why so many many many many many violins?

20070322

THIS IS AN EXTREMELY ROUGH DRAFT OF A NEW STORY. It has a ton of details left out (needed to finish it tonight for a class + there was a page limit). It will be about double its current size in final form.

My obituaries are even more excessive

If you are reading this, you are probably looking for a place to live for the next few months. Or, perhaps, you’re simply glancing through the paper at some point during your long work or school day, trying to stave off the boredom that saturates your brain as the hours pass. Your eyes flit over the classifieds, perhaps lazily searching for some great deal on last year’s model of John Deere lawn mower or a used guitar amp.
I don’t have anything of true to offer to those belonging to the second group. However, I do have something that should be of keen interest those people who comprise the first crowd.
One modest room (out of three) in the apartment I, and my remaining roommate, Ryan, are renting. It resides on the south side of the second floor of a house that is in a quiet section of town, a family-friendly area. This is a pristine area that has barely been, as of writing, infringed upon by the methodical creep of rental houses catering to university students. The room is outfitted with a connection to a high speed internet source, as necessitated by today’s fast paced life. The room is furnished, tentatively, by the belongings of the previous renter. As there has been no response to the requests for information about missing persons and no headway in the search for the former renter’s current location (please see endnote #1), the articles of clothing in the closet are probably up for the taking, as far as I’m concerned. That might be a little weird for you, though.
Rent for the room is 400 dollars monthly. We all pay the same amount for our rooms; don’t complain to me about the high cost of living in this city. Electrical and gas costs are not included in that sum – neither are water or the cost associated with the aforementioned internet connection, for that matter. It is, on average, 70 dollars a month total for those services for each housemate. Our house isn’t currently hooked up with cable television service, so you don’t have to worry about contributing to that fund as of now (see endnote #2). We are receptive to the idea of having it reconnected, if you feel it’s necessary.
I am sure, if you are still reading at this point, that you have some questions. I think this is natural. Any opening of a room in a house must imply some sort of break in the relations between the parties renting the house together. Yet, earlier, I employed the words “missing person” to describe the former renter. Your mind could be running through the possibility. Was it some dispute over funds which led to a late night bat to the back of the head? Or was it some type of dangerous teenage love triangle? You know, the kind that always contributes to the plots of those modern teen movies that end up as slaughter-fests or end with the introduction of some type of secondary character to allow for two harmonious pairings. Or is it something else that culminated in a terrible and bloody murder?
The set of events that led to the existence of a vacancy in our apartment are not really all that important in the terms of this advertisement. In all reality, I have already provided the details necessary for a decision about renting. Some may see elaborating on this topic any further as a purely self serving exercise. Additionally, it just so happens that placing an advertisement in papers costs a good deal per word these days. Further elaboration on this subject would simply result in the costs for this endeavor exceeding my original projections.
However, I do empathize with any readers who have found their minds wandering over the possibilities within the sequence of events that led to the disappearance of my former roommate. I often find myself extremely frustrated by the lack of disclosure found in much of today’s written and visual material.
As such, the story – as I and those involved (that I still associate with) remember – follows.
****
It was that day, the first day of spring vacation that it happened. I woke up around eight, the sound of my phone pulsing next to my ear bringing me out from some now lost dream. After getting up, I checked the time (7:30 am). I had a few hours before my parents would arrive to take me home for break.
I glanced through my door into the living room. No one else in our unit was awake yet, so I slipped on exercise clothing, grabbed my house key, and went down our stairs and went outside. The spring air was mild, all the snow had melted. The weather seemed to sense the oncoming break, it was prepared. I unlocked my bike from the tree it normally rests near, and jumped on. I started to pedal, moved out of my yard.
As you may or may not know, the city this rental property resides in is full of bike paths. Many of these are in close proximity to our house. It’s just another benefit for anyone who rents a room here. I pedaled, one foot after another, along one of these routes, crossing paths with people rushing towards work and others who were just struggling to keep their eyes open. I was back at my front door and fully awake after thirty minutes.
After reentering the house, I showered and got ready for the day. I put on clean clothing and went into the kitchen, searching for my daily supply of cereal. Ryan was awake by then, and was eating some cold pizza, blurry/tired eyes locked on the table. He looked as though he may have been trying to decipher a code in the fake wood-grain as he chewed.
