My favourite things

I was bewildered and even a little frightened with Colm’s final exclamation. What’s going to happen tomorrow? How does he know that something is going to happen tomorrow? What is he going to do? He must be involved with it in someway. What the fuck is this substance thing all about?!

The cab driver was watching me through the biggest moustache I had ever seen. It’s volume made it cover half of his nose and I could barely see two slits that could form a mouth. He looked at me like he knew something that I didn’t. A secret that everyone was keeping from me. I glared at him to stop looking all knowledgeable and such. He smiled and threw his eyes on the road.

When I reached my apartment I left the coins that Colm had thrown along with some gold of my own and left the cab. He honked his horn at me as he sped off.

The red light was blinking on my answering machine when I entered my apartment. I saw no point in rushing these things so I lit a cigarette and made a coffee before sitting down next to the machine to have a listen. Once I had smoked half of my cigarette I pressed the play button. Nothing happened. I pressed it again, nothing. I then pressed it about twelve times within two seconds and still nothing. Red light. Blink, blink, blink, blink . I didn’t need this right now. I told the red light to go fuck its self and sat down for a bit of late night Lettermen. The TV turned on to a tampon commercial with young girls flailing around talking about how this particuller brand was all about “their” style. There are some thing us men will never understand.

When Lettermen began I was disappointed to find out that Paul Schaffer was hosting the show tonight because David was feeling unwell. Not that I have anything against Paul Schaffer and his sunglasses, but when I needed something that was familiar, Paul Schaffer and his sunglasses just wasn’t going to cut it.

I turned my televsion off and thought that some Jazz might be in order to slowly lull myself to sleep. Not some crazy Coltrane stuff but maybe a bit of ‘Some Kind of Blue’ by Davis. Yeah, I could go to sleep to that. I lit another cigarette.

Miles had began playing the first few notes of his trumpet as I eased myself in to bed, pondering the very nature of Colm. His hysteria was completely unexpected and left me feeling on edge. For this reason I was having a hard time going to sleep and I was still awake when Miles was going for the first repeat of the album.

I pushed myself out of bed to have a another coffee knowing that it wouldn’t help me sleep but since I wasn’t going to go to sleep for a long while yet due to this Colm incident, I thought why the hell not. I took out Miles from the CD player and put on a Coltrane ‘Best Of’ CD on random. The first song to play was his reworking of “My favourite things”.

I went back to the blinking light of my answering machine and tried to stare it out hoping that the machine will give in to my idiotic concept of sense. It won the staring competition.

Coltrane…shhhhh...time for bed time.

Thinking about all the pretty things in life. The rain, the sidewalks, the empathy of people, their smiles and their frowns. Blowing in the wind. Thanks Dylan.

It was 4am when I checked the alarm clock and I had yet to go to sleep. It was one of those nights where you over think about going to sleep so you fail at the task miserably. It was rather shit.

I think I got about an hours sleep in the end. I woke up feeling ordinary, tired and confused. I woke up to find out what substance was all about.

The substance riddle

For some reason I ignored my intuition that this guy was not quite right and exchanged phone numbers anyway. When he was trying to recite his numbers he would continually leave one number out and it took him about four attempts to spit out all of the eight digits in the correct order.

I walked back home once we parted ways thinking that I had an interesting night but that was all.

Two days later I was at work unenthusiastically pushing my fourth sale of the day when I received a text message.
‘Hey Ioju, it’s Colm here. We met a couple of nights ago at sheesh. Let’s hang soon.’
I was surprised to get a text message from him but I couldn’t just ignore the message. I’m not like that.
‘Sure Colm. Let me know when your planning to go to the sheesha bar again’
Two minutes later.
‘Tonight’

Should I go? I had nothing planned tonight. Then again, this guy was super eager to hang out again which was thoroughly suspicious but, hey, I found that interesting. I replied back that I’d see him at 9PM.

I got that fourth sale by the way.

--

I found him sitting in the middle of the bar where he could be easily spotted and where the front door was easy for him to see me. He waved me down.
‘Ioju, over here man’
‘Colm’ We shook hands. ‘How are you mate? On the peach variety tonight?’
‘Yeah man! Thanks for coming tonight. I’m normally here by myself.’
‘That’s cool mate, I had nothing on tonight.’
There was a brief uncomfortable silence.
‘Have you been waiting long Colm?’ He passed me the sheesha pipe.
‘Na man, about fifteen minutes. So…. Have you thought about what I was asking you about the other night?’
I had no idea what he was talking about. I told him that.
‘Substance’
‘Substance?’
‘Substance’
I took a drag from the sheesha pipe at that point for two reasons. Firstly, I hadn’t been thinking about that conversation since we last met so I needed time to come up with something plausible and two, for the wonderful dramatic pause that smoking something can create like in the old black and white films of yesteryear. My mind was racing for a response but all I could think about was the stale taste of the cheap tobacco that they had sold Colm. The apparent peach flavour tasted like smoked road kill. I came up with an answer as I passed back the sheesha pipe.
‘No’
‘Ohh’
He became quite and despondent for a brief moment, his disappointment etched all over his face. I thought I’d better come up with something to bring us back from the glum.
‘Well hang on, we’re obviously not talking about substance as in drugs since that’s not what life’s all about right?’
‘Yeah…’
‘Well… you said substance was all that mattered the other night…’
‘Correct’
I paused for a moment to collect my thoughts. ‘Perhaps what you mean when you talk about substance is something substantial happening to you, to make something out of life, to be someone, to make an impact, to BE substantial. To yourself, to your family, to your friends… to the WORLD!’
He looked at me with a silly grin on his face and smoked some more. I grinned back thinking that I had cracked his substance code.
‘No’, he said.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair. He laughed out loud.
‘It’s OK. You’re not going to figure it out today. It takes time’
Did this guy think he was Yoda or something?
We talked about other insignificant things throughout the night. Films, music, books, woman, over three tobacco flavours ordered over the course of three hours. It was finally time to part ways and apart from this issue over ‘substance’ we had a pleasant time together. We agreed that we should meet again next week at a place where I normally go.

