Scott Lewis
Artist, Writer, and
Co-Creator of The Scott and Gary Show!
Jace
Acquaintances
Ciro and Wendell were acquaintances who irritated each other. They ran in a mutual circle of other casually knowns. Wendell was older and knew how to burn Ciro up. Similar to those cartoons of Apex dynamite. A long sparking fuse and then kapow! What would start off as a tease, then sharpened, became pointed, cut and diced. This gave Wendell great pleasure. He thought it hilarious that Ciro always responded. It was tempting bait that hung, slowly inching closer and closer to Ciro’s insecurities.
Wendell was a corporate psychologist. His job was to get the best out of people, especially those whose inspiration for their work waned. As a scholar of the mind, he believed that when drives began to dim, it was a glow soon to burn out. It was a blown motivational fuse that needed to be replaced. Now he could use his skills as an organizational staffing manipulator to burrow into minds. Like a fixed poker game, he knew the cards and dealt upon the players’ anxiousness. He was the dealer, and the house always wins. No longer invited to meetings that were once mandatory, lack of supervisor interaction and support, reduced responsibilities, personal reviews that confused and seeded uncertainty - these were some of the ploys Wendell used to mentally force them out. Soon the expected notice, “Thank you for all you have done, but your services are no longer needed,” would come as no surprise. Nothing personal Wendell thought, just business. Someone has to do it, and really, “I am very good at it!” he would boastfully think, say, write and exclaim at executive roundtables. He was doing them a service he conceitedly felt, “change is good. It rejuvenates you and makes you try harder next time.” Wendell thought of himself as a “people person.” This was not an opinion shared by most. He did run with a smug crew of like-minded vitriolic bullies. None would consider the others as friends. Their guarded relationships were based on the mutual respect that each was mentally tough. They had all met at a self-defense class that Wendell took after a few unpleasant workplace employee reviews.
Ciro owned a small chain of boutique truck rentals popular among hipsters. Looking for something to carry a heavy load that was unique, retro, or stylish? Need to make an impression or garner attention at the next art gallery opening, new restaurant launch, or engagement party? Ciro’s Tricked-Out Truckeree was the place to go. Even their hats with the cartoon logo (a truck smoking a pipe and wearing a monocle) were a trendy status symbol. They also performed wild modification such as adding a barbeque grill to the rear of a jeep, having the back of an SUV look like a boom box where the speakers were lights, and adding a coffin to the roof of a hearse in which a skeleton rose when hitting the breaks. That was for the punk horror band for The Schizo-Teens. Ciro was a good guy, well-liked by his employees and customers and had a good bunch of friends. He was a big guy, who looking at him, you wouldn’t want to mess with. Belying his appearance, he could get easily flustered when things got chaotic. Push him too far or be perceived as insulting or offending, then you risk encountering a vein-popping, tight-fisted Ciro. After supportive words from friends or the staff, he would usually calm down and become the jovial Ciro. Usually.
Derek, a long-time customer, invited Ciro and his crew to his new club, The Green Drip. Derek had his own Financial Advisor firm and was always looking to put his earnings into a swanky business, especially one where he could meet models. The music was thumping and the drinks flowed; the gang was having a good time. Danny loudly whispered to Ciro, “Hey, that jerk is here.” Ciro peered across the room and saw Wendell. Wendell was a client of Derek’s and had met Ciro at other Derek happenings. Their brief exchanges were always tension charged. Spotting Ciro got Wendell’s antagonistic juices percolating. As expected, Wendell looked at this as a game, in this case, to make a big man feel small and simple. Derek was too into himself and his successes to acknowledge, or care to notice, Wendell’s belligerent side. Besides, Derek benefited from his skill at eliminating staff, or what Wendell referred to as “those past their expiration date.”
