my friend donnie
My new friend Donnie says he doesn’t read too good. Says he’s read two books, but he can’t remember the titles because sometimes his mind goes into a fog. He knows they were mystery books though. When he tries to read he gets bored, but he heard that the most important part of any writing is the first two sentences and the last sentence of a paragraph. He asks me if this is true, “Is that true?” he says and I tell him all the sentences are important. He says, “Man, that’s a big book your reading, what’s the name of that book?”
When I get off the T he asks me my name and I tell him. He tells me his name is Donnie but I couldn’t hear him too well so I ask him to say it again. Instead he pulls down his collar and reveals a tattoo on his neck that spells, “D-O-N-N-I-E, Donnie.”
* * *
Here’s how Donnie and I became friends. I heard the unmistakable rich/full crisping/cracking of a beer can. (It’s 722am.) Moments later I heard the can hit the ground followed by a few perfunctory curse words from Donnie. A few more moments passed and Donnie said, “Hey man, you might want to move your bag, some guy spilled his beer.” Before long I was looking at pictures of Donnie’s cat on his cell phone.
He showed me his cat because the day before Donnie and I met he had to get rid of the cat. Donnie had to move into a rooming house where he can’t keep cats, or so he tells me. So he had given away his cat and when he came home he found himself locked out. At this point he had nothing to do but to go out and get drunk. He told me he drank all night because he had to give away his cat. That seemed like as good a reason as any and I told Donnie so. He responded to the compliment with pride and said, “At least I didn’t say cause the Sox lost.” He follows with, “Here’s the real reason, because I wanted to.”
The third reason seems the least likely. Donnie doesn’t seem to have much say in his drinking habits anymore.
* * *
Donnie has wide, glassy, stone egg eyes that don’t quiver or avert their gaze. His face has strong thin features and his head is shaved. His upper plates don’t fit properly and as he speaks spit pushes up from his gums and out of his mouth. His lower plates don’t fit particularly well either but his fake teeth are wide and white and make Donnie unsettling to look at.
At one point Donnie asks where I work and I tell him at the hospital. He tells me he is going to come visit me there. I tell him, that’s fine as long as it’s not as a patient (it will be as a patient). But he says, “No, don’t worry, just as friends.”
[Jim Carroll Band - People Who Died]
