Cherry Bombs & Nicotine, 1985





part one-

I possess few photographs. Over the years, through various moves and occurrences, I've either lost or accidentally destroyed most of the graphic evidence of my life. At one time, I fancied myself a Bresson-esque character, and only later realized that my ham handed attempts at such were barely a step above the average Polaroid wielding plebe. There are a few select prints I've managed to hold onto, that document moments and events that seem important to no one but myself. A blurry photo of the house I grew up in, a lucky shot of a lightning strike over the highway, and a dozen or so out of focus, badly composed candids of local bands on stage. I also have 2 snapshots that capture a day of my life like no others. To a stranger, they would appear to be rejects- offhand portraits taken more by mistake than by intention. To me, they aren't simply filmic records- they function more as x-rays, showing more than is evident. Their penetrating power hint at a substratum, that only I can see. One is a casual shot of the road ahead, taken by placing my Nikon on the dashboard of my Datsun. The asphalt stretches out ahead like a treasure map, to places unknown, yet to discover.

The other picture is of a younger version of myself, off center grin and my arm thrown around the shoulder of a person I had just met hours before. He is only halfway in the shot, due to my using the self timer function incorrectly. One half of a face, a hand, and an eye is all that is visible. It is my most treasured possession. On the back of each print, in smudged magic marker, is scrawled "Kent 85".



Kent Ohio is an unassuming college town, nestled in the Northeast corner of the state. A study in contrasts, the liberal bent of the students coexists, sometimes peacefully, sometimes not, with the agrestic values of the surrounding townships. Tree shaded streets lead to quiet parks like Brady Lake, Lake Hodgson and Muzzy Lakes, and to dank, smoke filled, raucous nightclubs such as Ray's, the Avenue, Mugs Brew Pub Inc., and a place called JB's. Located on North Water Street, JB's was, for a brief time in the mid to late 80's. a haven for disaffected punks, Sartre quoting would-be poets, and a small contingent of newly minted college kids exploring the world of alcohol and mischief away from their parents watchful eyes.

At the time, JB's was located in a perpetually humid basement-to enter, one had to navigate a sidewalk full of scowling punks milling about, then a steep set of dimly lit, uneven stairs. For some, it was akin to entering the 7th circle of hell. A long wooden bar ran along a wall, with mismatched stools and countless cigarette butts littering the sticky floor. It was the sort of place parents feared, and kids were drawn to. There was a sense of illicitness in the place, of sub-rosa actions. The fact of it being in a subterrane only added to the allure- the place was underground in more ways than one. I learned a lot of things at JB's- how to properly roll a joint, how to hide contraband on myself, and why a ludicrous story would serve you better than a prosaic one in the event the place was raided by cops. The most profound lesson I learned there was about myself and my identity.




For the gawky, tightly wound teen that I was, a place like JB's and the loosely knit band of self styled rebels who frequented it, was a haven. The atmosphere of middle-class children dressing up in a fantasy of proletarian aggression and lying about their backgrounds held a certain cache for a dispossessed soul, who wasn't sure yet about the whys and hows of life, but didn't like the ones they were familiar with. It offered an opportunity to redraw the margins and colour it in. Think of it as applying set design to your own life. What a lot of people didn't see underneath the hair dye and leather jackets, was that most of these kids were basically, if not manifestly, gentle people. Under the sneers and posing, they were all sadly the same- mumbling, sincere, confused but essentially likeable. Like teens anywhere, there were the attempts to get drunk, listen to the band, get laid and snag a ride home. There was also a lot of sadness and longing to belong. There was an unspoken credo- "we accept you". For someone like me, who was in a constant state of panic regarding my budding sexuality, this was like a gift.

Unlike my high school, where gender identity lines were sharply drawn and adhered to, the crowds that hovered around Kent had a much looser view of where the parameters of sexuality lay. Even the ones who didn't, played along because it fit in so perfectly with the non conformist ideology. If one rejected basic modes of dress, music, and behaviour, it only followed that the notion of "boys like girls and vice versa" were anachonistic as well. The very word "punk" has a strong homosexual connotation.

punk

adj : of very poor quality noun- 1: an aggressive and violent young criminal 2: substance that smolders when ignited; used to light fuses (especially fireworks) 3: material for starting a fire 4: A young man who is the sexual partner of an older man. (Archaic) A prostitute.


