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Gene and Em's family inn
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Gene and Em's family inn Gene and Em's was the place where colorful characters wasted into shadows. It was narrow and dark, with little room for anything but to drown yourself. A few sad pickled eyes would glance up as you walked in, and swiftly return to their resting place. It was a place you felt comfortable not using an ashtray, or leaving a tip. I was under age but was permitted to use the pool room by virtue of my charm. I never felt comfortable in the front bar area anyway, it was like a cancer ward. I felt out of place watching dreams die before my eyes. Gene was a tiny fellow, balding<b> head </font></b>and wire rimmed glasses. He sat in his stool on the far end facing the door, playing some obscure game that involved a numbered bead dropping from a plastic bottle. I never asked, he wasn't a chatty type but always would wink and smile at me when I walked past into the billiard room. This where I spent all of my time, I was at home here. During the day I had it all to myself , except for maybe Dumpster Debbie. So named for both her location where she transacted buisness, and also for her capacity for it. She reminded me of an old prize fighter that should have retired a decade earlier, cauliflower eared and beak nosed from all the breaks. Her damage manifested in other ways, but it was just as obvious. Her clientel were old, tired sob stories with a social security check and low standards. She wanted to take my virginity, it became a twisted running joke that always made me feel akward. I devoted my attentions to the game of pool, I was obsessed. Even with house sticks that looked more like they were missing a string and an arrow, I was good. Most times when by myself, I would just play with the cue ball, learning banks and different english techniques. Placing bar napkins and hitting it so that the cue ended up resting on it. I was good at math, so angle speed and momentum came natural. I could see it as a complex geometrical puzzle, and anylize the sum of it's parts. During the evenings it was all about making money. I was allowed to stay as long as I was in the back. regulars would bring me cokes in case a cop came in. One of my favorites was Bear. He was an enormous guy with a huge black beard, was partial to flannel shirts and big buckles. He was always looking out for me and would collect when guys didn't want to pay up. One such night I had a guy for 640 dollars, double or nothing adds up quickly. He only had 40 so Bear took that and a nice leather crash jacket. The very one I still have today. It was really big on me at the time but I didn't care I felt like a bad ass in it. One particular night I was playing as usual, 5 bucks a game. I lost the first couple due to stupid postitoning, and downright missing. So I buckled down the next few and won my money back and then some. The guy accused me of hustling, even though through the first two games I kept saying "I'm better than this, having an off night" I was a little alarmed whe he threw his cue stick up against the wall and stormed up front. His girl still stood there looking at me,like she was keeping an eye on me in case I tried to leave. There was no back door. Up front was a commotion, I heard Gene use the voice he saves for people that fight in the bar. Like commanding a dog. He poked his<b> head </font></b>around the corner and looked right through me and pointed "You with that jackass? You get out too, both of ya" and made a hitching thumb towards the front. Se stomped like a two year old past me, trying to stare me down with her hateful blue eyeshadowed eyes. Another skirmish on the way out, Donna my surrogate bar fly mother had something to say. The hair was being yanked from both sides as they rolled around making bloodthirsty cat screams at each other. Punching and scratching each other, tearing nylons and scraping knees. It was hard getting them apart, so tangled in each others hair, neither wanting to let go first and declare defeat. Guys always cheer on a cat fight, ans act like it's erotic or something. It wasn' t sexy or funny, it was horrifying to see. I sat in the darkest corner in the back, hiding from everyone, I felt ashamed for causing trouble. I wasn't even supposed to be here, they were good enough to let me have a place to go, and trouble was the last thing I wanted to bring. Bear wasn't here yet, it might have made a difference, but he can't fight all my battles.Gene came back and said with a apologetic voice "Sorry , you're gonna have to go for the night, says he's calling the cops so It'd be best." I slinked through the front of the bar and headed outside, it was damn cold out. I was pondering my best way back when the guy popped from around the corner suddenly. I felt a burning sting right below my waist on my hip, and looking down saw that he had stabbed me. I grabbed his wrist, and with strength I didn't know I had sort of lifted him by it. I could feel the bones crunching and grinding together under his rubbery skin. He let out a scream and let go, leaving the knife sticking in my hip. I was furious. I felt the devil jump behind my eyes and I yanked the blade out, turning it towards him. I meant to carve my outrage on him, shut his loud mouth and let him be the victim for a change. He stood up good arm stretched out in a pleading gesture, I was not convinced. if it werent for Debbie grabbing him from around the throat from behind, I might have been writing this from a prison cell. Debbie beat him senseless, never would I have guessed that she was capable of such brutality. I guess a has to be though. She told me to run home quick before the cops got there, I didn't hesitate. I had to peel my blood soaked jeans off, smearing gore all the way dow my leg. It wasn't as deep as it could have been, the pelvic bone had stopped it. It was at a sideward angle so the wound was roughly 31/2 inches long. I tried using paper towels and duct tape as a make shift bandage but it bled through instantly. I tried using super glue but it was bleeding too profusely. I got my sewing kit. I had a curved leather needle and some 6lb test fishing line that I used for patches on my jacket. I had to make due. It took me at least an hour to stitch myself together, the needle was a large gauge and the edges of the wound were already agrivated from my attempts at gluing. I sat on my peeling linoleum kitchen floor and gritted my teeth, sometimes having to stop and catch my breath. I lay in a bloody mess panting and moaning, it was tougher than I thought. The pain brought frustration and tears to my eyes, It was about all I could stand.The wet slippery needle sometimes slipped out of my fingers, once I had to go under ths stove to get it back. It lay with the greasy dust bunnies and long lost macaroni noodles. Sometimes it was difficult getting a good enough grip to pull the needle through. I'd have to lay and rest before trying again. I eventually finished, and attempted to stand. My bare feet slipped from both the blood and my own dizziness. I slept right there on the litchen floor, every part of me was exhausted. I woke up sticky and weak, my skin making the sound of masking tape when I eventually stood. I limped into the bathroom and examined my work, not bad for a rookie.The edges were red and angry, and too tender for pants. I touched it lightly with my fingertips and jerked back suddenly, I won't be doing that again. I took a shower then soaked in a bath and just did nothing that day. I had no television so I read animal farm and listened to pink floyd , not even getting up to eat what little food I had. Next day I popped in to let Gene know I was ok. He met me halfway down death row and asked to talk to me outside. He told me I couln't come there anymore, he was afraid for my safety and his sanity. I was crushed, but understood, Donna came out and hugged me hard, her aquanet feathered blonde hair leaving my face sticky. Now I had nowhere to go, it was the only place close that I could go to change my scenery. My wound ended up healing fine, it was a jagged pink smile shape. I came to find out years later that I hadn't removed all the fishing line. Imagine watching tv when and noticing a clear hair growing right before your eyes. I had no idea what was happening til I pulled it out, I though maybe I was a werewolf. Gene and Em's closed down long ago, the sign still exists on Queencity avenue, and I imagine all the ghosts still linger within. I sometimes look back and thank the man that stuck me. If it weren't for him i might have turned out to be one of those people. Soaking in gin and letting their dreams slip away one sip at a time.  |
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