could see me now."

"I remember how it was right after you had gotten married.  How you used to leave in a rush when you had finished at the Faculty Club.  I imagined you were leaving to go have a great time in bed with your wife."

    "Appearances can be deceiving.  You know, I used to wonder if she might try to get in your pants.  You used to come over enough to where she got to know you pretty well."

    "She never made a pass, and if she had, she wouldn't have gotten anywhere.  I decided long ago never to let sex get in the way of a good friendship."

    "And while you were being a goody-goody, who knows who else was fucking her."

    "Yea, maybe.  Knowing what I know now, I should have at least gotten one good fuck in.  Just one.  Would you have minded that?"

"I honestly can't say I would have been thrilled with the prospect, no.  But, George, we know you're just too nice to have done that."

Of course, Sam hadn't done much to find a job while I was away mountain climbing with Ken.  The day before I was to catch a plane to go back home, he decided to go to some out-of-the-way bookstore to see if he could find a book that he hadn't been able to find at the bookstores that he went to regularly.  We had to make a transfer to a second bus and then walk about a mile from the stop.  He didn't find the book he was looking for at the bookstore.  He seemed very relaxed.

"I don't think I'll do any job searching today?  Don't feel like it, besides you're leaving tomorrow."  We walked slowly back to the bus stop.  We came to a grassy knoll by the sidewalk.  "Let's sit down here awhile," he said.  "Looks like a peaceful place."  We sat down, but I felt I had to say something even if I didn't feel comfortable about it.  My philosophy was that if you cared for a friend, you confronted him with unpleasant matters if he needed to know them.  Besides, Sam himself had often asked for my opinion on problems he was having.

    "Sam, I know things have been hard for you since your divorce and that when a person is pressed, it gets real difficult to function in any way, but the reality is that you've got to get some money coming in.  Your mother is not going to help you forever, and the government is not going to help you even if you are seeing a psychiatrist, especially these days."

"I know all that.  I know it," he said in an unusually irate manner.  "You think I'm just lazy, don't you?"

    "No, I know you can work hard.  I've seen you do it, but it may be that you are being a little too easy on yourself.  Sometimes one does have to just simply grin and bear it.  Just pick yourself up from misfortunes and bad situations.  Once you got a job, it would help you keep your mind busy and help overcome your depression."

    "It's just not that simple.  Believe me," and with that he got up brusquely and started walking.  I chose not to say anything for the moment.  It was a surprise to see him as angry as he obviously was, and it appeared he didn't even want to talk about it.  I did think that he was being a little too self-indulgent in his pickiness about what kind of job to get.  At this point, he had to take whatever was there, and he didn't seem to be trying hard enough.  Sam was walking slowly on the sidewalk, going back to the bus stop, and I was now walking beside him.

    "I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone before," he finally said.  "For years I've had these kind of like hallucinations, but the main one I have is this intense fear that I will be responsible for starting a serious earthquake in California.  I get visions that the earthquake is happening, and the visions usually take place in San Francisco, at places I'm familiar with.  And with the visions, there's this intense feeling of fear.  It's so intense, it's paralyzing.  I know it's totally irrational and I don't believe the damn visions, but the paralyzing fear is very real."

    "When do you get these hallucinations?"

"I can't predict, but they usually come with stressful situations.  Like in a job, even a clerk job.  It always happens.  There's stress and then the hallucinations come on and then I can't perform and as my performance level goes down, I get worried and feel more stress."

    "So how long have you had this?"

    "It started when I was a teenager, but it seems to have gotten worse in the last five years.  That Kelly Services file clerk job wasn't particularly stressful, but the excruciating boredom seemed to bring on the hallucinations.  Another thing that I see is a car exploding into a fire that hurts people all around and it's all my fault."

"I couldn't figure out why you weren't trying to get in the newspapers as a reporter, which seems like a logical place to start, but I guess it is a very stressful job."  His revelation took me by total surprise.

    "That's exactly right.  I know it would be the logical place to start, but I know I couldn't last.  And then you can imagine how it is just looking for a job.  You go into an interview and you're struck with fear and you have to drag yourself in there.  Then once you get in there, you can barely pay attention to what the interviewer is saying, and you're struck with fear, and you can't wait to get it over with.  It's definitely not a good impression."

    "How about back at the Faculty Club?  You didn't have that then, did you?"

    "Yes, but I was able to control it enough to keep on.  And that was part of the problem with sex.  When Connie and I used to fuck, I had a special hallucination that I was alone, floating in the air in the dark, and it was the middle of the universe and I was totally alone."

    "This is called derealization, but how come you never told me this before?"

"I don't know.  It's just been too embarrassing.  I've never told anyone. Here I'm supposed to be an intelligent, well-educated, competent person, and yet in reality I can barely stay in control.  It's been my little secret all these years."

    "Have you told your shrink?"

    "Not really.  I guess I've hinted about it, but I haven't brought it out. You think I should?"

    "Of course.  And how about your parents?  You usually feel close enough to your father to talk to him?"

"I guess I haven't.  Like I said, I've never really even considered it."

THE END

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