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Western Carolinian Volume 61 Number 04 (05)

items 18 of 36 items

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Item 1 - Western Carolinian Volume 61 Number 04 (05)

Western Carolinian Volume 61 Number 04 (05)

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Item

Details
- Format
  - Publications (documents)
- Type
  - Text
- Source institution
  - Western Carolina University
- Identifier
  - HL_WesternCarolinian_1995-09-21_Vol61_No04_IA09
Transcript

invisible academy 09^21951 "Inside Hand" continued from 8 "You said apartment one for the other witness, didn't you?" he asked. "Yeah. Ground floor, back of the building." Higgins and his partner walked back through the living room and out the front door. Officer Chase turned and with a big smile on his face said, "We'll be back," then closed the door. . I waited about ten minutes before going to look for Jim. It was nearly 7:00 p.m., an hour since Jim disappeared. I drank a Killian's to pass the time. Looking at the label, I saw Higgins was right. It wasn't even imported. Right below "IRISH RED" it said "Brewed in USA." Chapter Six I stood by the kitchen window, drank my beer, and listened to Higgins and Chase questioning Mrs. Peabody for as long as it interested me. About ten seconds. Peabody started saying, "Oh, they do that every Friday starting around lunch time. Bunch of drunks. If I had my way we wouldn't let to anyone but senior citizens. Now that's—" I walked away from the window. The moon-shaped walnut clock on the wall read 7:15. The afternoon had been bad enough, the night didn't hold much promise. I went downstairs and noticed the ambulance was gone, but the squad car wasn't. I got in my BMW and decided to drive around and try to find Jim. First I had to get it started. When I turned the key, it growled and grinded for about ten seconds, then started whining. Then it finally rolled over like an old man trying to get out of bed, grumbled for a few more seconds, then fired up. I headed to Charlotte street, one of Jim's favorite spots on a Friday night. I drove by Fuddruckers and it looked as crowded as always on a weekend night. Who'd ever guess that some guy was holed up in there with a .45 and a fat-free beef against the world? I merged onto interstate 240, cut off onto Patton Avenue and went along Liberty through the business district. The only business deals being done at this time of night were decadent ones. I crui sed the do wnto wn streets forhalfanhouror so trying to ignore the whores, then past the always-crowded Walmart on Tunnel Road, and back to the interstate. There were lots of BM Ws out on a Friday night in this town, but none like mine. I got off at Charlotte, grabbed a twelve-pack at the Amoco station, then headed back to Kimberly. Passing Fuddruckers the second time, I saw three squad cars trying to surround the place with their blue lights flashing. It reminded me of my front yard this afternoon. If they'd add some green, they could fill in as Christmas lights. I took a quick left down a side street to avoid the commotion and the traffic. I parked in back of the apartments and walked by Peabody's window swinging my twelve-pack. She was away from her watchpost; I figured she was either writing up her own version of the police report for the landlords, or was on the phone blabbing about how important she was to somebody who cared. Thought I'd offer her a beer as a peace offering. The building was quiet as I climbed the long carpeted stairwell to the third floor. The alcove was empty but the incense smell was still hanging around. I checked my door; it was locked. I juggled my beer in one hand and opened the door with the other. The apartment was dark, chilly, and had a hollow sound to it. At first glance, the boxes looked like square pieces of concrete lined up in the room and I felt like I was standing in a pauper's graveyard. I turned the lights on. Even though we'd already had our monthly tryst, I called Hope and asked her to come right over. She said okay. Chapter Seven I left the door open for her and she walked right in twenty minutes later. She was wearing blue jeans, a tan blouse, and her hair was curly and looked lighter. Probably got another permanent, which I made a mental note to compliment her on later. A shopping bag was dangling from her right hand. "What's in the bag?" "Oh, I thought I'd bring a few things to cheer the place up a little." "What's wrong with it now?" "Oh, you know. These old boxes look so—" she paused and frowned, "so old. I found these really cute coasters and just one little poster." The coasters had "Jack's Bar" in red letters on them and the poster was a surrealistic painting