Montana Bound, Part 1.
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The first ring, echoed by the living room extension, wakes me up. The second ring encourages me to look across the room to the clock sitting on top of the bookshelf. Seven minutes until five. I half remember not adjusting that one for daylight savings time. How many months ago was that? No one I know would call at four a.m. Come to think of it, no one I know calls. Third ring. The caller I.D. confirms that the clock across the room is an hour fast, but offers no light upon the subject of the mystery caller, only informing me that the call originated ''Out of Area.'' Which probably means next door. The phone company likes to charge for services that don't really work. Fourth ring. I manage to strike the speakerphone button before the answering machine picks up.
"What?"
The voice on the other end sounds somewhat childlike but betrays itself with a slight rasp indicative of someone who has been awake all night chain-smoking or has just had the glorious first drag of the morning. The words are even more confusing.
"You're needed in Missoula. They have the socks."
"The socks? Thanks." I hang up.
Where the fuck is Missoula? How stoned does someone have to be to claim to have the socks. What socks? I look at the clock again. It's still too early to be alive. Isn't David Lynch from Missoula? Twin Peaks made even less sense than that call. Chris Isaak was in that movie. So was Keifer Sutherland, who was in Flatliners with Kevin Bacon. My thought process at 3:55 a.m. makes me chuckle. Then the song 'Wicked Game' drifts into my mind, along with black and white images of a half naked, sandy Helena Christensen. A smile creeps across my face as I drift back to sleep.
The phone rings again. I manage to ignore the first two rings and pick up on the third.
"Unh?"
The raspy voiced child insists that I get out of bed and pack for Missoula. I'm told Montana is probably much colder than Cabo San Lucas this time of year, which has no significance what-so-ever because I'm in Texas.
"Sure...Cabo...Lucas..." Kerri Green was in Lucas, she was also in The Goonies with Sean Astin, who was in White Water Summer with Kevin Bacon. This time I unplug the phone.
Mental note: get phone number changed and unlisted, tell therapist about Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon obsession. Twelve seconds pass. Mental note forgotten and replaced with more images of Helena Christensen running across the beach. Which is just as well because I don't have a therapist. Maybe I should get one. The phone rings again. I fumble with a loose cord, trying to unplug an unplugged phone. The disconnected answering machine taunts me with it's glowing 'on' light. There is no sanctuary to be found underneath a blanket with pillows pressed up against my ears.
The ringing stops as soon as I stand up. After a moment or two of indulgent scratching I turn back towards the bed. At that exact moment the phone rings once. I have to fight the urge line my walls with aluminum foil. It's the only thing that stops the aliens. Instead, I fumble to the pantry in search of chocolate Pop-Tarts. I forget about the Pop-Tarts as soon as I notice the coffee. While the coffee brews I pull up a stool and thumb through a Toys-R-Us catalog. Easy Bake Ovens only $15. I wonder if that could fit on my computer desk.
Half way through the brewing I try to fill a mug directly from the machine. My reflexes are still a bit slow at this hour and I lose half a cup while trying to pull out the pot. Potent steam rises from the heater plate as the coffee evaporates. I inhale deeply, hoping ot breathe in any errant molecules. Coffee steam is like crack for a caffeine addict. The quest for Pop-Tarts may now be resumed. The day continues it's downward spiral when I find the box is empty. I must have eaten the last two for dinner last night. Time for plan B. Following a brief battle with the yellow pages and a rotary telephone I hear a friendly voice:
"Dunkin donuts."
"I'd like five maple frosted and a Bavarian cream."
"Sir..."
"I'll throw in a n extra finski if you can get here in 20 minutes."
"We don't deliver, sir."
"I know you DON'T deliver, but you COULD deliver."
"I'm very busy and don't have time for this, sir. If you want donuts you'll have to come into the store or use our convenient drive-through window."
"Lazy fucker."
Click. The irony of the last statement was completely lost on a man who was awakened much to early and had a serious jonsing for some sort of frosted pastry.
Bo Holguin owes us part 2.