Page 15 - Finding Tulsa - Preview

Finding Tulsa 7

read. I had to continue this ‘integrity’ phase. I was just gonna bust Barry’s
balls for not being the man I loved, when he should have been. He’ll be
okay. He’ll wait. I’ve doodled so many storyboards, I take the paper table-
cloth with me.

Waiting for the airport shuttle the next morning, I’m looking over the
place I’ve called home for the last too-many years. My bags sit by the door:
a small backpack (headphones and tapes in case I end up next to a yacker)
and my PowerBook for onboard, along with a slightly larger bag with
clothes. I don’t have to check it, but I like having the freedom to move, to
wander Airport World.
Brief house tour before I leave. Establish sense of place before it’s
abandoned.
Santa Monica bungalow, charmingly shabby, enough to deter thieves
from noticing that the French doors are not wired. Pass through the gar-
den of chaos with overgrown jade and yuccas out of a Star Trek set. That
dusty pile of black rubber is the surf gear. The small bench and chair are
the place where I used to smoke. There were jars and planters full of butts,
a collection. They’re gone now. I’m clean.
In the living room, there’s a big-armed sofa and mismatched chairs so
mushy they demand a nap. They suck you in while the CDs sing. On the
walls are a few framed posters of my past films, one featuring an actor who
I thought was the love of my life. On the floor is my next movie, hope-
fully, now a mere pile of comic book pictures.
Near the mess, boxes have begun to grow in small stacks, since I’ll
soon be moving out some time after my trip back home.
The dining table next to the kitchen counter takes us into the kitchen
proper, cluttered with all the gadgets capable of crushing, whirling and
slicing any fruit or vegetable into a dippable pulp.
The kitchen is the cartoon art room. Walls in marker-erasable
Colorforms plastic, scribble-able thought bubbles over cartoon faces, it
demands jokes while you lean on the counter and watch me cook, or while
I watch you cook, if you’re a really nice guest. This week’s best, from the
dinner party last month: “I just wanna try another size, not another pierc-
ing!” Northstar shouts. “Just say where,” seethes Wolverine, claws aimed.
Last year The Tick asked Spidey for another chance at love. I’ve kept that
one.
I check the fridge for any perishables that may implode before my
return. Not much.