POUND CAKE

(because you have to do something)

Now and then, no, less frequently than now and then, once in a while I have auditory hallucinations. “Auditory hallucination” sounds formal, you might think I understand the science. I don’t. I only know I hear banging inside my skull. One side, then the other. I picture people jousting with cheap curtain rods. I imagine pickleball, because I love the name, but am not clear what it is. I would love to have a look, but my eyes can’t roll over backwards and peer at my brain, and there’s nobody in there anyway. I have to figure this out myself. The banging is doubtless a sign of inner conflict since most shit can be placed at that door. It began when I stopped writing the book I’d been working on for a couple of years. I didn’t know the ending, only that it was close. I had to stop until it showed up.

Chuck, my closest friend for forty years, died three years ago. That’s what the book is about, that, and teaching myself how to make things out of clay, plus whatever small thing caught my eye and made me curious. A few months ago, words popped into my head that sounded a lot like Chuck. I had written a slightly frustrated, semi-desperate couple of sentences about making decisions. How does anyone decide anything? Blah blah blah. How do you decide whether to leave a clay face the color of the clay or paint it?? That was my unspoken question, and into my head popped the words, “Flip a coin.” Totally Chuck, dismissive, funny, but serious. He was good at packing all three into a single phrase. I decided to put it in the book, and as I went on writing either he added his two cents whenever something struck him, or since I knew what he would have said, I might have done it myself. It’s impossible for me to tell the difference. My friend was keeping me company, that was all I cared about. But I had finished the book, and didn’t know how.to end it. I had been celebrating his presence. I stopped writing until I thought it through, although thinking in a straight line is not my strong suit.

At night I lie in bed listening to the sounds in my head. Bang bang bangbang bang. I am curious but will never google “sounds of banging metal in my head.” I know about google. Type in “hangnail“ and you have a week to live.

And now I can’t write at all. Nothing catches my eye, nothing excites me. And I don’t think those 114 pages make up a real book. It’s as if a tiny tornado has been following me around for three years picking up everything in my path for me to deposit in the manuscript. There are good things in it, but nothing adds up. That sort of thing never bothered me before. When I was writing all the time, I never worrried if it added up to anything. More banging. Maybe some thought is stuck trying to finish itself. Probably banging against things in frustration. Nothing I can do until it puts itself together and breaks loose so I can get at it.

cake batter in big mixing bowl

All this is done behind my back. I hope to god it’s the ending to my book. You don’t want it to end. Not sure whether that was Chuck or me. Words run through my head so fast.

The hell with it, I can’t just sit around anymore. The news will be on any minute and God forbid I listen to the news. I’m going out to Woodstock Meats to see if they have some Arctic Char, which my friend Craig says is better than salmon and cheaper, too.. I’m eating only oily fish these days to help save what’s left of my memory. Maybe it will inspire me. I can’t wait to bite into all the crunchy bits after I fry it up. Yum. And while I’m there I think we’re almost out of butter. And I want to make a pound cake. Paul gave me Elvis’ recipe for whipped cream pound cake. I need butter. I already have the cream. “Two pounds of Arctic Char, please, and I’ll be grabbing some butter. Yes, thank you, that’s all I need.”

Out the door and into the car. Bang bang. You can throw the whole book thing in the wastebasket if you want. BANG. It won’t be the end of the world. Bangbangbang. The end of the world is already well underway. Hurry up and bake that cake. BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG

The End