Maynard

Maynard owned one of the busiest restaurants in the city.  It was sandwiched between a theme park that was packed with tourists in the summer, and a mall that was busy during weekends and holidays.  The road was heavy with traffic from morning and evening commuters, so drive-thru got a lot of traffic during rush hour.  They didn't serve your typical run of the mill fast food.  They sold foods you might see at a deli, a bakery, and an ice cream shop, all in one.  You could even buy groceries, but they didn't have everything, just the basics.  It was busy for all these reasons.  

Being the owner, Maynard liked to work nights.  That was when activity was minimal, though he worked on the busiest nights because he knew nobody else wanted to.  He only worked four days a week, particularly on weekends.  They were nice for him because he liked to inspect the whole store after a busy day, making sure everything was clean, stocked, in good working order, and up to date.  His shift was typically from 5pm-4am, Thursday through Sunday.  He slept at sunrise, often waking just after noon.  

He lived in the Industrial section downtown, in an old ramshackle house.  Nobody understood why; he could have easily afforded a nicer house in a cleaner neighborhood.  The truth was, he liked decrepitude.  The smells, the noises, the lights, the strange people- he felt like he belonged there, like the real power of civilization was just within reach, like an infected corpse that deserved to be living among the waste.  

His house was an abandoned two-story pile of Victorian rubble, with a large basement that had a maze of rooms.  Each room had its own strange aura; the green one had tanks he kept pet insects in; the orange one had an ancient well in the ground, probably built before the city was born; the blue one had maps and tokens of all the places he'd traveled; the pink one had mannequins, photography instruments and things that would impress a fashionista; the red one had a chemistry lab and all kinds of scientific instruments; but his favorite was the purple one, the studio where his band composed music for Velvet Acid Delerium, an industrial progressive goth band that verged on the ethereal.  

The people in his band came from different backgrounds, but they all shared one thing in common.  Sorrow.  The inheritance of loss.  There was Zoe, the blonde soprano picked from a handful of opera singers to reflect Maynard's feminine side, who became a Goddess figure in popular culture for her heartbreaking voice and childlike beauty, who added such a clear and radiant voice to songs like Flowers Become Screens and Incantation that her fans demanded a solo career, which they got after 10 years of begging; Yancy, the exiled keyboardist and fan of world cinema, who also worked nights at the restaurant with Maynard, who came from the east coast in search of a career in art, only to be paired with the finest synthesizer player the world had ever known, who wore black and green and was an environmental activist, who painted trees on the sides of buildings all over the city; Alejandro, the immigrant guitarist known for his talent, who also worked at the restaurant briefly, and spent his days dreaming about the girl he left behind in Mexico to start a better life here; and Lux, Maynard's former lover, who also sang, played bass and other instruments, who wore so much Gothic attire and makeup that her contrast with Naya perfectly symbolized Maynard's inner struggle; and the magician himself, Maynard Redman, the prodigious composer who changed the world of music forever, with his futuristic genre mash ups and progressive deconstructions.  

Maynard is my brother.  I idolize him dearly.  All his friends are so interesting; I wish they were mine.  And sometimes I wish I lived with him in that shabby house on Print Street, instead of with our sister Gabby in the suburbs.  It would be a much more exciting, creative life for me.  But instead, I watch over my sister, write my strange stories and poems, and try to be happy with the way things are.  But something’s missing.  It’s the honorability of undressing all this fame and hiding behind it with something crazy enough for people to think I’m someone I’m not.  The courage to live alone, to experiment with anything that comes my way, to have rooms for each of my moods.  

The other day I was talking with Yancy about the inevitability of communism.  He thinks all industrial societies that are based on capitalism will eventually collapse, because the gaps between rich and poor will get so large that there will be no other option than to revolt, permanently instating economic fairness.  What about the Nazis, the Soviet Union, Cuba? I asked.  All communist countries that failed.  “False.  The Nazis were never communist, in fact they opposed the communist party in Germany.  The Soviets and Cubans corrupted Marx’s ideas.  There has never been a purely communist country in the history of western civilization.”  It’s things like that I wish I could have a conversation with him about.  I’m sure Maynard could.  