It took several visits to the dark cavern of JB's before I learned to drop the conscious habit of speaking in a lower register and walking stiffly. Once I realized that I could undo the facade, I could feel a quantum shift inside myself. My limbs got looser, my bones didn't feel like they were a rusty framework inside my body. I allowed my facial expressions to display something other than trepidation. The fact that the place had a rather laissez faire approach to ID'ing helped enormously. A beer or 4 (the cheap stuff, paid for with coins) always added the proper veneer of attitude and invincibility.

As I strolled barward to refill my Black Label, I saw him doing the jukebox lean against the wall. Angular, impossibly blond, and clearly comfortable in his own skin. It was 8:03 pm. I know because I glanced at the tiny clock, askew on the wall behind and above his head. The time was important to me, as I wanted to space my alcohol consumption so that I wasn't completely oiled by the time the band started around 11 pm. Sidling up next to the wiry stranger, I was surprised to note how tall he was. I leaned over and shouted my request to the bartender for another draft, over the trebly sound system.

He turned to address me. "How ya doin?" he said casually, in an accent I couldn't place.

part 2

At first I was too startled to respond, both by being directly addressed, and by his presence. He seemed to occupy more than just physical space- there was a vibe I couldn't quite explain, radiating out from him like a force field.

The bartender slid a beer across the worn bar towards me, sloshing the cheap brew as he did. It ran down the glass onto the side of my hand. I put down my change to pay, and put my hand to my mouth to lick the foam off. Just as I did, our eyes met. It occurred to me how odd I must have looked, slurping flat brew off myself.

"Hi...my beer foamed over" was all I could manage to blurt out. I was never good at chatting up strangers, especially ones who intrigued me.

"Yeah, I saw that" he said after a long pause. "D'ya know when the band comes on?"

"11 I think, probably later. They always take longer to set up than they're supposed to" I mumbled into my draft, wanting to look up but not daring to.

Placing a worn combat boot on the foot railing, he leaned over towards me. I didn't comprehend at first that he was trying to close the gap between us so he could be heard over the cheap sound system, blaring Social Distortion. Out of habit, I inched back, not wanting to intrude on his personal space.

"I helped set up, so I didn't have to pay the cover charge. I'm on a budget." he said, gesturing towards the rickety stage. Well, I guess one could call it a stage- several warped boards laid over cinder blocks, barely a foot off the floor. "I'm just passing through"

Several minutes passed before it struck me that if this blond stranger didn't have the $3 for the cover, a beer was likely out of his means as well. I slid my hand into the pocket of my tattered jeans, to try to manually count my precious supply of quarters. 4....5...6...some wrinkled bills slid around my fingers. Oh good, the beer funds were enough.

"Want a beer? I can spot you" I offered, attempting to sound cool. I had NEVER bought a drink for anyone other than a friend before. I wasn't exactly sure what the protocol involved was.

At first I thought he didn't hear me- his gaze was directed at a pudgy, dreadlocked girl, stapling a flyer to the wall. I took the opportunity to study his stance. He seemed relaxed and casual, the exact opposite of my rigid posture. It took all the reserve in me to gaze directly at him. His mouth was slightly crooked, with a light scattering of peach fuzz over his upper lip, which caught the light from the overhead neon just enough to render it visible. I wondered how old he was.

"Yeah" came his answer, spoken almost as though it were an afterthought. "I'm Jake, you?"

"Mike". I started to smile, then stopped myself.

"You come here much?, and that ain't a line" he said with just a hint of a soft laugh.

I slid a crumpled single across the pockmarked wood of the bar. "Yeah, I like the music"

Just as before, Rob the bartender had filled the glass so fast and carelessly that it foamed over, just as Jake grasped his fingers around it. White bubbles trickled over his knuckles, and down his wrist. He finally tore his eyes from the white rasta girl, and held his moistened hand up to his lips, running his tongue over the length of his thumb and index finger, scrutinizing me as he did so. A cold shiver ran up my spine at the sight, so unexpected and libidinous was his gesture. Unlike me, he seemed fully capable of acting on instinct, where I practically called a committee meeting before doing anything.

I lit a Camel, trying to look casual and hip, when Jake turned his back to the bar. He was now so close to me that I could breathe in his scent- a murky mix of smoke, hair gel, autumn leaves, and sweat. His right arm brushed against my elbow. He motioned to the back of the room, and it took me a moment to realize he was indicating to me that he was going to hunt down the restroom. As he disappeared into the gloomy recesses, he turned back to me and mouthed "Be right back"

Slugging back the rest of my draft, I felt a sudden tug on my shirttail. It was my friend Nara, who was obviously high as all get out. "You dork! Buy me a beer!" she wailed as she threw her arms around me.