of a spotted stallion standing in a field. He was pawing the ground in front of a rail fence and looked like he was getting ready to hurdle over it. Thun^ derclouds swirled overhead. I'm not much for pictures, bu. I had to admit I liked it. "Thanks," I said, getting up from my chair, "where do you want to hang it?" "Wherever you want to," she said, looking around the room. "I mean, it's your apartment. You decide." She was looking at the wall between the two windows on the east side. Traffic noise was still rolling in, but slowing down a little. It was almost ten p.m. "No, you went to all that trouble. Put it wherever you think it looks best." "This looks nice right over here." She found an old bent nail sticking out of the wall and put it right between the windows. When I walked over to admire it with her, the traffic noise had stopped completely. If the stallion jumped now he'd go through the window and land in the fraser firs. I didn't know whether to kiss her or tell her about Jim. I told her about Jim. "Why in the world would he have your car?" she asked, after a long, breathless pause. I told her my theory that he'd picked it up for me as a surprise and must have slipped out of the window before he could tell me. She had a charming but doubtful look on her face. Little spots of color were rising like baby suns in each cheek. "He had it planned perfectly," I explained. "You know Jim. I went outside and saw it the first time, but he didn't say a word. I went downstairs again when I realized what was going on, but when I came back he'd fallen out the window." "Yeah, I know Jim," Hope frowned. "Well, why didn't he come back in the apartment instead of driving away?" "I don't know," I said, wishing I'd kissed her instead. "He'll be back, I'm sure of it." Then I did kiss her. I wanted to do something that came more natural to me. Chapter Eight I woke up and saw the numbers 12:03 a.m. outlined in red. Hope was gone. I could hear the chanters' pre-bedtime nocturne drumming through the walls. That's probably what woke me up. I tiptoed out into the alcove and put my car to their front door. The woman's part seemed a little lackluster tonight, as if she wasn't really interested. The husband was as vocal as ever and now it seemed that they'd added some bells to their repertoire. They "Inside Hand" continued on 10 James Gray In Die Consecrationis MCMXCVII Dostoevsky fed the brothers Karamazov quaaludes who in turn fed me thorazine— and I in turn fell asleep. Dreaming of a Colosseum. In a Reichstag. In a Capitol rotunda. Where zealots fan the fire of a burning cross. Waving yankee swastikas. Cheering & jeering, these good Christians, watch as the homos, the junkies & commies— slowly be trampled under elephant feet. Magnus Frater Spectandos Vos Est Everything is not what it seems today, or at least not what it should be. Adulterated, eradicated— more is less, less is more. Forests are commodity. The government-granted right to pollute is bought and sold on Wall Street. Where the right of peaceful dissidence goes sliding by in the gutter trickles down a sewer grate. The Israelis suppress the Palestinians. The Bosnians fight the Serbs— and the blissful wonder why? As Dad said he had to analogize to a baptist cretin co-worker: "Every place in the world has their niggers." In the U.S. this is more true than anywhere. We're the most judgmental, animalistic of all- only we have the best facades- facades, that's what it's all about. Nobody is simply a person any more After we freudalize, patronize, categorize- but mostly irrationalize People become Type-A accountants, obsessive-compulsive shopgirl procrastinating masturbators... We better get a firm grip on the Earth or else we'll spin off. There is no safe haven, no refuge or solace. Privacy is a contemporary myth Everybody wants a slice of your pie, since it is not yet theirs. and "... Vos Est" continued on

Object

Description

The Western Carolinian is Western Carolina University's student-run newspaper. The paper was published as the Cullowhee Yodel from 1924 to 1931 before changing its name to The Western Carolinian in 1933.
Details
- Creator
  - Western Carolina University
- Format
  - Publications (documents)
- Type
  - Text
- Date
  - Date original: 1995-09-21
  - Date digitized: 2019-11-19
- Extent
  - Dimension: 14" x 11.25"
  - Pages: 36 pages
- Subject - Topic
- Location
  - Jackson County (N.C.)
  - Cullowhee (N.C.)
- Source institution
  - Western Carolina University
- Source Collection
  - WCU Students Newspapers Collection
- Identifier
  - HL_WesternCarolinian_1995-09-21_Vol61_No04
- Repository
  - Western Carolina University Hunter Library

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