Since Alejandro speaks Spanish, it’s hard to talk to him about anything, let alone a major social issue.  Nevertheless, I admire his dexterity on the guitar, and his taste for the atmospheric.  

Zoe and Lux are also unapproachable.  Zoe was the only one in the group who embraced fame.  I never see her when I go to the house on Print Street.  Lux frequently visits, but we have nothing in common.  One time I was sitting on a couch in the pink room, and she came out wearing a blonde wig and leather bodice.  She moaned deeply, the same way she does in the band’s songs.  I could never tell if it was Zoe or Lux doing that seductive moaning, but then I knew it was obviously her.  And boy was I excited to learn that.  I wanted her to do the things to me she’d sang in the song Slut, one of my favorites.  I know that song was written for my brother, but I wish it had been written for me.  What’s he have that I don’t, anyway?  I’m taller, younger, stronger, better looking.  I probably reminded her of the way he looked when she first met him.  The seduction was bittersweet.  For one sweet moment I got to be him, holding his Magdalena with an orchestra of industry all around us.  

When Maynard found out I was banging his ex, he banned me from the house.  I don’t know how he found out.  The guy is sneaky, he probably heard us doing it when we weren’t aware he was home.  Fuck.  What a waste of a 160 IQ I am.  All this analytical power, with the emotional intelligence of a bat.  Lux and I still found ways to do the only thing we had in common.  She took me to her place, a funky condo in the Gotham district, and showed me her outlandish collection of sex toys.  But that’s another story.  

I soon grew bored of the vixen and had to end it.  That was when I received the longest verbal emasculation of a letter I’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving.  Her stings included, “Dick shorter than a hair pin”, and “Kisses dirtier than gym socks”.  Well, that went over nicely.  My short reply was that she should put this creativity to good use, in a song perhaps.  But Velvet Acid Delerium’s next album presented none of the anger and dissociation she’d had in the past, only a mega-hit she penned called Stopwatch Hearts, a song about prostitution.  And there was Just a Dream and Fallen, both which I presume were about Maynard and not me.  No, they’re too romantic- they must be about him.  I wish I could ask him.  He’d kill me if I did.  

 

The truly unreachable one was Zoe.  I’d been in love with her for years.  If Lux’s songs ignited the lust in me, Zoe’s ignited the passion.  I wanted her more than anything.  What I’d give to hear her singing to me.  Her songs reached my soul in places I didn’t know existed.  Wisdom, Lost, A Poem for Byzantium.  Otherworldly desire, broken wings.  Just the two of us, deserted on a tropical island, that sort of thing.  That’s where her songs take me, to these settings where my deepest fantasies run wild, as if her voice had found the hidden treasures in my mind.  The only issue was getting her to notice me.  After what happened with Lux, Maynard was especially keen to keep Zoe’s eyes off me.  

The key was Alejandro.  My brother wasn’t as close to him as he was with Yancy, who no doubt would have been against me bagging her too.  I learned Spanish in three weeks just to talk to him about Zoe.  He revealed that she lived on a mountain in the Andes, only coming to our city to make music for the millions who adored her.  The logical thing would have been to save up for a trip to Peru, but I couldn’t wait that long.  I ended up stowing away on a barge that would take me all the way to Callao.  

Her place was deep in the mountains, at a high elevation, with green fields flanking the cliffs.  To get there I had to hike nearly two miles in a direction that was more vertical than horizontal.  It crossed my mind that she probably had her own private chopper to take her to and from this place.  I didn’t want one though, no, I imagined I was some warrior on a quest to find his long-lost love at the top of the highest mountain in the world, or some other romanticist nonsense.  It helped pass the time and get me through the insufferable agony of the hike.  Muscles burned, sweat poured, uninvited flashes of the past crept their way into my mind, heights unattainable, a place in the sky I couldn’t quite reach.  It got to the point where I had to take a break after every switchback, the sun burning hot, my mind fried from dehydration, hallucinations creeping their way into the empty spaces between.  