"I...I can't" came my reply. Explaining that I was low on fundage, she pawed at my pocket.

"You fuckin liar!" Nara said, in mock anger. "Do not deny me, I know you have cash- fork it over or I'll steal that blond thing you were hitting on" she said with a conspiratorial snicker. Nara was the resident drama queen of JB's, and skilled at mucking her way into other people's business.

Pulling myself up to what I imagined was an imposing height (5 foot 10), I widened my eyes to take on a look of shock.

"Hitting on? Since when do I hit on anyone?"

Grabbing what was left of my beer, she tugged the dregs of it down. "You don't fool me, I saw that deer in headlights look. You want him".

Before I could respond to this attack on my masculinity, Nara spotted an ex lover she was still "friendly" with, and weaved away without so much as another word to me. "Good" I thought to myself. Just then, I saw Jake returning, his flaxen head visible through the sea of dyed black heads, tucking his shirt in and making a beeline for me through the crowd.

Jake affixed himself to the exact same spot he had occupied previously, and leaned into me. "This place is like an oven- wanna go catch some air? There's an eclipse tonite I think"


He was right- the earth would cast the moon into darkness in two hours. Not only was it a lunar eclipse, the harvest moon, but due to a rare astronomical coincidence, it would be essentially the same eclipse as 18 years before. It's called a saros- every 6,585.3+ days the relative configuration of the Sun, the Moon, and the Earth repeats, almost precisely. The last time had been in October of 1967, the month of my birth. The current eclipse would last into the wee hours of the following morning-October 29th. A convergence that happens only a few times in one's life.

At midnight, I would pass two milestones. One would be my 18th birthday.




part 3

Progressing up the stairs from JB's, and back into the outer world, one could feel the temperature dropping several degrees with every step up. Exchanging the oppressive blanket of damp, slightly acrid air for the crisp breeze of the real world, we paused on the sidewalk and let our eyes adjust to the fading light of the evening. Jake seemed brighter and more sharply defined out on the pavement.

"Let's walk" Jake said brightly, and we ambled down Water Street, with no clear destination in mind. I nodded at those I knew as we passed, stopping occasionally to say hello and catch up with those I knew along the way. Approaching the corner of Water and Main, I saw Gay Kevyn coming out of the drugstore. GK was not quite a friend, but more than an acquaintance. He and I had crossed paths often, and had formed an odd bond of sorts. He was so clearly a screaming queen, but was so blase about his persona, that few people gave him any grief about it. Secretly jealous of his self confidence, I nevertheless kept him at arm's length for fear of being branded by his friendship, as if his mannerisms would somehow rub off on me. Kevyn never once directly accused me of being gay- instead, he spoke to me as if it were a given. It unnerved me that he could see through me so easily, but he was one of the few people I could talk to and not stress myself out about, having to change pronouns and modify my speech patterns around him was unnecessary.

"Hey you!" Kevyn called out, his spiked hair forming a blue tinged crown on his head, like some demented Statue of Liberty. I introduced Jake to Kevyn, and as they shook hands, Kev shot me one of those "lucky you" type looks. "You should meet us later at the diner" Kev said, nodding his head towards Jerry's Diner, which was simply known as the "Death Diner". The food was barely edible, and it was on the verge of condemnation, but the management didn't raise a fuss when a pack of scowling punks took the place over each night, drinking pale coffee and sharing plates of greasy homefries. Plus, Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders had once worked there (according to legend) so the place held a certain cache of coolness.

"Yeah, maybe" I indicated. I wanted to take Jake there, to bask in his presence, and also to make others wonder just who I had befriended. He possessed an allure that words couldn't capture, and I hoped to somehow siphon off some of it by being in his proximity. But more than that, I wanted to spend time alone with this blond stranger. Deep in my mind, I knew he had something to teach me- about life, about myself. I wasn't sure exactly what, I just knew.

As Kevyn turned towards JB's, he turned back and called out "You goin to Monkey Face's party later?"

Jake shot me a look-"Monkey Face??"

"Yeah, some guy named Jeff. He looks like a mon-chi-chi, but in reverse. You know, a human body and a monkey face" I explained.

