My alarm clock was buzzing loudly and the ceiling fan sent down tendrils of air that swept across my face like light fingertips. Opening my eyes, they strained to focus on the fan, framed by the edges of the stucco ceiling. Groaning like an old man, I crawled out of bed, threw on my jeans that were at the foot of the bed and dug through my hamper by the closet for the cleanest smelling shirt. Pulling the yellow shirt over my face the silhouette of the silk screened “Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers” logo on the front scratched against my nose. Shambling down the narrow peach hall towards the kitchen, I ran the tip of my right index finger along the wall, the linoleum floor popping as air bubbles rearranged from my footsteps.

“Morning Sweetie.”

“Morning,” I forced out of my groggy throat.

Breakfast eggs and bacon have such a nostalgic scent. Of the few memories I have with my mom the smell of eggs reminds me how each morning she’d ruffle my hair and kiss my forehead, “My little panther.” My scalp would tingle as my black hair would trickle back into place and I’d tilt my head back and we’d lock matching hazel eyes, giggling.

The double tapping of ceramic plates being placed on the table awakes me to a pile of scrambled eggs with chunks of bacon mixed in. Dad and I eat in mostly silence as the kitchen oven creaks and our jaws smack. “Want me to drive you to school today?”

“Sure,” looking above the stove at the cuckoo clock’s oversized hands noticing I had missed the bus.

The fuzzy fluorescent tennis ball rested on the windshield, tethered by shoestring from the ceiling of the garage and my dad growled as he eased himself into the driver’s seat. “Won’t be long now until you’ll be driving yourself to school.”

I just smirked as he paused for a split second before ruffling my hair. It was quiet as we backed out of the garage before he cleared his throat and turned the radio on. “Pure” by Lightning Seeds was mid-song as we began our three block drive to school. Pink clouds smeared with the azure morning sky and the pines blurred with the window panes and small driveways of my neighborhood as the radio played, “Shiver at the sight of you … Let me swim around your eyes …” Wind whistled through our cracked windows and little gusts stirred our hair and my eyes would occasionally wince when we’d make a right turn. My eyes watered a bit while my dad drummed his thumbs faintly on the steering wheel.

“Just one more year and you’ll be movin’ on up,” as we pulled up to the shaded side of the brick school.

Another day. Oh Johnston Junior High.

I could focus on little else besides the motion of the halls; the flow of packed students migrating to their classes, tiny whirlwinds of perfume and body odor as people would stop like caught leaves in a stream to bitch about teachers’ essay assignments, losing their money at the arcade, gossip about girls and guys. I followed the smudge of bricks as I mingled through the mob to math at the end of the west wing. In the back row I was led along by their language through linear equations as I impatiently waited for the bell to ring, the kids to stop complaining, work to stop piling up, teachers to stop rambling, and the eventual lunch break midday.

While lingering in the long lunch line, a kid leaned over to me, “It’s sad when someone has bad teeth,” he said solemnly, “ya know?” He nodded towards the lunch lady.

What else could I say besides, “Yeah.”

As the kid ahead of me ordered his food I heard the lunch lady reply, “Sher theeng. Howr abot shum waffer fries?” I could taste the words as they came bubbling out of her toothless mouth. The way they slurred together like wet snow, the occasional calloused accent that came with smacking gums – all delicious yet putrid like warm raspberry yogurt. To call her toothless was a lie, as she had one tooth left, half rotted and held in her mouth by a loose nerve ending or some sort of tissue. Periodically she’d roll it around in her mouth with the nudge of her plump tongue. A black blot formed in the middle of my vision and I fumbled to stay standing, but slammed my knees on the tile cafeteria floor and heard a few gasps before I completely blacked out.

My ears were ringing when I came to, but my eyesight was still mostly dark.

“Are you alright?” the tooth boy that had been behind me in line was helping me sit upright, but I couldn’t make out more than the shape of his head, his protruding ears. Everyone’s eyes were lasers, swaying around the echoing cafeteria and a number of them were honing in on me.

