In Julie's Eyes

By John Krantz

In Julie's Eyes is a tripped out, cool, urban love story of the musical prodigy, Jimmy Burchell, who meets Julie, the girl of his dreams. There is baggage. She is enmeshed in a sex cult looking to garner the DNA of the gifted. And she's COME for his!
With his much maligned friend, Jimmy's cowriting their 'epic' rock story, when he's slipped a psychadelic mickey. During his hallucinations, and subsequent flashbacks, Jimmy is post apocalypse, where the vile Waterkeeper holds court. Jimmy's new found love beams as an astral shining goddess who commisions him to write the 'Song of Love' to save their joined realities, and to heal the mental and physical wounds of his Father. (Burned in a meth lab explosion; ruled accidental, case reopened.)
In this cast of crazy characters not everybody keeps their heads!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781105249327

Book preview

In Julie's Eyes

In Julie’s Eyes

By John Krantz

Copyright

Copyright © 2011 by John Krantz

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

ISBN# 978-1-105-24932-7

For Alex.

Contents

Chapter 1

The letter and the spazzing oozing ketchup fingers.

You're in my light! He yelled.

You can't own light, I said.

A look of contempt, through a fog of cigarette smoke, shot my way.

and I flew into it. Shadow then light, shadow then light; creating my strobe effect to heal my Father's sins.

Chapter 2

Larry's loyalty. army men and monkey nuts.

You are a brave warrior, but a fool! You will die at my hand!

Chapter 3

Ice cream scooper: latched nostril. A vain Frankenstein knife and tripping at Bill's

Bringing them up to his face, my experienced thumb action clicked and sluiced the scoops, like the demented soda jerk that I was.

Chapter 4

A thirsty peanut and jelly sandwich, an attempted hug and bolting out the door.

What the Hell?! What happened to your face?!

Chapter 5

Scratched face reflected; muttering lips. Shiny red shoes and the wallet.

There is no place for you in this world. You think you are more than you can become. The world is a downward spiral for most if not all. You can do nothing to save either your world or anybody else’s. It will be much too hard for you.

Chapter 6

Daddys' burns, Larry and Mrs. McGee

When Larry was nine his parents died in a horrific fire in their garage.

Summanabitch! That's the truth! Summanabitch! Unto thee, life can be. Tie him to a Christmas tree! That's it! That's all! he gesticulated. Summanabitch! I want to see them all again!

Chapter 7

The phony mask-faced priest. Jimmy's attempt to send his 'Song of Love' through the ages. Caveman weed and the rubber plant.

Maybe he held his mask in abeyance; weighing the situation, deciding which mask to put on to better his position. He could look grim on a whim when needed. Or he could jerk a fake smile at you as he passed.

Chapter 8

Hawknose and the wasps. Shed dreaming and fishing. Daddy's disfiguring explosion and Jimmy combs his hair.   

I really wanted to see my Julie. I shared so much with her the day before, it felt as if she were swimming in my blood. I needed to confirm my destiny and kiss her again. Kiss her full glistening lips. Look into her perfect eyes. Brush her bangs back with the back of my fingers and kiss her.

Sparkles of light, gentle unblinding blinking; caressing my eyes. Warm on my face and under my hair. My Dad took the teardrop from the rearview and tossed it to me.

Chapter 9

Messy Marvin and Eesh Peesh. Bob calls Jimmy to the scrapyard.

Space, matter, ¾ splits.Keep your shoelaces tight and live twice as long! Nevermind the space and time. Stop looking too far off. Everything is right here.

Chapter 10....................................................................................................................     

Uncle Jack. Jimmy and Larry's kick ass rock story. Ugly Joy in the tarped red Stingray.

I'm amazed you amaze me, I said.

Thank you, said Larry.

Chapter 11

The old ninja, Mrs. McGee, loves to hear the boys play their instruments. They play and read their hip story.

How'd you get down here so quiet, Mrs. McGee? Larry asked.

You learn to tread quiet when you live above someone else. don't want people thinking there's a hippo on the second floor, now would I? Now go on reading your story boys, it's wonderful.

Chapter 12

Dad's not happy. Planting flowers and Mom at the garden center

"My mother's vegetable and flower garden were watered partly by her tears."

Chapter 13

A walk through the wood. A tremendous blowjob and The 'Song of Love's first words.

"Her wonderful boobs nearly busted out of her picnic plaid shirt which was tied up at her hard belly. She wore Daisy Duke shorts and her heart shaped bottom wiggled in the air in the front seat."

Chapter 14

A punishing dope slap, Hawknose asks the hard questions. Sister Carol rips the FBI a new one.

Just do as we discussed and smile. Be a happy shiny people; they won't know what hit them. I'll fill you in on the rest of our plan later. But rest assured, my dear Julie, I shall vanquish the dragon. You'll see.

