On The Road Page #5

Round two-sie, here we go !

It happens.

My hands...

Mine does.

I was filled with guilt.

I thought he said she was my girl.

Nothing for you or me, Sal.

Everything and everyone for that faithless b*tch !

Guess who I hear !

Carlo, come on.

No.

Come on.

No.

Come on.

No.

Come on.

No no no no no

Sal No No.

Sal Argh .

Rebop Sal, come on.

Yeah-oh...

No clothes party.

You enjoying?

Yeah, but now I'm finishing up my degree here in Denver.

Dean told me you do, uh, set design...

Set design, yeah.

That's interesting.

The one I enjoyed most designing was, uh, "Desire Under the Elms".

It's a great play.

Yeah.

Eugene O'Neill.

Yeah, I know it's Eugene O'Neill, Carlo.

Thank you.

There's like a rusty nail scratching across my goddam spinal cord.

Dean, "I've got the world on a string"?

Yes, you do.

Come on !

Don't tell me you New York intellectuals don't dance

(Ella Fitzgerald) I've got the world on a string, sitting on a rainbow.

Got the string...

around my finger... Oh, what a world, what a life, I'm in love...

You didn't say you had a nice voice.

I don't have a nice voice.

Yeah.

Yeah, you do.

Thanks.

Are you staying in Denver very long?

I got the feeling I won't be staying very long.

Yeah.

"Not enough hours in the day.

"Right.

then.

singing along.

What a world, what a life, I'm in love...

(reading)"Assuming for yourself the sorrow of my body

Thus, when you solace me in my desire

I held your body, and lay beside it sleeping

Feeling the pain of your own inward fire"

"Weeping myself to hear your silent weeping" .

Has Dean read this?

I've gotten so crazy over Dean that all his stupid friends call me "Carlo in Wonderland".

Clever, huh?

Ah, yes...

They don't understand this is the first time actual sex has been...

part of my relationship with a man.

This is how you love.

I'm not in f***ing wonderland.

I know it's not a man he wants.

I even told him we can take sexuality out of it, just...

"Be with me, man.

Hold me.

Just call me."

And he always promises, "Yes, Carlo, yes, man - I'll call you.

I'll call you."

Who the f*** am I kidding?

I can't even call what I feel "a heartache", it's too banal.

"Melancholy" is too languorous.

"Grief" is closest.

I'm 21.

By the time I'm 23 I'm going to write one great poem.

Then it's all over for me.

Sal, I'm leaving.

I'm going to Africa.

A la Rimbaud, non?

I might jump ship at Dakar.

I'm gonna smoke opium.

And I will pick up dark, mysterious men.

And they will love me.

I really wish I could drink whiskey like a man.

I know those guys are like, "Hey, do a shot !"

Home in Missoula, Home in Truckee, Home in Opelousas, Ain't no home for me.

Home in Ol'Medora, Home in Wounded Knee, Home in Ogallala, Home I'll never be.

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