When I reached the top, I beheld a splendid garden in the foreground of a white temple with golden frames.  All around it were views of the mountains and valleys between, an Incan paradise of her very own.  I thought I might have stepped through the gates of heaven without even knowing.  Was I still alive?  

There she was, the angel I had sought for so long, brushing her hair in the window.  I came to the door, shirtless, hair matted with sweat, needing a relaxing bath.  Come in, she said.  Amazingly, the bath had already been drawn, so I sank myself straight in with gratitude.  She sat on a rug in front of me, cross-legged, palms raised.  Then she closed her eyes and hummed the sweetest melody I’d ever heard.  You came all this way for me, she said after finishing.  Maynard’s brother.  

Asking her how she knew I was his brother would have been a stupid question.  I looked almost exactly like him.  To be honest, Zoe looked to me like a straight up Zen Buddhist, not the childlike, damaged lolita I’d imagined she was.  She looked half asleep as she spoke to me, as if her conscious mind were in some sort of flux state that only living on a mountain could enhance.  

Next, she came over to massage my tired muscles.  Alarmingly, she offered me her hand in marriage, whispering her vows to me while rubbing my skin as smoothly as possible.  I turned around, feeling incredulous, knowing my answer without even thinking.  But there stood my brother in the doorway.  “Maynard!”, I shouted in confusion, causing neither of them much alarm.  

“Zoe’s a polyandrist.  Don’t get your hopes up.”  

“A what?”  

“I have 16 husbands, including him”, she said.  

“This is some Peruvian bullshit”, I said in disgust.  

“Calm down”, she laughed.  “There are no laws up here.  Everything’s allowed.”  

“Everything?... How the Hell did he get up here?”  

“I followed you here,” said Maynard.  

“Oh, that’s rich!”  

“You made it quite a challenge getting up the mountain.  I struggled to keep up.  But this is why you’re really here: Zoe needs someone to take care of her.  Not when we’re on tour, but when she’s here, on leave.  Can you do that?”  

I looked at them like they were crazy.  “Sacrifice my shit life for a free bed in paradise, with the woman of my dreams?  Are you kidding?”  

Zoe’s smile filled the sun.  I thought of how much she’d be gone on tour, probably visiting her other husbands, singing her New Age arias to millions of people in however many countries they traveled.  It would be hard for me to stay here with all that going on.  I’d have to adopt her mindset.  I’d have to become... Enlightened.  

“Why weren’t you this forgiving over Lux?”, I asked my brother.  

“Lux is mine.”  

“A shameful double standard.”  

“You don’t understand.  She needs me, Zoe doesn’t.  You were just her plaything.”  

“I’m honored”, I said sarcastically.  “What makes me the man for Zoe, then?”  

“I chose you”, she answered.  “I’ve seen your work.  All your stories.  You like to climb mountains and explore the wilderness, just like me.  That’s why I picked this place for us.  You’re an adventurous lad, but you have a sensitive side.  An expansive outlook.  You could even be mindful of others, but you choose not to.  With me you would.  Your personality conflicts with your past.  Over time, that will go away.”  

For the first time in my life, I was speechless.  It had all been planned, and I had fallen into their trap.  Even Alejandro had probably been involved.  Well, she was right.  It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.  Me and the most beautiful woman in the world, living on top of it, together.  The lonely months would be worth it.  Then again, I could travel the world when she was gone, just like she would, but I’d need some coverage.  You don’t exactly make millions writing dorky stories.  

“Maynard, I’ll do it on the condition that you pay me for the time she’s not here, so I can bed all the chicks I want, all over the world.  It wouldn’t be fair if she had 16 other husbands to lay with, while I sulked here waiting.”  

Zoe laughed.  “It won’t happen, trust me.  If you accept, I’ll disavow my other marriages.  You’ll be the only one, I promise you that.”  

Maynard indicated he would accept the deal.  Until I was ready to stay on the mountain all year, he would fund me for separate travels so I wouldn’t waste away living alone on a mountain, like some Tibetan monk.  

That was the day I became the happiest man in the world.