Chapter 4 Operation Keep PT Down: How Steve Got to L.A.

The next day, I returned, concerned about Steve’s hand. I wondered if he was having a delayed reaction to his accident, and despite the clear MRI, he was now feeling the effects of his motorbike accident. When I came, Steve came out for me. We walked in. his son, Alan, was playing a video game and looked up when I entered. Despite his barely looking up at me as I entered, I could tell that Alan was surprised at seeing me again.

Steve was fatigued. Who wouldn’t be after crashing into a car that cut in front of you on the freeway, flipping over the car and then hackey sacking into the bed of a truck that luckily had some padding in it. Steve’s lack of feeling in his arm probably was from some nerve damage.

“I can get my own water. You should relax,” I urged.

“Yeah, I am kind of tired.” Steve replied. “There really isn’t a place to sit down besides the futon out there. The only other room is the bedroom.” Awkward pause.

“So I notice you can lift your arm. Is it just your hand you can’t move?” I asked.

Steve lifted his hand. His wrist was limp, his hand hanging down. He made a noise like a motorbike, as if he were urging his had to rise of its own. Nothing.

“Maybe you should go see a doctor,” I stated the obvious.

“No, I’ll be all right.” Steve was the typical male.

“You said so yourself, your drawing hand is the most important part of you.” I reminded him.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” But it was obvious Steve was not believing himself. It was time to change the subject to something cheerier.

So we talked about Steve, I wanted to hear more and was uncomfortable talking about myself. These are the key points:

-Steve got his girlfriend, Darlena, pregnant when he was 18 years old and she was 20. She told him that she could not get pregnant and he believed her. They were married for ten years during which time Darlena cheated on him no less than half a dozen times, sometimes with Steve’s friends. Steve ignored it and buried his head in his work.

-Steve had wanted to be a designer but Darlena told him what could he ever do as a designer so Steve had jobs doing abatement, construction, etc.

-Steve was the family caregiver. He took care of his ailing mother when he lived in Kentucky. He was the youngest of ten children, Catholic family.

-When he was 30, Steve saw the movie “The Island” and fell in love with the design of the movie. The lighting, setting, cinematography. He also learned that the design and look of cars were sketched and designed on paper, not built by engineers. (That didn’t make sense to me either the first time he told me.)

So, Steve decided to apply to the best art school in the country, in Los Angeles, and without bothering to open his reply letter (or submitting all parts of the required application), set out to California in his Honda Civic. That was the first time he heard the song “Hotel California” by the Eagles because sadly, Steve had had a sheltered life. He rarely saw anything beyond his home town because the big wide world was scary.

Steve had done a short stint in New York but found the real world to be too hard to survive in. Random men approached him picking fights (all of which Steve won, even with the legend Akira).

When Steve arrived in Los Angeles, he went to Art Center and basically said, “I’m here to start school.” And found out that he had not been accepted. The Registrar gave Steve a chance by requiring him to take some satellite courses to prove himself. Rarely happens. Steve did and was subsequently admitted into the Transportation Design department with a full scholarship. When I first saw Steve’s designs, I knew he was a rare talent. Just didn’t make sense why he wasn’t designing and doing better in his field.  

Steve never finished his degree at Art Center. Something happened. For some reason, his younger son, Donny, was not living with him. Why not?

“Oh, it had something to do with my second ex. You want to sit on the couch and watch my son play?” Steve asked.

“Sure,” we walked the two steps down to the living room and to the futon, which was folded up for sitting. It was a comfortable brown velvety fabric. Steve sat on the corner side. The far wall held a closet with folding doors. The doors were partially opened and tools and towels were tucked inside. I sat on the side near the door. Near the corner that turned into the kitchen on the right, were a washer and drawer, also with folding doors (like an accordion). My feet hung over the side so I slipped my shoes off and tucked them under my legs. Steve pulled up a small table for me to rest my feet. “That’s okay,” I laughed. That was too princess for me. “What are you playing?” I asked Alan.

“Uh, Zombies,” he answered.  

Steve looked impressed. He whispered to me, “He likes you. He rarely talks to people so respectfully.”

Macy walked in at that moment. Steve's door was always open. Macy looked at me in surprise while I pretended to be absorbed in Alan’s skill in killing virtual zombies.

“Hey, my dad and I went to the store. He’s bringing in some groceries. Hey,” Macy greeted me.

“Hi, Macy, how are you doing?”

“Fine, thanks, how are you?” Macy asked.

“Great, thank you,” I answered, as Macy’s father entered laden down with two bags.

Macy’s father: “I got some crab and other good stuff. It was on sale--” his eyes fell on me.

Okay, what was so surprising about me being there? I was only sitting on the futon watching a teenager play video games.

The conversation went on about something I don’t recall. I was waiting for when I could make a respectful exit. While I was waiting, I noticed that the outlet beside the table that held the flat screen TV was uncovered. That could be a hazard, I thought. Even from where I sat across the room (approximately 12 feet away, this place was too tiny for the five people in the living room), I could see the red and white wiring in the wall. I noticed that some of the wires that ran into the kitchen floor extended into the living room, against the TV wall. Some wires went into the bedroom, some went elsewhere, I could not tell from my vantage point. The living room wall was painted a lime-ish green. Probably Steve’s favorite color since his ZX-10r no ABS was lime green.

There was a lull in the conversation and I leaned over to Steve. “I should run,” I smiled.

“Oh, yeah, okay, I’ll show you out.” He got up. I made my greetings and exited, passing the wooden frame that was for no purpose, hung left to the side of the house, passing the covered patio. It was dark inside and the furniture, pieces of wood were askew. The mesh windows blocked a clear view, as did the midday sun. Up two concrete blocks to the driveway where Steve’s Honda Civic was parked, south one house to the corner around which my car was parked.

“Does Macy live there?” I asked.

“He’s Alan’s friend. His father sort of dropped him off at my place one day. They lost their place.” Steve explained.

“That was nice of you. He didn’t ask you? Just dumped his son, there?”

“Yeah, poor kid misses his father. Sometimes, he doesn’t come around for a week at a time.”  

“Hmm, odd.” I did not know anyone who took so much presumption with their friends. “I hope your arm gets better. Let me know if you need anything,” I said.

“Oh, right, right, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.” Steve said.

“I gotta’ look for a car tomorrow. Want to have my own when I start work next week. Since you know so much about cars, can you help me find one? There’s a Honda dealership near here that I wanted to hit.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Steve sounded excited talking about cars. I smiled, happy that I was able to cheer him up. Steve opened my car door and I drove away.