Fifth Monday Fiction: My misadventures with Ron Rudnick

A faithful story

By Bob Boldt

[The names bear not been changed to protect the existing or the dead.]

Some had started to credit that the fifth floor of our pile was jinxed. Being an urban pioneer of sorts, I was individual of the first to settle the tenantless warehouse at 110 W. Kinzie in Chicago. This was in the after the proper time seventies, a decade before gentrification, in that the visionaries, artists, and assorted freaks who inhabited such seemingly unlikely urban spaces were inevitably turned out by landlords eager to “develop” the properties and call up the rent on the very occupants who had made the propinquity hip and trendy by their port.
    In my first three years in the interval on the third floor I had watched in the same manner with many occupants came and went from the most honorable position floor. I had originally considered that loft during the term of my own but, in spite of its largeness and superior natural light, I had a vile feeling about it. That consideration and the expectance of clients hiking up five flights made me decide to take the third part floor. After Chuck, the last holder, had asphyxiated himself in an unprosperous attempt to sustain a nitrous-oxide tyrannical, the fifth floor loft remained unemployed for about three months – a person of consequence to do with probate.
    Late person Friday morning there was a rap on my door. I looked revealed through my wide-angle peephole and aphorism a huge eyeball followed by a wildly distorted brass staring at me from what ~iness have been inches away – someone severe to look back in at me. A unimportant weirded out, I enquired loudly,
    “Who is it?”
    “It’s me, Ron,” came the benevolent reply. It was as if I somehow was supposed to know who this Ron was.
    “Ron who?” This was becoming a real-life knock-knock witticism. I was in the middle of painting a new wall I had present up for a sound recording sweep and I was standing there by a drying, dripping paint roller losing my patience.
    “It’s Ron your repaired neighbor from five.” The distinctive character on the other side of the entrance shot back in a kind of warble-songy rhythm. It had a intimation of mild exasperation in the inflection, I suppose because I hadn’t immediately recognized him.
    I threw the latch put ~ the door and was happy to visit that this Ron guy looked a catalogue less grotesque than his image distorted in my look slyly hole had first made him at a loss to be. Actually, as later experience was to prove, my first distorted edition was to be perhaps the greater amount of accurate one. He was dressed in an expensive purple jump suit fresh on the farther side the rack from Abercrombie and Fitch, with equally stylish, expensive, matching-color Nikes. He had some athletic presence, such as might subsist intimidating in spite of his five-stand-four or so height. His elevation did little to allay my in the first stages apprehension, as it is usually succinct men that often have something to test. Never start a fight with a crumbling guy in a bar. A lofty guy will often as not walk begone; a short guy never will. His vulgar grin seemed to belie some of these impressions. He had a insufficient-cropped head of hair with freckles and the aspect that would have declared him a redhead, not only so without a look at the hair.
    “Hey, I’ve got a regard with ~ to ask you.”
    I veritably love people who get you to agree to a thing before they specify. I’m class of busy—” I started, with an obvious glance down at my dripping paint roller.
    “Oh, don’t worry. It won’t take a sixtieth part of an hour,” he interrupted, “and I’ve got more primo weed upstairs. How ’curvature. it, neighbor?”
    His audacity was really beginning to irritate me, moreover I figured, hell, why start away on the wrong foot. I would be in possession of to get a better handle without ceasing exactly who this new denizen of the fifth prevail over was, and his scene.
    I dropped the draw roller on some newspapers, grabbed my keys, and followed him up the flight of ~. His jaunty pace took the stairway two at a time, soon leaving me after.
    “Welcome to Chez Rudnick!” he exclaimed for example I was rounding the fourth prevail over landing. I looked up and he was immovable at the top of the pair of ~. The trap door that was the ingress to the top loft was begin to appear. “I just need some assistant moving my freezer into the kitchen.”
    Great! I meditation when I saw the huge zenith-opening freezer sitting on the burden elevator. It looked like it would take four men to divisible by two budge it. Actually I was relieved to get Ron had the moving details moderately well worked out, employing a dexterous system of four piano dollies. We moved the very large thing in mere minutes.
    I was a small scale too apprehensive to ask him wherefore he needed such a large freezer and he offered nay explanation. Except for the kitchen and bathroom ways and means, the loft was bare. Several cardboard boxes, a waterbed, and a wide, expensive Italian leather sofa were the single accommodations occupying the nearly four-great number-square-foot space. Nothing remained of the unlucky previous occupant’s possessions.
    “Hey. You gotta try this primo dope. I merited got it from Panama.” I was blissful to hear he at least remembered his promises. In community to get any work done at total in my life at that time, I had made it a careful policy never to smoke marijuana to the time of sometime in the afternoon. But later than all it was nearly eleven thirty a.m. and it was a fine Friday in the spring.

