Aqua Velva and Vaseline

To say nothing of the atmosphere, despite the late spring haze.

The three of them walked through a marsh, although it was more correctly a wetland. Not a romantic one at that: Styrofoam cups, condoms, cans, and bottles nestled between lady slippers. You could use intellectual bypass to explain their behavior if you wanted to, but it would be pointless and wrong. The rearing of these three wretches was the best available, not perfect, but nothing is.

Nothing is especially imperfect at the end.

Not the end of the day, although that was approaching; not the end of the school year, although it was; not the end of the decade, because that was still years away. It was the end of a time of non-transition, which is to say, the beginning of an extended period of transition. These three boys, with their Grover bellies and buggy-whipped arms, could not have identified such, but they knew it. They knew it even though their brains were poisoned with acid, pot, and mad dog.

None of the three was a total idiot, but we wouldn’t know that by their actions. We would only know that by direct comparison to actual imbeciles. An actual imbecile is quickly culled from the flock. They are isolated, taken into custody, and institutionalized.

Our three wanderers managed to just avoid that.

The avoidance was seen as a boon at the time, but would lead to greater issues as life rolled on. All three of the wretches approaching the low wooden bridge could have parroted endless amounts of facts had anyone cared to ask. 1776 or 1492 would flow as easily as all the rest of their bullshit. School was compulsory for them. It was punishment for existing and not an opportunity. None of the three could have articulated the ideas behind this, but again, they felt it despite all evidence to the contrary, or any actual truth.

They knew enough media to cosplay cynicism, but the clothing of this cosplay was no actual protection. The cosplay was faulty armor for naive innocence. They were not guarded or protected; they were left alone because they were inconsequential.

Had any real people been present or bothered to see what was happening, some corrective actions might have been taken. They only ever dealt with unlucky passersby: flip-flop-wearing house fathers, the elderly, or beleaguered shop owners. These goblins stole things, broke things, and made any environment unpleasant, but they existed in their privileged safe space. Their foolishness was not tolerated; it was ignored. This is not to say that the occasional older kid or gym teacher didn’t beat the fuck out of them for being stupid, but the effort required was not worth the reward. Cruelty might make someone torture a cockroach, but only a really dedicated sadist would continue to do so without a result. These three were so removed from themselves that even to harm them was an exercise in futility. No learning was ever done, and the best course of action was to ignore them and hope they went away—which they would.

They learned to avoid crowds and strike only when an opportunity was seemingly too good to pass up. The issue of opportunity was not important, as the trio never really wanted anything. They would take what they could get, but it was agreed upon that desire was beneath them.

This lack of desire was also a saving grace to the three. If they had wanted anything, it would have been an issue.

Serendipity had turned a trick, and the thing that interested them least was sex. This may seem impossible considering that all three were teenage boys, but it was oddly true. They had no desire to fuck or suck or any of the other things boys of this age love to go on and on about. The idea of fucking each other was genuinely not even something that crossed their minds. In truth, they hated each other, and maybe other boys in this situation would have acted out some hateful sex act, but not them.

As far as the opposite sex was concerned, they were all aware of girls and afraid of them. This fear did not generate interest or curiosity, only scorn. This was disordered thinking and another layer of self-protection.

Had they shown any interest in sex, they would have been taken away or nearly killed, so they again just missed a proper education. When someone or something revealed some vulnerability to them, they would injure, but more like a toddler pulling pigtails. They wanted to shock with their callous disregard. They wanted to stab at ego, not to conquer it.

Cynical heart, teenage body, mind of a child.

Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, though. All this talk of sex and who is sucking what—is missing an integral point.

I call these three wretches without hyperbole. They are rancid and foul creatures. At some point, their respective mothers might have forced them to shower or change their clothes, but for whatever reason, those days were long gone. Their attire was wrong, top to bottom: Pants, shirt, coat, socks, boots, all wrong. All secondhand and tattered. Everything is either too big or too small. Everything is old and covered in sweat, piss, and shit. No one bought them deodorant. One time, Lenna Shaw sprayed them with perfume or something and called them dirtbags, but other than that, they never wore cologne or body spray. All three would put Aqua Velva and Vaseline on their hair, but only because they wanted it to look greasy and frizzy.

They smelled of father’s medicine cabinet. They smelled like drugs and cheap booze. They smelled like pilfered dog-end cigarettes and vomit. They had faces covered in acne and self-inflicted cuts. Mouths full of broken, yellow teeth, sunken red eyes, and clear hairs just sprouting from weak chins.

Goblins, for lack of a better term.

Wretched, stifled goblins.

So What?!

Where does that leave us?

Nowhere exactly.

It was the last day of middle school in 1995. It was on a wetland owned by someone or not. It was three wretched children standing on a few pieces of wood floating in the mud. They smoked Papa’s Newports and wasted an acid trip. They whipped each other hard with prickers and sticks. They cut themselves with pocketknives and burnt smiley faces into their arms with Bic lighters. They talked about who was a poser and whether being pretentious was the worst thing you could be. They talked about out-of-print albums and cheesy movies. All the while thinking they were doing something. All the while thinking they knew better. None realized this was the most innocent they would ever be. This was the most carefree they would ever be. The word liminal hadn’t been invented yet, and none of them thought about their next journey.

Honestly, high school was pretty much the same, just turned up a few notches.

Their adult lives would play out like most other tragedies. Their invisibility and privilege would catch up with them. All three would wind up in one institution or the other. Some would die, and some would live. They would never think of any of these days’ events fondly. They knew the term salad days, but it didn’t apply to them. They thought Ian MacKaye was a sellout.

Porchlights eventually came on, and the endless group of people who had no idea where these wretches were, and who couldn’t have cared less, continued to not think about them at all.

How lucky and unlucky they were.