The Famous Writer

Whatever I did out on that dance floor Saturday night is painful and scary.  The pain is a sharp ache, if there is such a thing, and it is constant.  I think I managed to do significant damage to my hip.  This afternoon in the shower, I noticed a large bruise on that side.  Yes, a bruise.  My hip bled internally and probably is still bleeding some and I didn’t even strike it on anything.  All I did was shake my moneymaker, hard.  Tomorrow I’m going back to urgent care to get a referral to an orthopedist.  The pain pills continue to make me nauseated and I vomited violently yesterday afternoon.  With all the vomiting and itching and fuzziness they cause, the pills don’t stop the pain.    

Wednesday afternoon I fetched The Famous Writer from Bennet House, the assisted living facility where he is living for now, and we went off to do his errands and eat some lunch at a place called The Brewery.  We had a little trouble finding the place because he wasn’t really sure where it was, but we stumbled on it with a little help from Google.  He seems a bit foggy at times and I think it’s because he was treated for Parkinson’s (which he does not have) and for some unidentified psychosis for a while and the drugs messed with his brain.  He’s always been crazy but those drugs were not what he needed.  

We settled in and he had a glass of Guinness and I had some Glenlivet on the rocks while we chatted and caught up.  His life is pretty much in chaos, but he seems resigned to it, at least for the short term.

According to The Famous Writer, his ex-wife, went crazy and divorced him a few months ago and that’s why he’s living at Marsh View.  He says she’s been throwing crazy all up on him via emails and texts and he is pretty aggravated about that.  I expect he's thrown a little crazy her way, too.  She kept the car.  He hasn’t bought himself another one yet but he has a line on a Toyota with only 100,000 miles on it.

Some years ago, The Famous Writer made a deal with the university in College Town to house his considerable archives after his death.  Since his divorce from Susan, he got in touch with the librarian who is in charge of archives at the university and offered his things now.  The librarian is pumped at the idea and is sending a crew to gather up all of his notes and interviews and memorabilia.  Most of the things are in his office at Susan’s house, which used to be his house too, but he has some things in his cell, as he calls it, referring to his tiny room at Marsh View.  He was unclear about the time frame for all this, but he is going to College Town later this month to have dinner with the university president and some dignitaries who will be funding the project. 

It turns out that The Famous Writer is good friends with Colonel Bruce.  He’s the man we went to Coastal Kitchen to hear on Saturday night.  I didn’t know they were friends when, as soon as we arrived, I told Celeste, my roommate, that we should have brought The Famous Writer with us. I'm not surprised, though. He knows a whole lot of people in the music world.  

We went to the bank and the drug store and to a liquor store down at Exit 44 where they keep his favorite sauvignon blanc in stock for him.  He bought a case, which it what he usually does, and when we got back to his assisted living facility, he produced a tote from the leather bag he always carries around and we loaded it with six of the bottles.  He took them inside, and after another trip the whole case was safely in his cell.  He reminded me more than once that it was okay to have that much wine in his room.  I said I didn’t care.  What he drinks is his own damned business.

He needed to go to the drug store to question the amount they charged on his credit card.  Turns out someone else has been using his card number - to the tune of nearly $900.00.  He got all that straightened out and was feeling considerably less poor when we left.

We sat on the porch and rocked in the cool afternoon breeze and talked some more.  He remains in touch with the members of the band he wrote a book about.  He told me he has a new book in the works but that because he has chronic pain, it is difficult to write.  He has an appointment with a pain specialist next week.

  

In his own words, “I can’t write with all this pain, and if I’m not writing, I’m not me.”

I was reminded of a quote from Franz Kafka, “A 

non- writing writer is a monster courting insanity.”

My hip was throbbing so I said I had to come home.  We kissed and said good-bye.  I can’t wait to bring him over here.

God, how Clint would love that I’ve found The Famous Writer after all these years.  He would just love it.

© 2013 cjschlottman