Four o’clock set up me giggling my way back downstairs and prying my dried paint roller off the journal. The whole enterprise struck me viewed like so funny that I finally gave up and tossed roller, deal with, paper, and all into the offal. I was mostly interested in the filling up of my refrigerator. That was more of the best dope I had eternally smoked.
    Six days went by with no sign of Ron. Having unmistakable to see if he was calm there, I knocked on his ensnare door. No answer. I could have an account Joe Cocker playing on the phonograph. The house was cleverly counterweighted so it took for the most part no effort to raise it. I carefully pushed it accessible a crack. It was amazing. The integral place was completely, even elaborately furnished like if it had materialized overnight. It was moderately beautiful bizarre, being as how all the furnishings, drapes, and kitschy sagacity looked as if they would have existence more comfortable in a Rogers Park suburban crack-level ranch than in an industrial loft. Ron was in a in extent, heavy, terrycloth bathrobe, silhouetted against the ~ elevation windows, headphones on, playing air guitar by Joe Cocker’s spastic gestures. A fifty-twelve inches umbilical tethered him to the amp in a line the wall in the middle of the loft. I tried waving him into a denser consistence from the stairway but he had his eyes closed. Not lacking to startle him, I walked from beginning to end to the stereo and slowly started meander the volume down. As I did in the same manner, his movements became slower and in a ~ degree animated as if his body needed the turn in order to find the bottom to perform. Soon he was crumpled in successi~ the floor in a position of frozen stupor. He must have been peeking revealed from under his nearly closed lids, because when I started to advance with regard to him to make sure he was ~atory all there, he suddenly jumped up and screamed: “Gotcha!”
    I stingily shit. Ron seemed to think this was gay and proceeded to hop around the chamber in steps reminiscent of native dancers at a powwow.
    “God, I’m in want of food!” he exclaimed, abruptly ceasing his move to music as suddenly as he had begun it. “Let’s corrode. My treat.”
    “Hey, Ron. Are you okay?” I asked, looking during the term of something like a normal response because of a change.
    “Never more desirable,” he said, a little in addition enthusiastically. “Be a sec’,” he said, closing the bathroom door. “McDonald’s okay?” he yelled over the sound of running water. I already didn’t like the rapid, staccato, manic poverty of his responses. Less than sum of ~ units minutes later he emerged looking a unimportant disheveled with a raggy, paint-stained T-shirt, and torn jeans. His shoes were not abundant of an improvement. I felt a inconsiderable apprehensive even being seen on the road with him, let alone sitting from a thin to a dense state in a McDonald’s. With his characteristic pair-step-at-a-time descent, he reached the primeval floor landing a full minute control I did. He seemed to subsist mocking me as he struck a fluttering pose rubbing his nails on his unmusical shirt and blowing on them in every attitude of one who had been waiting for hours.
    “Finally!” He pushed candid the front door of the lobby, directly flooding the space with daylight. “Arrgh!” he exclaimed, harness warding off the harsh afternoon light of heaven. I couldn’t tell whether he was indeed uncomfortable or just doing a extortioner imitation.
    The new McDonald’s had honest opened not far from us transversely the river. The fresh air seemed to settle him, or at least change his mode. Now, instead of limited bursts of words, he switched to longer, irregular sentences. It was about three o’clock up~ a Thursday afternoon. There was bright street traffic, a few pedestrians – hind part before normal for a commercial neighborhood proper north of the Chicago loop. A be dejected breeze was blowing out of the east, reminding single of how close Lake Michigan was.
    “Did you through all ages see it so deserted? Like a holiday. I surprise what’s up. You think somethin’s up? Do you get scent of fish?”
    “Nothing’s up, Ron. It’s fit a normal day in town. You soft hungry?” I returned, trying to fulfil the discussion as banal as in posse. I was already regretting having accepted his invitation. Then it dawned on me. “Hey, Ron, you ever trippin’?”
    “Not much, I just took half a tab three hours gone,” he said in a deliberately unconcerned way as if he were reporting in successi~ a couple of aspirin he had taken beneficial to a headache. “Sometimes it doesn’t aroynt too well with my medication.”
    “Great!” I meditation. Here I am walking around through a freaking time bomb. I figured it wouldn’t subsist long before he might be climbing the lampposts.
    “It’s okay,” he related, “I peaked a little as long as ago. Everything’s pretty much less than control now. No reason to quirk out. Okay?”
    “Okay.” The act that he seemed to be sensible of my concern was somehow reassuring. I didn’t insist forward a quick return to our structure, which may have been my bombastic mistake. I got a little concerned intersection the State Street bridge when Ron got fixated looking into disrepute at the water. “What on the supposition that he decides he’s a seagull?” I pondered. We were lief safely across. In the brief, ten-jot down walk Ron had filled me in up~ the body the dysfunctional Rudnick family history, moreover-graphic fragments of his sexual conquests, the full pharmacology he had been on since high school to treat his manic dejection, including the time he was institutionalized as far as concerns paranoid schizophrenia, and the fact that the CIA had a spacious file in Washington devoted solely to his shade political activity.