Slightly buzzed Derek waved to Ciro as he and Wendell walked towards Ciro. “Hey Cir-er-o glad you could m-m- m-make it. Wendell, you re-mem-m-buh Ciro?” “I don’t believe so. I always remember those who leave an impression on me.” “We have met a few times. I have that truck business,” countered Ciro. “Oh yes! You’re the guy who plays with trucks! Wendell playfully, yet caustically asked. “It is more than that. I don’t ‘play with trucks, I do creative vehicle design modifications. You know that!” “I really don’t understand what that means, or care, but excellent use of big words,” Wendell cuttingly replied. “You are just a big boy who still plays with trucks. Besides, you have more to worry about, don’t you?.” Annoyed, Ciro stammered, “Huh? What are you talking about?” Wendell jeered, “Oh, wasn’t there something about lawsuits and fines resulting from illegal modifications?.” Ciro spat out an irked “What?” and like a polluted storm, it kept oncoming. A myriad of insults, backhanded “compliments” and mocks pummeled Ciro. Wendell was proudly put-down smug with the creativity of his verbal slaps. Subjects included ex-girlfriends, new girlfriends, sloppy business practices, personal appearance, lack of sophistication, and Ciro’s ex-wife, Noreen.
Tensing up, Ciro remained composed until the crack about Noreen. Wendell probably did not know (or did he?) that Noreen was now very ill. The self-control that steadied Ciro faded. Ciro clenched his fists and growled, “You disgusting piece of crap.” Wendell declared, “You threatening me Ciro! I am warning you, I excel at kickboxing!” And with that exclamation, he blindsided Ciro with a kick to his midsection. As Ciro reared back to retaliate, his spray paint manager Carlos yelled to him, “Don’t do it Ciro! You are better than this! He’s an asshole and not worth it.” Ciro calmed down, taking deep breaths. Carlos continued, “That guy is a loser. And takes cheap shots. Real men don’t do that. He has no friends, just other losers that kiss each other’s ass and tell themselves they are special. He is jealous that you have friends, a cool business, and a life. Don’t lower yourself to his level.” Ciro turned to Carlos and nodded. “You are right. He ain’t worth it. I should not let my emotions get the better of me. He doesn’t really know me. He just gets off upsetting people.” “Exactly,” Carlos confirmed. Carlos put his hand comfortingly on Ciro’s shoulder and slowly guided him away. Ciro took a few steps and paused and contemplated. “But you know what, Carlos?” “What?” exhaled a relieved Carlos. Ciro was now composed. “I agree with everything you have said. All good points. What would it prove? But on the other hand, I am sensitive and do have feelings. One needs to feel good about themselves. So now I am going to beat the shit out of him. It will make me feel better. Much better.”
Sasha
Sasha the aerialist was concerned about Bing-Bong the Clown’s attention of Kira. Sasha had met Kira when both of their troupes became members of the Cirque D’ Ascend. That was about 4 months ago. Sasha and his family The Flying Gorobets were all nimble, graceful with rope like muscles coursing through arms, legs and necks. Kira who descended from a long line of animal trainers liked to tease and control her subjects. She was known for her agility with a bullwhip and her skill in getting a booming double crack sound from it. With a knowing smile and a confident stride Kira’s authority was never a question. When Sasha first encountered Kira he was both in awe and shaken. He was attracted to her and yet felt tense around her. Sasha’s cousin Oola warned Sasha to balance his emotions and not tumble. Many had been, and were intoxicated by Kira. Sasha remembers one night at the Blind Cock Pub in White Hills overhearing Loopie, Ari and Herbert discuss Kira. They mentioned the names of other performers who had been “close” to Kira. One familiar name was a clown named Jolly Wally who one day changed his act and name to Woeful Wally. Gone were the belly laughs, now replaced by a performance of introspective irony. All three nodded in agreement that after Kira and Wally parted – so did his Jolly. Sasha believed at the time that they were all sour because of Kira’s billing in the show. [Loopie did a drunk tight rope act and Ari and Herbert, both heavily muscled, did an intense human balancing act. For example Ari would lie on his back, extend one leg into the air and the larger Herbert would stand upon Ari’s foot while Ari lifted him up and down. There were also many whispers about their relationship].
