Kevin Kilroy But I have gotten too far ahead of myself, a natural side-effect after having
descended so far away from myself, and there is much to be said about Stan and I and how in the beginning he relied upon me alone to fill the voids of living and uncertainties of existence through watching him as he moved throughout his house.
In order to follow Stan properly, I was in need of my materials: books on
parapsychology, architecture, geology, horticulture and physics; a red notebook for events and existences on streets, a green for alleys, a blue for stores and shops, and a black one for his home; various colored pens for annotations; hats, scarves, glasses, mustaches, and other disguises; my lunch, breakfast, or dinner, or two of these, though sometimes all three, depending on the nature of that dayʼs study, which I would make at home to save money; a bottle to refill with water from public drinking fountains and bathroom faucets; sometimes an umbrella; sometimes newspapers; sometimes other projects and work which I was also involved with. Yes, my materials as I called them— a weight I had to bear.
I was often mistaken for a Doctor, possibly one from another decade, which I
thought was strange, due to the nature of the briefcase, or some might be derisive and say purse, with which I carried all of this at my side. It was a black leather bag—very much like a doctor, or a bowler, would carry—which I had stolen from Goodwill. I suspect that previously it was used as a gym bag, and, in fact, there was no doubt that it smelled of sweaty socks, underwear and gym shorts. Add to it the zipper, which ran down the vertical middle, or top as they say, was broken.
However, many days I would not leave my house at all because of the dread I
felt to carry this baggage. I would fill it hesitantly, always trying to cut a few items out, calculate its burden through giving it a lift, and inevitably be overwhelmed by its weight —depressed even, and would sit in my chair to feel this depression all the more, then eventually retire to the couch to lie down and pronounce that I had given up, trying to convince myself that I didnʼt care. Here, I would nap for hours, only to wake up groggy and abrasive, frazzled and unwilling to utilize the last few hours of the day still available to me. This black leather bag did more than carry my materials—it stored my dread to exist in the light of others' eyes. All those others beside Stan.
Kevin Kilroy lives in Nelson Algren's old building in Chicago and most of his storytelling has been attempting a new, non- realist approximation of life in Wicker Park. His work has been published by Fact-Simile, Hot Whiskey, Summer Stock, Pinstripe Fedora, Sherlock Holmes and Philosophy and others. Kevin ran Black Lodge Press for five or so years, served as the Drama editor with Requited Journal, and is currently on the Fiction Board with Another Chicago Magazine (ACM). His play The Silence of Malachi Ritscher was produced in 2007 by Theatre 5.2.1. With a BA in Philosophy from Kansas University and an MFA in Creative Writing from Naropa University, he teaches and serves as Humanities Coordinator at Tribeca Flashpoint Media Arts Academy.
PoetsArtists Chicago Issue 2012
www.poetsandartists.com
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