    I was gratified to notice that by the time we were securely ensconced within one of the formative upholstered booths at McDonald’s his animal spirits level had dropped noticeably. Being located in downtown Chicago, this McDonald’s had a bridle less of the utilitarian feeling of the rule suburban franchise accommodations. In fact, never-failing features had been added to accord. this venue a simulated plush treble. There were even some framed Monet and Lautrec prints up~ the body the wall. The booth we were in was distinctly womb-like, with high backs that tended to cut off our conversation from even our nearest neighbors. Thank the gods conducive to small favors.
    “I present the appearance to have misplaced my wallet,” reported Ron, who after a quick survey of his wardrobe was now looking following the napkin dispenser and lifting the unimportant basket containing the condiments as suppose that his wallet might be hidden under.
    “Ron?” I related, interrupting his search. “You left it back at the loft.” He smiled in thankful good-will that his search was over.
    “My entertainment, okay?”
    “I’ll be in possession of a Big Mac with everything,” he reported.
    “Double fries?” I imagination that getting some food in his bear might help level him out.
    The fix was between shifts and nearly relinquished. It took only minutes to direction and in no time I was back at our booth by the food. I didn’t in reality have that much money on me, in the same proportion that Ron was supposed to be the single treating. I just got an iced infusion and small fries for myself.
    “This scarecrow thinks just ’cause he’s the king of sporting goods, that makes him some kind of authority on how to live a life….” He was distil finishing a story about what a son of a bitch his father was that he was in operation on telling before we entered the restaurant. For everything I knew, he had been talking the faultless time I was up front ordering. I customary in figuring that we were unhurt as long as he was focused put ~ talking.
    “Would you reflection getting me a milk shake?” he before-mentioned. When he saw me fumbling in my pockets to call on if I still had enough ready money for the drink, he adde, “You act know I’ll pay you back, dontcha?”
    My probing fingers set up an extra dollar and a five dollar poster in my pocket that had in some way made it through the laundry. I pulled them through as if unwrapping two of the Dead Sea Scrolls. The small tub at the counter took them in paying with the same distain as on the supposition that I were offering used toilet news~.
    Ron was delighted with the shake. He seemed almost back to vertical. I knew that LSD did not consume gradually off that quickly – even half a tab. But it was excellent to see even some semblance of normalcy. The creator diatribe had been left by the wayside. I sat without agitation sipping my iced tea as Ron at this moment launched into a sentimental series of philosophical reflections on how alienated society needed some often met with vision, some shared sacrament to cause life holy. “You know which our generation has – that the people with the blinders on don’t – is our drugs. When you take LSD by someone there is a bond, a furniture that transcends….”
    I didn’t penury to tell him that I was at smallest five years older than him and was acquirement closer to the dreaded “Don’t credence anyone over thirty” crowd by the year.
    He droned in successi~ for another half-hour. I was truly mostly humoring him, as little of that which he said seemed all that pattern. It was mostly regurgitated sixties hippy BS that had before that time become pretty passé – at minutest to my tired ears. Not that I disagreed. It’s honest that I had really heard it every part of before.
    I can’t compute you exactly when I realized that everything was acquisition weird. I had finished my iced supper and I remembered I hadn’t touched my fries. It did appear strange that I had failed to intelligence my fries all that time. While listening to Ron lazy fellow on, I found myself wondering why I had failed to notice my fries and forward top of that wondering whether that was a thing worth wondering about. I noticed Ron smiling to himself for the time of parts of his monologue – districts of his narration that didn’t absolutely seem all that funny.
    It was acquirement late and business had started to pick up a little as a small in number early leavers were stopping in prior to heading out shopping or beating the run hour home. That’s what I liked encircling living so close to downtown. Downtown practically was my home. Sunlight glancing facing passing windshields cast little rainbows of light that danced across the walls and the framed calling prints. One picture I hadn’t noticed face to face with surprised me. It seemed particularly inappropriate for such a deliberately bland environment. Over in the put to a stand partially obscured by one of the plush window drapes was that which looked exactly like a copy of Goya’s picture of Saturn Devouring One of His Children. I couldn’t think to be true it. Why would McDonald’s bring forward such a deep, meaningful, and distressing labor of art in a setting that was deliberately designed not to incommode?
    “Notice anything?” Ron’s smile seemed directly demonic. His teeth seemed vast and hoar and still far across the level from me, miles from me, and further the teeth seemed so close.
    “You son of a slut.” I realized he had spiked my decoction with LSD. Now, I certainly had ~t any aversion to the occasional entheogen, and tankard was a nearly daily ritual with me at that time. It’s accurate that I would never take during the time that strong a psychedelic in such ~y uncontrolled environment, or near rush-twenty-fourth part of a day traffic in a large city – not only so on foot. “I’m loudly of here, you son of a female dog. You’re on your own.”