No one remembers the last time they saw Bing-Bong without his make-up. Few even knew his real name; some believed it was Max, others thought Clotaire. When asked for his real name he would sternly say- “It is Bing-Bong!” His face was a dense layer upon layer of make-up. His pants shiny and stained. Never did his wig leave his head. The gloves a permanent second skin upon his hands. Bing-Bong’s philosophy was that a clown was a superman among men. Bing-Bong believed that, felt that and became that. A clown is royalty. A clown is all you want or nothing you want. A clown could make you laugh, cry and want to protect him. You could be tricked, confused and outraged by him. Or seduced by him. A clown controls.
Sasha’s suspicions of Bing-Bong’s intentions were confirmed one evening during a very intense part of the trapeze act he performed with his cousin Vasily.
Jace
Jace lived in perpetual state of anger. Everything annoyed him. It could be something as inconsequential as receiving his neighbors mail by mistake or as serious as being rear ended when leaving the deli. It all had the same importance and level of seething frustration. He found it impossible to relax. He was a kettle always boiling. He tried herbal teas, but the mellow and sunshine demeanor of the health food store staff set him on edge. His incessant and quickly accelerating finger tapping on the check-out counter brought on a request to chill. But telling a guy like Jace to chill only has the opposite effect. Bellowing “who are you telling to CHILL!” was met by wide eyed bewilderment and a request to never return. He worked out at a gym to try and ease his temper. Tense scene were created by Jace’s bitter mumbling, grunting and irked slamming of weights. The plus was he did make friends with some very large and just slightly less angry people.
Therapy was tried. But as each week’s session neared ending the therapist would peek at his watch. At first Jace tried to ignore it. Each week the expectant glance at the watch ate away at him. Jace tried deep breathing exercises to distract himself, but this only made him breath heavier and focus even more on the “looking at the watch”. At what was ultimately his last session, Jace brought in an alarm clock and hurled it at his therapist.
Cora always seemed to be crying. It did not matter if it was an upsetting memory, a great joke or spicey food. Sad tears, happy tears, laughing tears, pained tears, and tears that could not be understood. Remembrances of late family members or commercials for animal shelter would cause misty watering eyes. Good times with friends celebrating career advancements, her nieces and nephews’ graduations, weddings, favorite sit-coms, and videos of chihuahuas with little sombreros brought joyous tears. Her close friends expected Cora’s tears and always brought along extra tissues for her.
Saturday night at The Bella Terra Dinner and Dance Club. Cora was there to celebrate her little sister Carla’s birthday . Sittings at the bar waiting, sweet memories of Carla as a little girl came to her. Her eyes moistened. Cora then thought of her late father. He would have been so happy to see how grown-up Carla became. She was only 12 when he passed away. Moistened eyes now led to trails of running tears.
Jace was also at The Bella Terra to dine and share peeves with his weightlifting pals. His was early and went to the bar to get a drink. All the seats were taken which exasperated him. Trying to get the bar tender Billy’s attention, he wound up standing behind Cora . The music was loud which further irritated him. He started to wave his arms to get service. The tender at the other end the bar nodded at him, but kept talking on his phone. Now Jace was wildly gesturing. Finally the bartender came over. He mistook the rage in Jace’s eyes for being intoxicated. Jace yelled out, “I want a Negroni!”. The barman replied. “A Martini?, on ice?” “No!”, burst Jace. “A Negron!”. “All right, a Zombie no ice.” was the distracted reply along with a mutter of “jerk”. Jace’s temper was really erupting now. Enraged eyes, muscles tightened, hot blood speeding through veins and arms gesticulating in a frenzy. Cora did not notice this. She was lost in her memories. And crying.
Jace’s frantic gyrations started to draw attention. Depending on where one stood, it was not clear what was exactly was going on. Some saw an upsetting scene of a furious angry man yelling at a crying woman. Others, like Mimi and her friends only saw Jace and mistook his movements for cool dance moves. Inspired, they copied them.
Stan's
No one was sure of the name.
