I had told him that I wanted to spend some time searching for Coprolalia right after I had the talk with Sean back in May. He didn't take it seriously. To him it was just a statement that was made in order to perpetuate a conversation about things we wanted to accomplish over the summer. His current list includes finding a girlfriend, reading Infinite Jest, and seeing more jazz shows in the Village. If actions do speak louder than words, then the unopened vitamins on his desk that have been there since he made his New Year's resolution are calling him out. I'm obviously more ambitious. I'll spare the details of my life, and simply say that Coprolalia is not the first chimera I've courted.
“So why are you doing this?” he asks.
“Cowards taste of death many times before their deaths; the valiant only tastes of death but once.”
“Shakespeare?” I nod. “Richard the Third?” I shake my head. “It's Caesar, then.” I nod. “Tell me Brutus, can you see your face?”
“No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself.”
He laughs slightly. “Seriously, though; why are you doing this?” in earnest.
“It's fun,” I respond too quickly. He sighs. “Look, man, it's an adventure. I mean, most of the people who looked for the Holy Grail were probably just in it for the adventure.”
“That's a bit of a stretch,” he grins. “How is it going so far?”
“I won't lie: it’s not going well. But I'd rather be doing this as opposed to doing what most of my friends are doing — besides the ones on vacation, of course.”
“And what's that?”
“Either moving back in with their parents or going to interviews for jobs they don't want. Dave is thinking about joining the navy. Connie—”
“—I still can't believe you even speak to her.”
“She was my girlfriend for over two years, Jeff; I'm not about to just throw away a friendship like that. And now that I've separated myself from the situation some, I can see that it wasn't that bad of a breakup. We just both realized that the long distance thing wasn't tenable any longer.”
“And yet she was the only one who concluded this before you two called it quits.”
I bite my lip. “I knew it, too; I just didn't want to admit it.”
“Well, Boston is not all that far away, but I suppose you would know about these things better than I would,” he says in a tone that could be described and interpreted in a number of ways. The two have never met, but Jeff believes that our separation has led me to create an altar for her. Perhaps there is some truth to this, but it's not something I'd ever admit to him.
“Yes, well, she's going to be moving back to the City soon. She's going to be staying in her dad's place in Gramercy because he doesn't want her to move to Brooklyn.”
“Why does her father own an apartment in Manhattan? Doesn't he live in Cleveland?”
“Detroit. He has the place because he comes out here on business pretty frequently.”
“And why doesn't he want her living in Brooklyn?”
“I guess he thinks Brooklyn is a lot like Detroit — and, as I'm sure you know, Detroit isn't exactly the nicest place to live.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, she's been down here on all of these interviews, and they ask her the most ridiculous questions.” He squints. “You know, these questions that require horribly facetious answers. 'Why did you apply here?' 'Because I need a job and you're hiring.' 'What is one of your worst qualities?' 'Being candid enough to let you know that I'm not going to actually tell you any of my worst qualities.' It's a fucking joke.
“Denise, on the other hand, is doing well.”
“She was the Cynic girl, right?”
“Yeah. I talked to her on I.M. a few nights ago.”
“Did she have her laptop in the tub with her?”
“No, she only does that shit when people are around. Anyway, she's preparing for grad school at Fordham. She's also starting an internship with a radical publishing house in a few weeks — once she's back from Cleveland.”
“So she's the one from Cleveland.”
I nod. “Not Cleveland, but a suburb. Something Falls — I forget the exact name. Anyway, the publishing house is paying her, too.” I pause to drag from the cigarette, but it's been cold for some time. I notice that the first track of the new Wilco album is now playing. “What do you think of this record?”
“With the exception of Yankee Foxtrot, I'd say it's their best. And that's only after four listens.”
“Yeah, I've been listening to it pretty regularly.” Caesura. “Anyway, I guess Denise is the exception. Things are really looking up for her.”
“And you're searching for a man who desecrates bathroom walls.”
“Yes,” I respond with a smile. “And I've gotten to be pretty close with Tomas; not so much with James.”
“Aberdeen.”
“Yeah,” I respond. “He can be kind of condescending sometimes. Then again, there's certain nights he's a really fun guy to be around.” I relight the cigarette. “I don't know what his deal is sometimes. It's not like he's a celebrity or anything. Still, he's got this arrogance about him.” I shrug. “I'm surprised you know of him.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” I respond quickly. “I just didn't think that many people knew about him. That's why I don't understand his arrogance.” Jeff is appeased. “But, to be honest, I didn't think you followed contemporary art all that closely. You don't go to museums or anything.”
“Well, I know plenty,” indignantly. “I even have Letters in Tandem on my bookshelf,” smugly. “I think it's utter bullshit myself, but some people seem to think it to be an iconoclastic work. I don't understand why. It's nothing more than gibberish; letters in tandem — that's it.”
“I've never even asked Tomas about it. We rarely talk about his work.”
“What do you talk about, then?”
“Normal things. He's a very down-to-earth guy once he stops trying to be a revolutionary.” Jeff squints. “Sometimes he talks like a cross between, like, a hipster idiot and Lenny Bruce. It comes in spurts.” Jeff is pensive. He says nothing; he just stares to me from behind the thick frames of his glasses. He's that guy you see on the train: the academic-looking white kid who moved into Brooklyn from Anywhere But Here, USA. I guess I'm no different, but it seems odd that he's here; he should be wandering around the campus of some elite, liberal arts school with several brilliant and monomaniacal professors, who eventually elope with a student after fifteen years of marriage to — go figure — a former student.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask after a small lapse in conversation. He's staring to the table blankly.
“I think you're afraid of the real world. Not to be too philosophical here, but the desire to extend the present is really just a form of nihilism.”
“There's some truth to that, but I wouldn't put it so definitively.”
“Think about it.”
“Sure. Do you want to go put on your analrapist stocking now, or—”
“I'm being serious here. I think you're afraid of the real world. While there are an infinite variety of possibilities in regards to your future, it seems as though your maturation has reached something of a plateau. Though this may sound presumptuous, I feel as though you are envious of your own past.” I squint. “This is not say that you are exhibiting reactionary tendencies; you just wish to continue living the same life that you live now: a student without the school. Yet this is truancy, is it not? However, at the same time, you exhibit the American predilection as James — Henry James — would have described it: the rapacious appetite for experience, which would seemingly be denied by a life preoccupied by the mundane career of the quote, unquote, normal person. It's not exceptionalism exactly, just a refusal to come to terms with the fact that you will inevitably have to support yourself with a pedestrian job before you are capable of producing anything of true value.” He pauses. “Not that you are incapable. These limitations are temporal more than meritorious. After all, Jack London washed dishes prior to being published.” He pauses again. “Or do I peg you incorrectly? Is this quixotic attempt at independence and some picayune truth simply a cover for your real motivation: to indulge in the freedom of childhood before you are borne with the responsibilities of adulthood?”