A wry smile overtook his face. "Sounds fun- maybe I'll tag along with you." Jake lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone- "Maybe we can get into trouble together." The glint in his eye said something I recogized as flirtation, or just slyness.

As Kevyn tottered away, Jake's hands were busy crafting a cigarette. At first, I was under the impression he was rolling a joint and my eyes bulged with shock. Then I saw he had pulled a pouch of tobacco from his jacket, and my tenseness dissipated. His fingers were nimble - he was barely looking at his hands as they turned the paper and leaves into a perfectly rolled cigarette. He remarked on the people passing by, his hands working independently.

"I could never do that- I'd rip the paper to shreds" I gasped in awe.

"Do what?". He was blithely unaware of just why I was impressed. He looked down at his hands and realized what had inspired my words. "It's easy- I'll show you later how- it's all in the fingers." Jake reached out and placed the smoke in my mouth with a smile. "We'll share it" Jake smiled. His hand pulled a silver Zippo from his shirt pocket, and he lit it for me.

I inhaled deeply, trying not to cough. I had little experience with non-filtered cigarettes, and as we walked, we passed it back and forth. The tip was moistened from Jake's mouth, and a chill overtook me. I had shared smokes with many people, but the knowledge that this had been in his mouth was deeply erotic and personal to me, as if we were sharing a secret.

Crossing against the light, we found ourselves in front of the Death Diner.

Jake and I stood in front of the diner finishing up our smoke. Passing the cigarette back and forth gave me an opportunity to lightly touch his hand, my fingers brushing up against his. I wondered if he noticed how small my hands were compared to his, and then dismissed the notion as silly that he would even care.

Pushing the creaky red door open, the diner was relatively empty. A few working class types sat on stools, while the lone cafe table at the end of the narrow space was surrounded by a 4 pack of punks. We chose two stools in the middle, and breathed in the air, heavy with grease and smoke. Ordering up a large plate of homefries and 2 cokes, Jake's eyes took in the vintage metal signs on the walls- old street signs, Coca Cola ads, and faded photos of businesses which had long ago closed shop. Swiveling his stool to face me, he studied me with an intensity that forced me to look down at my hands.

"So tell me about yourself" he inquired. "You seem like ...." he paused, "an interesting person."

"I wish"

"No, really. Why do you think I started talking to you?" he asked in all sincerity.

"I was wondering that myself. People don't usually just start talking to me" I heard myself saying. It sounded like an apology and I regretted it as soon as the words left my lips.

Jake's eyes squinted. "Why do YOU think I chatted you up?"

I fumbled with the sugar packets on the counter, trying to occupy my hands. "I...you don't know anyone around here and I was there." was all I could think so say.

Jake didn't say anything for a few moments. The sound of spoons in coffee cups echoed over the traffic passing by outside. One of the punks in the corner laughed in an unnaturally low tone. The cheap jukebox started to play the Turtles "Happy Together" in such a tinny register, it almost hurt my ears.

"I love this song" Jake said, and started to slowly pick up the melody, singing more to himself that out loud. He was woefully off key, but he was so clearly lost in thought, in the moment, it seemed cruel for me to interrupt. He was halfway singing it, and halfway humming it, until it got to the lines-

If I should call you up
Invest a dime
And you say you belong to me
That's when he turned his eyes back to me and sang, directly into my face in a voice clear and confident-
And ease my mind
Imagine how the world could be
So very fine
So happy together

I can't see me loving nobody but you! His hand went out in front of him to me, as if he were on stage and I was in the crowd, his blue eyes wide and wondrous. It was so silly, so corny, that we both busted up laughing. The punks in the corner were now watching us. The looks on their collective faces registered a mix of curiousity and annoyance.

"You are such a goofball!"

Jake picked up the honey bear from the counter and made it dance to the music towards me, singing along to the Turtles, looking for all the world like he didn't care what anyone made of his impromptu performance. I could feel the blood rushing to my face as I blushed a deep red. I know Jake noticed, because he laughed a deep, hoarse chuckle.

"The honey bear wants to be your friend!" he giggled just as the not-amused server placed a steaming plate of burnt homefries in front of us, along with our 2 cokes. Her angry countenance caused us both to straighten up our posture, like two school kids caught passing notes. "Tell your boyfriend this isn't a concert hall" she snapped before waddling back into the kitchen.

"I'm not his boyfriend" Jake blurted in mock defiance, but then added in a voice only I could hear "yet".

part 4 coming soon....