It was old, worn and nondescript. A dark rectangular shape, with an exterior battered in thick grime. Was it brick? Concrete? It was impossible to tell without scrapping off years of grime. There was one entrance and a long window which allowed a hazy dim view of the interior. If this structure had a personality, it would be considered sullen. It was the exact opposite of what laid across and around it – a panorama of amusement rides, surf, sunshine, and brightly colored foods. Salt and mustard floated in the air. Squinting eyes adjusting to piercing sun rays. The sudden explosion of sounds, colors, aromas, and excitement of what laid in front further blotted out this large, cheerless shoebox. Embedded under the multi-level subway station at Culver Beach, it made an extreme contrast to the shops around it. While nearby were cheerful vibrantly hued beach balls and radiant sweet treats, here sat this solitary, gloomy loner.
After years of sea air, layers of paint and neglect, the sign above the door led to various interpretations. Some called it Mike’s. Others said no, it was Mick’s. One old timer said it was Stan’s. Wafting through the door was the mix of stale cigarette smoke and sour, very sour, beer. Mike’s/Mick’s/Stan’s was a bar that while unnoticeable, really stood out because it seemed so out of place. Why was it there? Why did it remain while all around it grew and changed? It was like an uninvited guest who takes their place on the couch and never leaves. Through the smoky haze, dim bulbs outlined hunched figures. No matter the time of day or night, there they were. Early morning, dusk, night, no matter. Figures like melting candles, moving slowly, if moving at all. A lone pale figure, in extreme contrast to the crowd of tanned bodies, would on occasion, emerge. Time too seemed to stall at Mike’s/Mick’s/Stan’s as nothing about it ever changed. Holidays and seasons did not matter. It was not lost in time but existed in its own stagnant time.
Abel was hoping that his constant headaches would ease. Symptoms ranged from a dull thud to a head gripping intensity. The only way to ignore it was to drink and sit in the bar’s cool shadows. It was his therapeutic routine. He felt he was understood by the others who too, were treating their various conditions. The somber mood was broken by the lurching energy of Blue. Blue’s real name was Irv but was nicknamed Blue because of his fondness for the color and the tint to his dyed black hair. Blue liked to laugh, hug, “dance” and sing and was oblivious to the moods around him. He knew everyone in the bar and believed he was enjoyed by all. He could not wait to see his friends and spend day into night with them. Abel was having an especially painful episode. Upsetting memories began to seep into his mind and he began to shake. It was not unusual for Abel to shake. Some would cry, some nodded out, others mumbled to themselves. Blue saw his buddy Abel, leaned on him, wrapped his arms around him and with a loud, exuberant laugh said, “Hey! How’s it going! Next ones on me!”
Off to the side Ida began to drift off while talking to a mummified looking Vince and muttered, “my past does not define me.” Blue heard this and yelled “Good one, Ida! You are so funny!”
Powerball
“You become absorbed into it. It floats and transports you. It grips you and you feel you can’t move but are moving. It is the most sublime ride. It expands your ideas of what is really happening and presents the truth. It takes over not only your senses but your whole body, you can’t resist reacting. It is a stunning kaleidoscope frenzy of stimulation. People don’t take it seriously. People are scared. Afraid of how they will really see themselves and what they crave. You are revealed. People are innately weak minded, not open to moving past their accepted notions.” Ariadne’s pontifications were akin to a zealot uncovering secrets. She treated the orb as a life necessity, and like any sustenance, it should be taken in moderation. You live with it, but not overindulge. That would become gluttony and lead to a lifestyle that cannot be contained, it would control you. Way too potent. It should be a fundamental part of your routine and the way you see and approach life. Like a super mental vitamin. Too much and you would become a staring lifeless figurine. You lose the discretion to really appreciate all it has to offer.
Too much of a good thing leads to taking it for granted.
For Wendell, the exposure and acceptance has been overwhelming. He had seen many before on his nights out, but was either too distracted or lost in the din of conversation to take notice. Sometime, what is best for you is so apparent and obvious, you don’t see it. Or maybe, probably, he was just too buzzed to become aware of the wonder a few feet above his head. But this time was different. It could have been the angle and the piercing light with impossible colors that invaded him. A beam that was endless and inviting. He froze. He had never seen anything so beautiful. It was not the beauty of nature, not the beauty of a person, not the beauty of an idea. It was beauty with such force that it encased him in a glowing nurturing womb. Energy and brilliance bursting from it, providing stimulating nourishment.