Chapter 15

Bob's slap is filled with Love and cleaning copper. Jimmy's flashback: Post apocalypse we meet Rosie and the old woman.

I knew of a part of the fence that was not so impenetrable.

I pry the nail.

Chapter 16

An obese person wedged in a mailbox. Jimmy recites the combination.Unwanted ass grabbing and fingernails in his eyes.

Are you stuck Ma'am?

No answer.

Are you stuck? I asked a little louder.

No! Now get away from me!

It sounded like two Campbell soup cans connected by a taut string.

It hurt me too; my fingernails creasing and bending up off the cuticle.

Chapter 17

Spaghetti and meatballs, Scrabble and mean words. Jimmy's sad Dad is fast fast.

As soon as I said that, the board flew in the air, letters scattered haphazardly all over us, in some drinks, and on the floor.

Chapter 18

Trip to Cape Cod, Larry reads. Sweaty druggy dunes and the foot race.

The undertow sucked me out; the wave drew its energy. I bounced on one toe then jumped up with that foot. It was nearly here! i swam two strokes in, pointed my toes, and made like Superman.

Chapter 19

The plan: build him up then tear him down. Jimmy won't let Larry smoke.

Why? I don't want to go, he whined. And stop humming. You know you're humming, right?

Chapter 20

Messy Marvin is in a state! The brass and glass vial earring. Pitty Titty! Rufus: strength in the mind.

I am the light! I'm everywhere!! I'm in our eyes! If you can't see this, war and pestilence is upon you!

Chapter 21

Jimmy and the complexities of the universe as a social application. Their rock story, hibachi and whiskey swilling. Duct tape, locked up and escape into the night.

Knock it off, freak show.

Chapter 22

5% take back, cool jams, total trip out and a deathly fight. Larry lights up his button, The vile Waterkeeper and the devil baby.

Boys, I want you to say hello to Joy.

Chapter 23

Construct and the half burnt letter. dreams of mustached men.

He hurt my boy.

Chapter 24

The fish ain't so big, Carol and the Feds are back. Larry stories

I tiptoed down the stairs and saw an impish man wearing a Red Sox baseball cap.

Why do I dwell on him was he treated second best?

Chapter 25

Wipe the key, electro-magnet and Coleman hibachi

Three quick death twitches made the rivulet swell into a stream.

Chapter 26

Scream while pretending to dream and eggs.

How come my Brothers never come around? I asked.

My Mother and Father both cleared their throats, readying to speak.

Chapter 27

Searching Julie, back in the dumpster. The slick light saber and the master frame.

Your eyes, they vibrate when you see me; in my eyes.

They gave me a spritzer, she flatly stated.

Chapter 28

Diverticulae, sepsis and whispering truth.

Have you passed any gas?

Farted? I don't think so.

Chapter 29

Steve Sack, sharp as a scalpel and the crazy wheelchair ride to Joy.

   He wheeled me out of the elevator and we clashed wheels with an old guy who lowered his brow at Steve.

Chapter 30

Jimmy's story sickens, and a day at the beach. Larry's take on God.

Flip Dangle!

Larry jumped and yelled, Stingray!

Chapter 31

Barbeque at Mrs. McGee's, the Song of Love fireworks and the letter.

Ya, Larry, not a good idea. You don't want herpes on your testicles, said Julie.

Chapter 32

The surprise at Black's Creek.

Oh my God! She's gonna kill him! I thought

Chapter 33

Suspect Bob

Chapter 34

Doing laundry, the toothpick becomes a scorpion

Chapter 35

The found tape and the trip-out record.

I'm not naïve, I believe you. Bolt up the stairs resilient.

Chapter 36

The swimming pool, staple and another letter.

Close your mouth, you'll catch flies.

Chapter 37

The whistle blower and the pride of Poughkipsee. True recursion and Jacob's Ladder.

Oh good, I'm gonna glide on your big hang, big boy.

Chapter 38

The bum and the 6AM doorbell.

The grub spun to the left and punched Larry right in the mouth.

In Julie’s Eyes

Chapter 1

Nature heals with nearly a sniff, hurtful to some no doubt. Splitting leaking crust can heal her and her children. I’m learning my last name: Burchell means something as well.

Nature was the subject of a letter I wrote to a politician for a class assignment I did in fifth grade. One award later, letters of praise, phone calls from some important people; I was happy.