“Morning. Any plans for break?” I opened my cupboard and grabbed the Cheerios. There’s too much sugar in them, but they make a good breakfast. I poured a bowl and continued “Just going home?”
“Yeah, I’m getting a ride home from my younger brother.” His eyes opened a little more and moved away from the kitchen table. He took a slow bite of pizza. “I’m just going to sleep and eat free food. Maybe see some friends from home, go to parties or something. Should be good.”
“Yeah, that sounds pretty good.” I took a spoonful of the cereal and chewed it, slowly, trying to taste the individual grains. It didn’t really work.
“What about you?” He had finished his pizza and was washing the plate.
“Well, I finished an essay due after break last night, so I’m just going to relax for a while when I get home. Probably just see friends, spend time with my brothers for a bit, nothing too exciting.” I was nearing the bottom of the bowl. Cereal always disappears too fast. “Any idea about what Kevin is doing?”
Kevin, who had not yet woken up that day, is the room mate the prospective renter will be replacing. He had (or has, if he is still alive) some method of waking up after everyone else in the house every day. This caused him some small problems in attending certain lectures. As he was the heir of a substantial mustard fortune, I don’t know that this ever fazed him.
“Not really.” Ryan rinsed his plate and placed it on the rack in the sink to dry. “He’ll probably just get in a jet and go somewhere random. Probably won’t go home during the trip. Kinda surprised he stayed for the end of the week.”
“Yeah.” I finished the Cheerios and tilted the bowl up to my mouth to pour the last straggling portion of milk down my throat. I still have bad habits from childhood, probably always will.
“He even went to some of his classes this week, for once. Kinda surprising. Maybe the bad grades caught up to him?” Ryan had walked into the bathroom and was now talking as he brushed his teeth. I was sure he was getting toothpaste all over the mirrors as he talked. “Threats of losing the mustard barony if he didn’t clean up his act, maybe?”
That seemed like it could happen
“It could happen.” I had gotten out of my chair and was washing my bowl. “I suppose you wouldn’t want anyone running a successful mustard empire into the ground. Lot’s of burgers would be rather tasteless, or something.”
I could hear a gurgling noise coming from the bathroom. I dried my bowl and put it back in my cupboard.
“I’ve got to talk to him before my parents get here. He didn’t get me a rent check quite yet,” I said.
Kevin’s door gave a slow creek and he walked out into the living room, a little bit like a zombie. He sat down on the couch and turned on the television without saying much. His eyes looked like they might be able to stay open for a few more seconds, so I decided I should take this chance to ask him about the rent.
“Morning Kevin.” I walked towards the living room. “I was wondering if you had gotten a chance to write out a rent check yet. I - ”
He stopped me in mid sentence, putting a hand up in the air in a gesture of silence. His eyes were locked intently on the television, his pupils widened a bit, jaw a little slack. I couldn’t make out what was going on that had caught his attention in this way, he wasn’t normally so rude as to cut someone off. I took a few steps closer to the television to gain a better look.
As I got close enough to actually read the television, Kevin stood up.
“They killed him! How could they!”
I looked over at Kevin. He seemed as though he might begin foaming at the mouth and his eyes looked a bit like daggers. He gritted his teeth. His jaw looked like it could snap in the pressure. Patches of red started to flit into his cheeks. It almost seemed like he was getting ready to explode.
I looked at the screen again. What I saw kind of heart the small child deep in my brain, but I couldn’t understand why Kevin was getting worked up to the point of yelling at a television.
CAPTAIN AMERICA: Dead.
That’s what it said, if I recall correctly.
Like I said, I don’t see why he was freaking out about this.
It was just a comic book character death, so no need to go to any extremes over something this small.
Kevin yelled “They killed Captain America!”
I shook my head.
Kevin ran into his room. He turned his computer on.
I sat down on the couch. The media coverage of this was kinda funny. They were treating it with the full force of the politically correct patriotism that had become very popular. He represented America, stood for traditional values, and was a symbol of patriotism. A real American hero. Wow. They actually said things like that? It’s a comic book character.
I laughed as the coverage of the icon’s death continued to play across the airwaves. Ryan walked into the living room asking, “What was the yelling about earlier, did Kevin say something about a captain?”