“I’m okay,” I choked out as my eyes began to water. My vision seemed to slowly be coming back, but my head was throbbing to each heartbeat. Grease lingered in my nose as I was handed a carton of fries and the kid helped me to a lunch table nearby before heading over to his friends laughing. As the heartbeat throbs happened I’d pinch a soggy fry between my forefinger and thumb, fat dripping back to the platter, before pushing it between gritted teeth and pursing my lips together forcing the oily worm to slide around the outside of my teeth before swallowing it whole.

I trashed the majority of the fries before heading to the payphone by the front office. I had just looked straight into the flash of the biggest camera and couldn’t fight the sightlessness afterward, only endure the hazy view through midday sun lighting up the cement like the surface of a full moon; hoping the indoors would help my eyes adjust back.

“Hello?”

“Hey dad, it’s me.”

“Calvin. What’s wrong?”

“I just had another black out. I’m having a hard time seeing too.”

“I’m on my way.”

I began to tear up again as I hung up the phone and sat in a chair by the front door. I endured the tickling as the tears made trails down my cheeks to my chattering teeth, tongue popping out to catch the salty drips. Heels tapping bounced off the vacant hallways as faculty moved from offices to classrooms. My head was a hurricane and at the eye was “Pure” playing, my mom above, watching over me as I lay with gentle rain drops darkening the sidewalk, leaving a dry angel on the cement. A brief relief.

“I’m here to pick up my son, Calvin Dargan. He’s got a doctor’s appointment.”

“Just sign this to check him out, please,” clipboard tapping.

All at once I felt the weight of my own skin, air between the hairs on my arms, and the clammy palm on the back of my neck under the warmth of afternoon sunlight in august. Gas fumes rising off the asphalt as the car’s engine whirring in neutral numbed my nostrils. A pinhole in each eye restricted me to peripheral vision as I fumbled into the passenger seat. I felt a cold wave of sea foam wash over me and I couldn’t stop the flow of tears or my quivering lips as I tried to choke out, “Why can’t I control my body? Why? What’s wrong with me?”

“I don’t know sweetie, but we’re going to find out.”

Snot ran over my top lip and the tangy taste was comforting.

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing sweetie. This isn’t your fault.”

His hand massaging the back of my neck just made me tremor more violently as my stuttered breaths came out like choking hiccups and my head rolled around as our silver sedan weaved through traffic. I only had a fringe of vision.

            In the doctor’s office the thin paper sheet on the examination couch crinkled under my shifting as the assistant rubbed the cold stethoscope all over my back.

            “I just need you to try and relax and take a few deep breaths. OK?”

            It helped with my shuddering breathing to inhale as deeply as I possibly could and try and hold it before finally exhaling it like a fireball. In my right eye was a glowing white halo, then it migrated to my left before clicking off and the assistant sighed before leaving, “Dr. Lowell will be here in a just a second.”

            “It’ll all be alright Calvin.”

            “How’re you feeling Calvin,” asked Dr. Lowell as he opened the door, “mind if I take a look at your eyes?”

            “S-s-sure.”

            The halos returned and loitered a lot longer, shifting their focus around the edges of my peripheral before he concluded, “Well, it’s not too good. There are signs of retinoblastoma, but it could just be the lighting. The only way to find out for sure is if we put you under general anesthesia and get a better look.”

            “What’s that mean?” We both asked, almost in unison.

            “On the phone you mentioned this is the second time Calvin’s lost his vision?”

            “Yeah, but it was only temporary. We were watching TV a couple nights ago and his vision came back after a few minutes. Why? What’s wrong with Calvin?”

            “I can’t say quite yet. I need a more thorough look to be sure.”

