The year was 1993. The setting was suburban south Charlotte. Julie and I were about 17 and connected at the hip "blood sisters." We were about one half straight edge, one half granola, and one half pure wacko. High school mostly sucked and in all of our free time we journeyed out into the world of Charlotte and its surrounding chaos, seeking meaning and beauty-- and finding ourselves laughing a lot in the process. Funds were sparce- our jobs as hostesses at the Old Spaghetti Factory only afforded us gas money to power my 1979 doo doo brown Pontiac Catalina, "The Brown Rocket," which could comfortably seat 3 in the front and 4 in the back. We would get up real early in the morning sometimes and drive it out of the city 45 minutes to the nearest mountain, Crowders, and climb up for daybreak, breathing in something we considered purer nature than the trail that ran through our adjoining neighborhoods (something we walked everyday eating honeysuckles and keeping tabs on the pair of red tailed hawks that nested there.) We would hurry down the mountain and load back up in the Rocket and still make it to school on time. I guess with any money we had left, we would buy cassettes and records at the local neighborhood record shop. Once I bought Julie a cd- that was a new thing back then. It was Dead Can Dance "Into the Labryinth." That was the only cd I bought.
Daytime fun for us was easy and covered- go outside and study nature. Night life was a challenge. Of course we weren't tired, even after all our tromping around, because we were teenagers. We probably would have been content to walk around at night too, listening for owls and watching cockroaches climb out of the sewer and sneak around the asphalt toward the houses. But our moms would not let us wander around at night for fear of our lives and well being. So we had to get creative.
Once we went to a Krispy Kreme late night and took pictures of people coming out of the restroom. We got a good one of a man with an embarrassed look on his face coming out of the women's. A lot of nights we would talk for hours on end to our friend BTW who lived in Davidson, wore only black, was a bona fide genius and chess champion, loved the night sky and didn't like very many people other than us. Sometimes we would go out to a coffee shop called something like the Penny Cafe, where the lighting was low and there was mellow jazz music playing and people were quietly enjoying books or a game of chess. This was real good. We would buy one cup of peppermint tea and stay for hours. But one of the owners supposedly overdosed, and they quit letting people under 18 in there.
There were a lot of nights when, desperate for some stimulation of any kind, we would go down to the 24 hour Harris Teeter mega grocery store and wander around (always ending up on aisle 14 to pay comical homage to this weird chocolate spread product called Crumpy). Then we would go next door to Borders Books and people watch while sampling music and looking at the books we couldn't afford to buy. The particular event I want to relay to you now occurred one of those nights at Borders.
Julie and I had gone in to Borders yet again, just for something to do. I think they closed at 10:00, and it must have been sometime after 9:00 that we were in there. We were particularly restless that night, at least I was, and I couldn't seem to focus on anything. I was wandering around the store wishing Charlotte didn't suck. Nature called and I told Julie I was going into the bathroom. She said she would come too (you know, girls always go to the bathroom in pairs...) There were 3 stalls in the bathroom, and the middle stall was occupied by someone wearing a pair of dayglow white spotless Keds, about size 6. The person was still and quiet. I took one outside stall, and Julie took the other.
I don't remember whether I sat down on the commode or if I just squatted over it. All I know is that out of nowhere, I mean I really didn't know it was coming AT ALL, blasted what is likely the loudest most forceful fart of all time of humanity. It was so loud it sounded like a cannon. It was epic, the stuff legends are made of, like a catacalysmic explosive from the Otherworld. Something perhaps channelled from Thor, the thunder god. What followed is something that I will ponder for the rest of my life.
After a brief moment where I was stunned in space and time, I began laughing. The laughter erupted from deep deep within, like water that had been dammed for a long long time. I laughed in convuslive waves that felt almost like vomit. I laughed and laughed until I almost fell down in the stall. It was a painful laughter, something totally and completely out of my control. It was an epic laughter- a laughter of a degree that may never be experienced by me again in my life. And it went on and on for about 10 minutes. I could hear Julie over there, laughing and laughing like a muppet in the other stall. I don't know if the laughter hurt for her as well, but I suspect it did. And all the while, the Keds in the middle stalled, the brand new dayglow white size 6's, NEVER BUDGED, NOT AN INCH OR EVEN A CENTIMETER. Not a single peep or movement came out of the center stall. NOT FOR THE ENTIRE DURATION OF THE WHOLE EVENT.
And that is something I will ponder for the rest of my life.
Sometimes Julie and I still talk about the Keds. What in the name of God and everything holy on this planet was that woman doing in there? Was she OK? Perhaps she went to some safe place in her psyche, curled up in a fetal position and rode it out that way. Perhaps she came face to face with her Maker. Did she look Thor in the eye and reckon with him, with very still feet? Whenever I think about the whole thing I get a feeling deep within, a reminder of the illusion of control. It is like a renewed awareness of the pressure of the dam, holding back the pool of laughter and farts.
This story is for you, Julie.