He saw the screen and laughed. Ryan read comics on a fairly regular basis, so I had a feeling he knew this was coming. I thought I heard him grumble something about Superman under his breath, but I couldn’t quite make it out over the sound of the television and the noise of Kevin moving around his room. It sounded like he was tearing things apart looking for something.
He came back out and said, “Have they announced the funeral arrangements yet?”
“What?” It’s really all I could say before I started laughing.
Ryan looked Kevin evenly in the eye. I don’t see how he kept from bursting out laughing.
“No they haven’t.”
“Good. Listen, I will be right back. Are you guys doing anything over the break?” He was running around the apartment, looking for something. He jumped behind the couch and grabbed his shoes. He took our silence as some type of negative answer. “Alright, wait for me here. We’re going to go to find his funeral when I get back with a car.”
****
So, it was like that. Two hours later we were in a car (where did it come from on such a short notice? Kevin claimed that his father had lent it to him for the trip, though I have my doubts about that) traveling out of our college town. Kevin seemed a little excited.
Why were both Ryan and I in the car when we had planned on going home later that day? Well, I can’t really speak for Ryan. After Kevin stated his intent to go on a trip to find Captain America’s funeral, Ryan just kinda smiled and said, “Alright.”
As I said, I can’t really speak for Ryan’s state of mind at the time, but I think he just found the whole thing a little more entertaining than spending his entire break at home.
I came along for various reasons. For one, I kind of thought that it might end up being something of an entertaining trip. I was also a little worried about Kevin’s state of mind at the time. Had something happened with his parents that had caused him to lose some of his sense of proportion? I’m not really sure, even after the fact. If anyone sees him, ask him about it and clue me in to the realities of everything surrounding that short trip.
I had one last reason for going along with the trip, one that actually made the decision for me, in the end. I really needed that rent check from Kevin. With what I thought might be his state of mind, I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to collect from him if I didn’t go along.
That is my explanation, as it stands. I called my parents, told them I would get home on my own eventually, washed my exercise clothing quickly in our washing machine (which, I should let you, future tenant, know is available for personal use of any renters in this house), and left on a trip to search down the funeral for a dead American pop culture icon.
****
Kevin had a plan.
It was already twelve hours in to the trip when he admitted that the trip had some sort of method.
“I have a plan,” he said. “We’ll go to California. One of the Captain’s creators lives there. Jack Kirby. If anyone knows where Captain America’s funeral will be, it’s probably him.”
Kevin pulled out some printouts from Google Maps, showing directions to an area of California.
Ryan laughed a little.
“What?” Kevin seemed a little bugged.
“I think Jack Kirby is dead.”
I looked at Ryan. He seemed to find this a little funny.
“Well, I don’t know.” Kevin scratched his head. “We’re already half way there. We will find out when we get there.”
“Wait, how? How would we find this guy?” I asked. California always seemed like a pretty vast area. Finding one person would be tough, especially if they were dead, as Ryan said.
I didn’t get an answer. It was a little late for me to be asking, anyways. Kevin had already lost himself in driving, mumbling under his breath. I think he had traveled too many miles to answer any questions that might limit the clear perspective his eyes had strained to gain.
****
By the time we got across California’s border, we had been in the car for a day.
I had fallen asleep at some point during the night as we drove. When Kevin stopped the car and slammed the door as he got out, I woke up. A little confused, being pulled from another dream I wouldn’t remember, I looked around.
We were in the parking lot of a gas station that I thought seemed extremely clean and modern. It almost shimmered in the light from a sun just barely clawing its way over the skyline. It was still early, it seemed.
Ryan was still asleep in the back seat, so I closed my eyes and tried to rest for a while longer.
Kevin came back a short while later. He got into the car and slammed the door again. Both Ryan and I were jerked to attention by the loud bang that flooded through the car.
“Well…” Kevin sighed.
“What?” I asked. Ryan just looked at Kevin.
“Jack Kirby is dead.” Kevin looked a little sad. “So, he can’t tell us where Captain America’s funeral is going to be.”
“Yeah.” I just let my eyes drift to the car’s floor. “That’s really quite a shame, I guess.”
“What are we going to do, then?” Ryan asked. I looked at him in what I suppose probably came off as horror. We just go home now, right?
Kevin pulled out another set of directions printed from Google Maps.
“We’re going to New York.” He said this with a very straight face.
“Why?” We had already driven across the country once.