They were not friends, just obsessive devotees of the sphere’s might and its astonishing beams. The few details they knew of each other were the most important – name, phone number and email address. Their relationship was neither sexual nor chummy. There was no interest in how they or where they spent their days. They knew nothing of each other’s lives. Or cared to know. That would be superfluous to their objective of sensuous and sensory stimulation. Occasionally, they would encounter another who they thought might be similar minded in their spinning zeal. Mimi was the closest one that came to joining their nucleus. But when she asked too many questions like “Are you both a couple?”, it was time to cut her loose. Bryan was a prospect, but when he spoke highly of the light show at the Planetarium, Ariadne and Wendell agreed that Evan was not a serious believer. He was one of many who only cared about pretty lights, not transformative luminosity. Once there was a whiff of anything personal surfacing, there was no reason to continue. It’s an empty relationship where only one side truly understands. Such an association would only hold back the believer and lead to resentment. It would be a time waster.
Time is vital when you are benefiting so much from something that looks so simple. It is there, just waiting to be appreciated. It surges dynamic energy through one’s veins and accelerates thinking. Cluttered trash thoughts evaporate from your brain and frees your mind. You are now invincible in mind, body and soul. You feel you have consumed the power of the sun! But this is better, much better. It is always there for you. You don’t need daylight. Evenings will do. Remember, nothing exists except for light, even when it’s artificial.
Morgan
After three seasons on the road, the Enchanted Amusements Traveling Carnival troupe grew irritated with each other. Working long hours and forced to live in compact, strained conditions was a combustible formula. Traits once charming and attractive became ugly and selfish. You could only hear the same story, complaint or crush and tales of subsequent heartbreak so many times. While audiences saw joyful faces, resentment was the truth. The old joke that the knife thrower was not a show’s only back stabber, had a prick of truth. You never know who to trust or confined in. Night into another night. Small towns blending into medium small towns and cities. Costumes from a distant looking glittery, sexy and heroic were really worn and sourly pungent. But like everything else, only when you are in it, living and breathing the life, did you know it. Viewed from the stands it was all fantasy and courage. The handsome, beautiful and brave. The agile, clever and seductive. Week nights, three performances on Saturdays and two on Sundays, then pack and travel on.
The hours after an evening’s last spectacle, before hitting the road, brought out the worse in these merry performers. It was time to unwind, become real and try and drop the act. Morgan was visibility upset. Heavy tears swam down colorful cheeks. Morgan had peeked around the Loony Balloon and Dastardly Dart stall and saw Syndee in intimate conversation with Todd. Syndee relished all attention and enjoyed the game. Good or bad, her objective was to be noticed and to hold and twist that attention. Todd, the handsome egoistical lead rider in the Globe of Death was very willing. Syndee was a versatile performer who seductively inhabited her costume. Whether scooping at the Creamy Treat cart or pitching in at the Tent of Terror, she drew a response. Her favorite role was as Countess Syndella, Predictor of Fortunes. This grand title allowed her an opportunity to be creative and toy with drunken minds. Insincerity… an exhilarating feeling and a quality she was keenly proud of. Morgan was cowed by Syndee. Morgan had believed there was a connection with Todd after some tequila enhanced flirting. Seeing them now tightly together was painful. Morgan felt like a gullible fool.
Van the Escape Artist always saw himself as a peace maker, sensitive to all. When stress was high, his calming manner and little jokes were a relief. One of his favorite bits was to pretend he was locked inside a bathroom stall and cry out “Help, I am trapped!” Seeing Morgan upset, he offered drinks and cheer. But the tears kept streaming. Coleman, gripping his “medicine”, wobbled by on rubbery legs. Van yelled to Coleman to lend a hand comforting Morgan. Coleman, the eternal huckster with a bloodshot bally pitch. He had been in character for so long, the original Coleman evaporated. A true veteran of the midway – name it, he did it – even kootch shows. Now Coleman ran the petting zoo during by day and the popular Dirty Disco Challenge (over 18’s only) late on Saturday nights. But he never lost his sense of humor. He glanced at Van and kept on stumbling. Van hollered to Coleman “Got some time for a drink and to cheer up a pal “. Without hesitation, “I have had seen it all before, and I am not interested in seeing anymore” bellowed Coleman. He self-congratulatory snickered, and continued staggering away.