---

The Monkey House was not a place that I would take anyone to. Not many people would enjoy its dankness apart from myself so I chose The Grape Vine, a horrible name for a rather nice wine bar. I will get to figure out this substance question over a few bottles of red, easy!

He came fifteen minutes later then planned and was apologising frantically.
‘I’m so sorry man, my bus was late and then this car accident down to road slowed everything down.’
‘It’s ok, it just means I have been able to enjoy a glass of wine over my book, relax.’
It turned out that for an Irishman, Colm couldn’t drink if his life depended on it. He was on his way to paralysis by his third glass! Call me mischievous but I’d thought it was now the appropriate moment to get to the bottom of this substance talk once and for all.
‘Ahhhhhhhhh…. You wait until a man is at his weakest Ioju to pounce. Ha! That’s clever, and naïve to think that I don’t know what your doing. You want to know about substance like it’s the great mysterious key to the lock of the riddle of life that you and I live in? Will it answer some of your questions Ioju? About yourself perhaps? Do you have any lifelong secrets that you are keeping inside of you? Substance is not going to help that! But… it is what life is about after all… so maybe it will? Who knows? Not me, haha! I have my own demons to deal with, as you your own. No barrette wearing Dubliner is going to help you out there but maybe you can help yourself? I can’t. Help yourself. Go on. DO IT!!!!’ He screamed out the last sentence and all of the bar turned around to observe the raving mad Colm. His friendliness had turned to bitterness and anger so I knew I needed to get him out of this bar in a big hurry.
‘Colm, relax buddy… Maybe we should finish off the night at your place or something?’
He grunted something in agreement so we both walked out of The Grape Wine. We caught a cab back to his house not saying too much to each other. Just before we reached his place he apologised for his behavior, noting that he had not been out drinking in months. I told him that that was ok but that I needed to get home as well, so I was going to continue on with the taxi ride once he got dropped off. He agreed that that was a good idea since he needed some sleep.
When we reached his house he threw me some coin for the cab fair and departed for his home.
‘Hey Ioju, you never did get to the bottom of substance did you. Hahaha!’, he yelled out as he was walking toward his door. I was still in the cab waiting to make sure that he got into his front door. Upon reaching the front door he fumbled in his pocket for his keys for what seemed like a good hour, finally finding them and opening the door. I motioned to the taxi driver to make a move. As the cab accelerated into first gear Colm screamed out, ‘THAT’S OK IOJU. YOU WILL FIND ALL ABOUT IT TOMORROW!’

Concerning an Irishman

The resemblance was certain. It was the point of his life where he thought he was at the outlook looking towards a shambolic rusted train station. This was his escape. His vacation. His vulnerabilities all rolled in to one. He was the Messiah, Jesus, Buddha all encapsulated in one body.

He was a thin man with a pin moustache always dressed in chequered clothing. The first time I met him I didn’t think much of him. We were at the Sheesha Bar as we had often done back then. A haze of smoke clouded the large bar as if it was awaiting impending doom. He was also wearing a barrette.

We sat next to him since he was by himself and the rest of the bar was filled to the rim. He didn’t say much at first. Just puffed away on his hookah (water pipe) quite contently. It was a good half hour before he decided to say anything to us.

‘Hello’
‘Hi, how are you?’ we asked warmly, always interested in meeting new people, hearing new stories, learning things about someone and therefore learning something about your own self.
‘I’m great. Say, you people come here often?’ His accent seemed to be Irish.
‘Yeah of late. We dig the atmosphere. You?
‘Yeah I’m here every second day of the week of late’ and laughed nervously.

This man did seem odd but there was something curiously interesting about him. Firstly, as noted earlier, he was wearing a barrette so we knew that he thought much of himself and that we shouldn't take him too seriously. Anyone who wears a barrette is not worth the attention that they seek. You don’t wear a barrette to NOT get noticed, do you?

He was wearing a dark shirt with purple pants that clashed revoltingly, and then he began to talk about ‘substance’. I will explain.

Once he realised that we were enjoying his company he began to open up and open up he did. He couldn’t shut the hell up! He rambled and ranted, segwaying through four different subjects within the one dizzying sentence. Hair, Russian literature, football, hashish and then ‘substance’.

When he began his whirlwind tour of information that was ‘substance’ we knew we were in for a ride. He crept uncomfortably close to all of us and would rub his thumb and forefinger together, like someone does when they are talking about money and he would say that what he was doing, that very act, was something of substance and that was the only thing that mattered.

We asked him what substance was and he would then rub his two fingers again whilst glaring into our eyes like we should know the answer already. How could we not get it?!

It took four long months to find out.