“That’s where Joe Simon, the other creator of Captain America lives.” He kept his straight face, and turned the key in the ignition. “He can point me to the funeral.”
“Wait! Why are you even bothering with this? Shouldn’t we just go and have a normal spring break?” I was a little too tired of riding in cars to go across the country.
Kevin had already started driving, and his eyes were fixed on the road again. I was sure, now, that riding with him for much longer would not be the greatest plan if I wanted to return to school intact after break. He was probably depressed or seven other kinds of crazy.
Kevin didn’t answer, of course. Ryan had gone back to sleep. I tried to do the same, but just ended up looking out the window at the empty deserts we drove through that morning.
****
About seventeen hours later, I was able to get Kevin to pull over at a hotel in some city that I was too tired to recognize. I had gotten cold feet. I wanted nothing to do with going the rest of the way across the country with a madman and someone who was passively setting himself up for death.
I didn’t think I was going to get the rent check any time soon, so I decided to accept my losses and go home.
When both Kevin and Ryan fell asleep, I flipped through the phone book I found in our room. There was no airport in the city, but there was an Amtrak station.
I scribbled a quick note and called a cab.
At the train depot, I took out my credit card to purchase a ticket for a morning trip to my home town.
“One-way or round-trip?” I was asked.
Why would I be coming back here?
I got my ticket and waited for the train to board in the morning, sleeping fitfully on something that was the equivalent of a park bench. I would have looked at home in the 1930’s. I even had the trademark Hoover blanket, another lost person thrown across the country by a moment of failed judgment.
When boarding began, I crammed myself in to a seat on the train. I felt the last two day’s rapid movement across vast stretches of land catching up to me. I felt rather displaced.
The train started moving, probably wishing to make that feeling worse as it rushed me home.
****
At the end of the break, I went back to my college apartment. Ryan was there, but Kevin was not.
Since I was not there, I don’t know how much of this is true. I only have the limited amount Ryan told me about the rest of Kevin’s search, however reliable that can be considered.
When they got to New York, Kevin had, with Ryan in tow, tracked down Joe Simon. For two days he paced around the structure, constantly pestering the ground's guards. At the time, he probably seemed like a vagrant. Ryan said he grew more and more restless and agitated. He just sat outside the building simmering. Up until the end of the second day, that is.
A person left the front doors of the building at around 5:38 PM on the second day. That person happened to be Joe Simon. Perhaps he was going on a short trip to the market to buy milk.
According to Ryan, Kevin broke out running at him, screaming things about Captain America. Within ten minutes Kevin was in jail.
Ryan bailed him out. As they left the police station, Kevin stopped on the steps.
“You should go home now, Ryan. Break is almost over.” He reached into his pocket. He pulled out his set of car keys and a small rectangle of paper. “Take my dad’s car back to him; he’s probably looking for it.”
He gave the keys and the piece of paper to Ryan, instructing Ryan to give me the rectangle when he saw me next.
Ryan nodded, and started to walk towards the car.
“I had a dream last night, Ryan.” Kevin just kinda gazed up at the buildings surrounding them. His eyes had no focus. “I played chess with Captain America. He told me the meaning of life.”
His shoulders slumped a little, and he ran down the police station steps into the city. Ryan got in the car and drove home.
When I got back to the apartment after break, Ryan gave me the piece of paper. It was the rent check.
****
So, that, apartment-hunter, is why we have a vacancy in our unit. I assure you this isn’t a normal activity for those that live in my proximity, this disappearing act. The apartment is quite safe and not very extraordinary at all.
Any parties interested in renting the vacant room should contact Oliver at 154-538-8744 in the evening hours.

ENDNOTE 1: This account was originally included in a missing person’s report which I attempted to file at a local police station, with the intent of finding information in regards to Kevin’s whereabouts. It has brought in no information, as the report was rejected due to length. I have, however, heard rumors that there has been a man wearing red, white, and blue tights seen in the streets of New York at night. He bludgeons muggers with a circular shield, smiles at the victim, and then disappears.
ENDNOTE 2: When at my parents’ house, after a long train ride, I was greeted by the normal family salutations. After a short meal, I settled onto the family room couch and turned the television on. A news report popped up. The words “SPIDER-MAN’S AUNT SHOT, IN CRITICAL CONDITION” were printed across the bottom of the screen. I opened my cell phone, called my cable company, and cancelled the service at my apartment.

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