Shuck (22 page)

Shot of me upside-down with a pen between my teeth, holding the notebook up to Richard. I was expecting lines that were crooked and hopeless, showing the anger I felt because of falling for someone who couldn't love back, and who I was never going to have sex with. Maybe a few of the arguments I'd had with Derek, creatively rewritten so that I was the victor. Instead, I ranted about what a bad rap whoring's got, and raved about how close it could bring you to someone, if you knew how they constructed their distance.

Playful with my socks half off and tied together below the heel. I expected two pages of me gushing about Derek's color experiments and how he was chemically linked to Wink and Nod. Instead, I found reams of shit and ephemera, objects and substances that have defined this city for me.

Four shots of me curled in a fetal position on the carpet. Somber light. Four pages about why tapes are the best way to listen to music. You can always hear a whisper of the next song a half-second before it plays. You can tape over anything forgettable. Rewinding one side fast-forwards the other side. A tape ages like a fine wine.

Grainy shot of me shirtless, pensive, and drooling on the floor. Drawing a self-portrait, a crude semblance of myself, going catatonic over a notebook waiting to be filled.

“What do you think?” Richard said.

“Umm ... Wow. This has nothing to do with Derek.”

“Right,” he said. “You're fabulous. What I meant was, what do you think about being a published author?”

“I don't love you,” I say.

Derek lets me in.

This loft,
his
place. I wonder if I'll ever be able to call it home. I'll try not to get too comfortable, and I'll even leave my bag by the door, in case he goes Protestant on my ass again.

It's so typical, Derek staring at me, watching me write, daring me with his eyes to verbalize what I'm thinking. The thing is, there's plenty to write but nothing to say. I guess it's my use of the word “love” that bugs him the most. I don't mind never saying it again. It's okay to be touchy about words, especially since they can do things to you.

Derek walks to the kitchen, pokes his head into the cupboard, and uncaps a bottle of olive oil. This means I'm going to eat well tonight. He chops up some garlic and throws it in the sizzling pan. The smell brings me closer. He adds some coriander and onions, and lights a match so he won't cry. His cooking routine calms me, and sends Wink and Nod into a happy waddle.

But it's no good. I've tried hard not to become starry-eyed, to believe that I deserve a lifetime of perfect and useless moments like this. I've learned, by now, how to recognize things that evaporate.

I tell Derek to put my dinner in the fridge, that I'm going out to get Burger King. Then I see that the Tupperware is already open and
waiting.

There's still one lie I have to clear up with you. I told you that I don't write poetry.

I'm not sure what this list is for, but maybe you can help me sort it out:

Fuzzy dice, airplane wing tips, dominoes, toy trains, thumbtacks, pelicans, fish hooks, helium, Velcro lint, clown hats, teased hair, miniature castles, Debbie Harry's legs, tattoos that don't match, rat tails, whipped cream, pimp canes, car explosions, TV moms, milkshakes, water guns, ceramic leopards, blow-up dolls, paper lanterns, generic trophies, gold that turns green, fists, buttons that never fall off, baby's breath, diamonds, bourbon, art, peep-show channels, ice cream, inner tubes, animal masks, surprises covered in cereal dust.

This book is the result of so many generous contributions.

Thanks to my A-Team of readers: Earl Brown, Tushith Islam, Sara Latini, and Jair Matrim for revealing the unexpected in the messy drafts I sent them, and Dave Lehman for tilling the microscopic so thoroughly.

Thanks to the firecrackers at Arsenal Pulp Press: Robert Ballantyne, Janice Beley, Bethanne Grabham, and Shyla Seller for guiding this book to publication so passionately, and Brian Lam for believing, and for his expert edits.

Thanks to all who helped us after the fire: Catrina Calcara, Janet Cox, Sheena Hoszko, Hicham Illoussamen, Farah Khan, Skye Maule-O'Brien, Marie Tilbe, and Jordanna Vamos for their outpourings of love and logistics, and Alex Boctor, Erin Harris, and Chris Hein for giving us shelter. These genius rescue efforts helped me stay focussed on the writing of this book.

Thanks to my supporters, guides, and confidantes: Francisco Ibáñez-Carrasco, George K. Ilsley, Bruce LaBruce, Derek McCormack, and Hal Niedzviecki for kicking ass and championing my stuff, and Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore for reality checks on the rigors of street life, and for making my work answer to the question “Why should I believe any of this?”

Thank you to Stanley Stellar for helping uncover the real ‘me.'

And a special thank-you to Mark Harris, who has long kept my Coney Island dreams alive, and whose feedback, patience, and daily support have made
Shuck
such a wonderful ride.

Love,

DAC

DANIEL ALLEN COX
is a former
Inches
cover model, video porn star, and interviewer for the
New York Waste
. He is the author of the novella
Tattoo This Madness In
(Dusty Owl Press), and lives in Montreal.

SHUCK

Copyright © 2008 by Daniel Allen Cox

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may use brief excerpts in a review, or in the case of photocopying in Canada, a license from Access Copyright.

 

ARSENAL PULP PRESS
Suite 200, 341 Water Street
Vancouver, BC
Canada V6B 1B8
arsenalpulp.com

 

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the British Columbia Arts Council for its publishing program, and the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Government of British Columbia through the Book Publishing Tax Credit Program for its publishing activities.

 

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons either living or deceased is purely coincidental.

 

 

Printed and bound in Canada on 100% post-consumer recycled paper

 

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

 

Cox, Daniel Allen

Shuck / Daniel Allen Cox.

 

eISBN : 978-1-551-52278-4

 

I. Title.

 

PS8605.O934S58 2008

C813'.6

C2008-904091-0