            Stumbling around my own room I couldn’t remember where anything was spatially. Hands groping I found the edge of my bed and followed it to my stereo where I concentrated on what it looked like in my mind; hitting buttons I heard a tape start spinning, “No dammit!” Finally finding the switch for the FM radio, my stereo colored the room with vibrations. I collapsed back on my bed in artificial darkness, still groggy from the anesthesia. I wedged myself against the wall and slowly recognized the smell of my own clothes and sheets, grew content with the air vent humming, music leaking through the crack under my door, and the faint rattle of picture frames above me. Weezer wanes off the airwaves as Debbie the deejay transitions into introducing the next song, “This next song is a dedication that really strikes a sentimental chord with me. A single father has asked us to play ‘Pure’ in memory of his wife and for us to pray for his son and his recent diagnosis with cancer.” As the track thumped through my speakers I appreciated the sound of a grown man sobbing.

Alien vs Predator 

Borderlands is amazing. Best game this generation. Buy it ASAP. I haven't been this hooked on a game since pokemon. Loot elements of diablo mixed with shooting of and FPS mixed with graphic style of a sketchbook come to life.

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I need the tiny escapes. Memories or news clippings. Something to latch my thoughts to to carry me a little bit away.

I love it when sometimes a dozen tiny bubbles come shooting out of the dish soap bottle. I love crunching my curls. I love new music from bands i only thought had one album.

Walking up to Modified was an odd experience because I had never seen so many people attending a single show at Modified before. Perhaps it was due to Modified eventually closing down as a venue and from now on (whenever the change-over is) to just an art gallery. The true answer is what I found out later...

Miniature Tigers as an opening band were phenomenal! Spectacular really. The inside of Modified was pretty full at this point and they really put on a great show. Crowd was resonant enough, I suppose. The next act was Ruby Suns, and they were a perfect reflection of the crowd, really. Pretentious as fuck. After about 10 minutes of them testing their mics and dealing with "technical difficulties" they finally started and the female member of the band was looking pretty perturbed by the two other male band members. Sort of a electro-pop band, I think, their first song was hardly that and the lead dude kept doing even more tech checks mid-song. Sorry you couldn't get that studio sound that you wanted in a fucking venue the size of my apartment man, but sometimes you gotta compromise a little. fuck.

The rest of their set was pretty lackluster, given some of the audience comments prior to them taking the stage. The crowd was actually really responsive to Ruby Suns - crowd dancing, general energy throughout, something that completely disappeared or died by the time Dodos took the stage.

After the set change the Modified was packed as fuck and it seemed like all the high school girls had taken their places among the front lines of the crowd, alongside the neckbeards with their Nikons and iPhones. My friend and I decided to hide behind one of the speakers where we could have some room to breathe and dance and had a clear profile view of the stage. After a song in, I realized that the entire crowd was just standing there. Ogling the band. Some young bitches started to weasel their way between my friend and I and at first it seemed they wanted to just get a peek at Meric (The main reason the crowd was here, I presume since he is quite the attractive man), but after another song they just stood there. It's one thing to pull that shit at Marquee or an actual concert, but at a small venue where there's only two people dancing, why would you interrupt those two people just to sit there and eye-fuck the band-mates?

But back to the actual set (sorry those hoes were annoying as fuck and a real downer) which was fucking amazing! Fools live was fan-fucking-tastic, but sadly it seemed that maybe three people were singing along to what would have to be their most popular song... Either way, it was great and I got chills the entire time. After constant yelling for Horny Hippies They finally acknowledged me after they returned for the encore. That sealed the deal for the fantastic night. After grabbing their newest CD my friend and I bolted before the parliament tokers poured out to continue looking pretentious on the Phoenix sidestreet.

Fuck, and I thought the music scene for AZ was bad 3 years ago. All these amazing bands grace us with their presence and the most these hipsters can muster for appreciation is an applause at the end and a cloud of chemical smoke for them to saunter through to get to their next gig.

Amazing birthday cake from Cougar and Kelsey!

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