A FOOL IN THE RAIN

Recently I watched two movies on DVD-- Napoleon Dynamite and Big Fish --and gleaned that the messages of both movies was a very simple one:

Follow your heart.

Napoleon Dynamite is about a nerdy guy who really isn't that nerdy. On the surface he's a complete and utter dork, but when you really watch the things he does and listen to the words he says, he's not a geek at all-- just a kid who doesn't know how to lie as well as the others have learned. He lives life by the seat of his pants, even if it happens to occur in dead-end Idaho.

He is a fool.

Big Fish, one of my favorites from last year, is about a storyteller who embellishes his personal history with colorfully exaggerated tales and experiences. As often as he paints himself in a heroic light, he also makes sure to balance this out by portraying himself as impetuous and somewhat reckless.

He makes himself out to be a fool.

And here I am, a man who has no shame, a guy who has acted a fool on many occasions with pride, a person with a long history of foolishness, from the time I was a child up until yesterday and the night before.

I called Eve when I got home from The Garage. I'd been hanging with Paulie all day long, helping him with his brand new business. Yes, Purple Paulie and his girlfriend Nona have purchased a business: a dog-grooming shop located in Woodland Hills. It's one of those places where you either pay professionals to wash your dog or you pay to hand-wash your dog yourself.

Good for them.

Anyway, when I spoke with Eve on the phone, she sounded depressed. Dick had called her again, this time announcing that he knew her current address. He also knew that she was spending money on "some guy" because he was opening up her bank statements, the ones that she forgot to forward to her new apartment.

The rain was coming down in torrents. If I had a car, I would've just driven over to her place. But my car is busted, and Eve has a terrible time driving in the rain. She really does not fare well in those kinds of conditions.

So I did what any ordinary fool would do: I suited up and rode my 18-speed bicycle out to her place.

Within five minutes, my pants were completely soaked, thermals and all.

At one point, I hit my head on the branch of a low-hanging tree. This caused my fisherman's cap to fall off, onto the wet sidewalk. I had to circle around and go back for it.

The trip took a total of 35 minutes. It would've taken less time, but I realized that my back tire was completely flat. I dropped two quarters on refilling the tires with air, and made up for the lost time by pedaling like a motherfucker through Burbank.

I reached the huge hill that separated my side of town from Eve's-- I decided to walk the bike uphill, get to the top, then descend down into the Media Center part of town.

Halfway up the hill, my MP3 player went out. My pockets were filled with water, thanks to the water-proof nature of my cheesy windbreaker. The song that was playing when it crapped out on me: "Atmosphere" by Joy Division.

I went down the hill, gaining momentum. I squeezed my brakes, and felt them give way. I was careening out of control. One false turn and I would've ended up in the street, possibly on my ass. I placed my right boot down on the front tire, hoping to stop myself before I made an even bigger fool of myself. A high-pitched squeal emitted from my feet, and soon I was at a complete stop.

I pedaled the rest of the way, almost knocking down a man in the process. With no brakes, all I could do was scream "MAKE WAY!!" as I barrelled down the sidewalk past him.

To top it all off, Eve's street is on a slant, so I had to walk the bike up a slight upgrade. But when I made it to her front door, there was triumph in my heart and lightning in my eyes.

Eve answered, wearing a pair of PJs that I wanted to rip off right then and there. But I was soaked from head to toe-- I had to get into some dry clothes first. My boots were wet, my socks were flooded, my pants were a disaster... the only thing that was OK was my windbreaker, which kept my torso and arms bone dry.

"Good thing you got here when you did," she said to me. "I almost fell asleep."

I grimaced. "Do you know how upset I would've been if I'd come here all this way, and you'd been alseep?"

Of course she knew-- back in the high school days, I snuck over to her house in the dead of night more times than I can count. Sometimes she was alseep, and I would be stuck outside, freezing my balls off or drenched in the rain, trying to get her attention without arousing suspicion from the neighbors or the other inhabitants of her home.

She also knew that I was crazy. She's always known that about me. What we don't talk about, though, is what exactly I'm crazy over... it's implied through my actions but never wholly stated.

"I can't believe you actually did it," she said, smiling as I held her in my arms. "I mean, I know you did it, obviously... I just can't believe that you went through with it."

"Don't you know me by now?" I asked.

"Yes, I do, but I never know when to expect it."

And then, I did what any red-blooded male in my position would've done.

I finished my beer and collapsed, falling right to sleep.

In the morning on Sunday, we got it on. But that Saturday night I was too exhausted and burned out to put it down right then and there, a mere moment after braving the harsh elements. It was all good, though-- I was there, and she didn't feel so afraid of Dick showing up at her door. She was able to get a good night's sleep, despite my initial snoring...

And I'm very happy to know that I'm still foolish after all of these years. Time hasn't dulled my edge one bit.