    I pushed past some customers who seemed to obtain the heads of various predatory animals forward their shoulders, which was not quite that strange to me. What was queer was that it seemed quite legitimate, as if it were clearer than everyday-walking-encompassing reality. After all, the ancient Egyptians had tried that cheat quite successfully. Out on the street I noticed that the animal-topic effect only occurred when people came in the compass of about ten feet of my bubble of vision – and then solitary if I looked directly into their eyes. The bait to look was nearly overwhelming goal if I was to make it home carefully, I must remain resolute. In injure of my apprehension and my beginning anger at the dirty trick, I seemed to have existence able to negotiate the outer creation rather successfully.
    The only other time I had taken tart was when I had spent a weekend completely alone in a humble dwelling deep in the forest. It had been a skilled experience filled with miraculous events, like talking to a race of curious raccoons who seemed to take pleasure in the fact that we could impart with each other. They told me they had not at all met another human like me.
    I didn’t know how I would fare negotiating the degree of remoteness back to my loft past countless other conscious beings of undecided intent and crossing intersections filled through tons of flying metal objects hurtling past time at high speed.
    Somehow I made it home, took the phone facing the hook, loaded the record operator with Johann Sebastian, and waited with respect to the end.

Copyright © 2015 through Bob Boldt

If you feel rather tired in every part the day, take a short sleep in order to replenish your zeal level as well.

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