from Distortion Lens
by Jacob Waletzky

          We got to Gordon's boho dive building a little after ten o'clock. I'd brought my camera, and we passed the time in the idling Chevy Lumina shooting each other talking about the nature of detective fictions, how all of life itself was the search to understand. I waxed on the epistemological instability of everyday life, she on how illicit info had replaced illicit drugs as the überfetish. It was so easy to make fun of our classmates. We started kissing, and I found myself massaging Alice's small, firm breasts with unusual vigor. She told me to be more gentle, I was embarrassed and grabbed her butt instead. She bit my lip rather hard. I tasted the brine of blood and pulled back so she wouldn't have to know. We still weren't very good at this.

          Around eleven, Gordon suddenly appeared, walking with a man so skeezy looking as to defy belief. I jumped out of the car and walked toward them, transfixed by his crony, a gaunt, middle-aged, limping white man whose left arm was in a cast. Gordon's pupils were terrifyingly small, meaning he was far gone on heroin. His companion had a greasy, wispy, black-and-gray beard that did not conceal the vile, scaly red undergrowth beneath.

          'Hey, Joseph.... What do you know? I have to give Pete something... It's kinda personal. I'll be back in a few.'

          Thirty minutes later this prophecy had not been fulfilled. My arm had gotten tired from training the camera on the door so I gave it to Alice. Finally, Pete exited the building and peered around like he was looking for something. I left the vehicle and approached him.

          'That guy wanted me to tell you something,' he said.

          'What was it, Pete?' I responded.

          'I don't know,' he said and walked away.

          I went up to the building and buzzed Gordon's apartment. No response. I came back to the car and reported the unenlightening conversation to Alice. She responded, 'Look, Joseph, your brother is obviously in for the evening, so ....'

          'We're breaking in.'

          I sat looking intently at the door to Gordon's building. My temple throbbed. How could I get into the building? He would probably answer the door to his apartment if I were pounding on it. I resolved to rush into the building the next time the door opened. There were eleven apartments in the six-story, turn-of-the-century, walk-up tenement so someone was sure to come in or out soon. Fifteen minutes later, I decided to just push all the buzzers and see what happened. Alice brought the camera and we went to the door. I pushed all eleven buzzers in a row, which was probably a mistake, for a Babel of voices then erupted out of the intercom. I said, 'It's me,' in my most generic voice, and a few seconds later the outside and then the inside door buzzed open. We were in. Alice flipped on the camera's light as we headed for the poorly lit stairs. Gordon lived on the third floor, but as we crossed the landing on the second, I saw him edging down the hall with his hand on the wall. Spotting me, he gave up his support and advanced. I headed toward him, mirroring his weave. We grabbed each other by the shoulders, at which point he enjoined me in a scratchy heroin bass to 'end your purdah, and admit to a lustful soul,' and collapsed.