Erica
It seemed to Erica that she was constantly being invited to parties. Endless spinning rooms of faces, crudités and clothing patterns. Plaid, polka dot, stripes, shiny vinyl, paisley, animal prints and celery stalks dizzyingly floated around Erica. With each soiree, her enthusiasm and willingness to socialize evaporated. She found less people to be interested in, and less people interested in her. No matter the event or party theme. There was her cousin Kate’s engagement party. Kate’s work friends were all clustered together gossiping about work, especially about someone named Andre. Erica stood nearby with a pained smile and tried to act interested. After a round of giggles and raised eyebrows regarding Andre, Erica attempted to join the happy group by breezily asking, “Whose Andre?”. “You don’t want to know” came the reply as the group shuttered down, thus ending any further exchange. The group all looked at Erica and like a dandelion facing a breeze, slowly floated away. Erica stood for minutes not knowing where to go.
In January she went to a party for Kevin, who was one of her best friends in High School. They took the same art classes and hated the same teachers. She periodically stayed in touch with Kevin. In their early 20’s they went to museums, galleries and free outdoor concerts together along with a rotating cast of others who appeared like guest stars. In particular there was Kurt. Erica thought Kurt was interesting, thoughtful and attractive. He worked doing fund raising for not-for-profits, enjoyed lite jazz fusion and was an avid bike rider. They spent one night together after exploring used bookstores and having dinner at a hip Japanese/Cajun fusion restaurant. Kurt promised to call her once he got back from his cross country bike ride. She never heard from him again. Kevin told her that Kurt sent him a card stating that he had several enlightening experiences during his journey and decided not to return and to never bike again. Erica was disappointed yet understood. In a way she wished she could journey to someplace where it was not a strain to be social. Where people would “get” her and share similar interests.
The party for Kevin was to celebrate a job promotion to district something or another. Kevin was a dear friend, yet Erica felt that the qualities, lifestyle and interests they shared were slowly melting away. She was introduced to what Kevin referred to as the cool people he worked with. Kevin whispered to Erica that these folks were “crazeee”, into the arts and she would love them. The conversation turned to film. It was an animated conversation with names of movies that she had only heard of on TV commercials and seen in the Young Adult Fiction section of bookstores. Lots of excited cooing about Aliens, Killers, Terminal Illness and Affairs. Burt who shared an office with Kevin asked Erica if she had seen any good flicks. “Yes!” said Erica. I really loved “Le Cri du Coeur Adolescent Effrayé”*! Is that Spanish someone asked? I think it’s a Italian cop comedy another said. “ I don’t like movies where I can’t understand the language”, Burt said. “Except for kung-fu movies! Getting smacked around sounds the same in any language.” Everyone cracked up except for a puzzled Erica.
It was at Janet’s 10th annual holiday get-together that Erica truly felt isolated from those around her. Being that it was the 10th year, Janet went all out and rented Roxanne’s Lair and invited everyone she knew and to bring friends. Janet invited Erica who she did not really understand but respected her as an independent thinker. Janet felt that knowing Erica reflected well on her. Many times, friends would ask Janet, “Who was that quite woman who seems very smart? How do you know her?” Roxanne’s had been a hot club a few years back but was now lukewarm. It still had a powerful sound system which was great for dancing but not for talking. Not that anyone wanted to talk. They wanted to drink, dance, feel good and dance some more. It was a bombastic frenzy of whirling arms and legs. Everyone was having a fantastic time. Everyone except for one lone figure who found the music tedious, the inability to carry on a conversation because of the volume annoying, and the short attention span of those spastically pirouetting around her irritating. As the fervor increased Erica receded. She could not relate to the crowd. She needed to make a change. It was not fair to blame others if they did not enjoy her company and see her as she saw herself. It was at this point Erica thought that she might take up bike riding and plan a very long ride.
*"The Cry of the Frightened Adolescent Heart".
