Page 8 - NY Waste Fall 2014

8
New York Waste Roctober issue 2014
Every story has a back story. I had to revisit the crossroads of my life and figure out how I got here, to this point in time. This has been plaguing my mind for a week ever since I was sit- ting in wife #3's stairwell and smoking a cigarette lost in thought. She has been kind to me since we reconnected, a kind- ness I feel I don't deserve. She lives only about sixty blocks from me but it was hard for me to approach her. I didn't want to pollute her again. I was so fucking toxic for years, I had a reverse Midas touch. So I waited. I waited until I was clean again and by then I lost her phone numbers and I couldn't find her on any social media sites. Fuck, I couldn't even remember where we used to live. I con- tacted a person who we both knew and asked if she could email her for me, put the word out that I needed to know she was okay. I lit another cigarette and thought that life was a strange journey with winding roads with principle play- ers shaping my consciousness and direc- tion. What if I stayed home that night, missed that airplane, didn't go to that opening, lived in that country, go see that band or go to that club and get so wasted while another woman dragged me to her place where I thought I would stay for- ever but never did...Where did I sell my soul and to whom?
My connection with Nitzan started when wife #2 flew from Australia to make sure I was alright after my failed suicide at- tempt. She is now a vegan so we spent twelve days eating at the best vegan restaurants and chasing that vegan truck around the city. I asked if she wanted to stay with me in my derelict loft but she preferred four star hotels, a luxury we shared when we were active together. She'd read about this cafe on 9th and 1st avenue that sold vegan cakes and desserts so I walked her around my old hunting grounds on the LES while telling her stories of my adventures and misad- ventures. The usual junky stories with the self deprecating humor.
I was cracking her up but there was a sadness in her eyes that I hoped wasn't pity. We used to be as fucked up as each other but when I got straight twenty seven years ago she was shocked be- cause she always waited for 'that' tele- phone call.
"If you can do it", she told me, "then so can I"
She's been clean ever since but I fell off the wagon thirteen years ago , hence her concern for my well being and present state of mind.
We found the cafe and sat inside. She loved the place and we tried different
cakes and sweets. She drank soy latte chai tea and I drank American coffee with cow milk. We stayed until we closed the joint...
I asked if she wanted to see the building that was on the cover of Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti album so we wandered up 9th street while I wondered if my use- less informational facts were correct. I have a head full of this kind of crap bouncing around, renting space. The Zeppelin story was passed on to me many years ago by my friend Robby and I freely pass it on to anybody who will listen, therefore perpetuating the myth.
I had been trying to give up cigarettes all week, the last of my many vices, but I had a strong desire to smoke and to suck in a whole bunch of tar and carcinogenic chemicals. Sitting across the road from the supposed Zeppelin building was this solitary cool looking young man drag- ging on a mean cigarette. I asked if he could spare one and he lazily pulled out a pack of Camels and handed them to me.
'Thanks" I said, "are you in a band?" "Why?', he asked.
"Well, if I was putting a band together I would want you be the singer".
I'm not sure if he thought I was cruising him or not, it sounded like the worst pick-up line in the world but he nodded and shyly admitted that in fact he was a singer/song writer.
I sat on the stoop next to him and we lit each others cigarettes the same way one would pour each others first glass of Saki. We then introduced ourselves.
"Guy." "Robert."
"Wife #2 had gone ahead and was win- dow shopping and I saw her turn around trying to figure out where I had wan- dered off to, as is my usual manner. I called her to come and join us and she started goofing on me in her usual fash- ion, bull-shitting me if I was picking up men again. She is astute and funny, she
THE NITZAN STORY... BOI
Words & Photos: Robert Butcher ©2014
has the sharpest and quickest wit of any- body I know and soon our banter started to crack us up. Back in the eighties she was the best and most feared gossip writer in Sydney and the so called 'trendy' and 'beautiful' people had to be on their guard as their antics would be in print the next day. Embarrassing print..
I've seen her crucify someone in two sen- tences popping that eight ball down the back of someones brain. I get her, I un- derstood her, she was beautiful, every- body hated her. I married her. Not that she is -cruel, but she can just turn a sen- tence or a phrase back on you. She is a wordsmith and a viper at times though I liked to think that only I knew her soft and vulnerable side. I was aware of the gaping cavernous hole inside of her that I filled with copious amounts of drugs when we were married.
I introduced her to Guy and he joined in our conversation. We laughed and joked at each others expense and in serious moments revealed our life stories. Guy often getting lost by certain words, phrases or expressions. English, he stated was not his first language, "Yeah, well I am Australian", wife #2 chided.
He told us a story about this beautiful woman who used to be a lesbian, who is now a man called Nitzan, who is looking for a man to settle down with. This piqued the lesbian that is trapped inside of me and I became intrigued asking for more and more details until about 4:30am when the dawn started breaking. We left him on the stoop to meander back to the hotel after we exchanged phone numbers and promised to meet again.
The next day I texted Guy and made arrangements for the three of us to go for dinner on wife #2's last night. Once again the synergy was perfect, it was like we had always known him. We were like or- phaned siblings getting back together after being separated for decades. Once again there were no boundaries, we held nothing back. Once again the dawn broke.
I contacted Guy after wife #2 left for Sydney and asked if he wanted hang out for smoke on the stoop after my therapy session. We talked once again into the small hours of the morning as we did the next night and the night after. On that third night he told me that Nitzan was making a movie from one of his stories and asked if I wanted to go to the set and be an extra with him. In my past life I would have shunned the invitation, but seeing that that hadn't worked out in any meaningful way I was hungry for new experiences. We met outside a loft in a