In part the letter read:

‘How was play with your childhood chums? Did you listen to other kids? If you were voted down did you tantrum then storm off? If this is how you were as a child, the likelihood is that is how you are now. Agreed? Don’t get me wrong I know there are good leaders. Those were the children who suggested rules of play and then had a ball! Do you agree? They went home when the streetlights came on and ate a hearty happy supper. Got up the next day to have fun in the woods. Were you that type of child? We should live like nature, she has the perfect ear.  Her habits are something to mirror. She is the one that constant process, beautiful chaos. She takes time watching herself, admiring; downloading secret life effortlessly. Listening Nature sees herself first, then replicates her beauty so to be; and so should we.’

I stood on the stairs admiring my praising letter from a different politician. My Father ascended.

His car wasn’t running right that night and he stormed up the stairs, looking for me.  With his boozy curled lip he said,

I need you outside to hold the flashlight, Jimmy! And I mean right now! I need to get to work tomorrow and I need that Goddamn car! You want to eat don’t you? Give me that!

He tore up the letter.

What do you need this shit for? It won’t do nuthin’ for you. You listen to me! Now get out there. So I did.

I couldn’t hold it; brightest, at the right spot. Or his shadow was cast on the wrong spot. He said make the light broad. Turn it he said. I couldn’t.

You’re in my light! he yelled.

You can’t own light, I said. A look of contempt, through a fog of cigarette smoke, shot

my way.

I just wasn’t capable. He snatched it and brought it under the hood and into the chasse.

So whenever my Dad worked on his cars, I was the flashlight boy, and it never went well.

He smoked cigarettes, one after the other. What was unbelievable to me was he kept one in his mouth the whole time he was stooped into the car. Breathing smoke in and out, even when working on carburetors, fuel pumps, lines.  He didn’t catch on fire those times.

What struck me as odd was that the ash never fell off! Three inches of ash! My Father smoked 100’s which further made the fete remarkable. His arms and hands a whirl of activity, his head, still like a big dog’s carrying a large stick. After he found out the problem, or fixed it, he stood up and sputtered like a bad butterfly throttle valve. I hated it. I wanted him to quit. So I went to Mr. Green’s Joke Shop.

Since I was very young I frequented this most wonderful magic store. It’s a straight shot up the street, with no intersections so my Mother let me walk there, as she watched. As soon as I opened the door, the show started. Mr. Green would put any wig on he had handy, googly eyes (or maybe a mask) and talk fast and funny. He pressed play and a cassette tape whirled crazy side show music. He showed me all the new stuff, magic tricks, card tricks, you name it!

He told jokes as well. The first one he told, that I can remember, I didn’t get. Mr. Green held two fists out; fingers up.

I got a mothball in this hand (He shook his left fist) and a mothball in this hand (the other), what do I have?

Two mothballs? my Father answered.

Close, he said. What about you? What do you think? He poked my belly gently.

I smiled broadly into my hands.

Two moffballs, I said.

Close. Nope! You gotta pretty giant moth in your hands! Huh! Now wouldn’t ya say?! Hahahaha! Yup, pretty big moth I’ll tell ya. Yup.

My Dad laughed, so I did. Mr. Green is a fun guy. And a nice guy too.

When he first pulled out a bouquet of flowers from his sleeve, I nearly passed out! A slinky furry eel traveled across his chest, head and shoulders; his arms hardly moving. Great stuff!

Dracula teeth, blood gum, sour gum, hot gum. Garlic gum, glow in the dark stuff, black light posters. Fake poop, fake puke; fly in the ice cube, hand buzzers, and model airplanes. A pack of gum that gives a helluva shock; he only told me about that one. And of course explosive cigarette caps. So that’s what I put in some of his cigarettes one day.

I was upstairs when I heard a pop, and then a scream. I ran down.

My eye! My eye! Oh my God!! I can hardly see out of it!! What am I gonna do?! my Dad screamed, the ketchup oozing out in between his fingers. Jimmy! You’re a bad boy! he yelled with a half smile. The scrambled eggs and ham were turning a dark brown underneath. It was nine in the morning; a full can of beer on the kitchen table.

I’m sorry Daddy!! I’m sorry! I pleaded. My Dad got up and paced around in a tight circle yelling, ‘Ow! Ow! Ow! Dammit!!’ and stuff like that. I followed him, arms outstretched, eyes wet and squinted; begging. We may have looked like a small procession of crazy people doing a sad Indian fire dance. My sister busted through the hall.

What the Hell happened here!? she yelled.

My cigarette blew up and knocked my eye out! He cried with a smirk.

You’re full of shit! Jimmy, he’s trying to fool you!! She yelled, Look he’s smiling!

I believed him. A few more howls from my father and I thought the sun’s light that left eight minutes ago, on his face now; slitted by the blinds, would fix his eye. Subatomic suture glue, I thought, and that made my throat hum.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm   Mmmmmmmmmm.

Now look what you did! You’re making him spaz out again! I think my Sister said.

I waved my arms like a dragon fly. I wanted to make a protective super sonic wall. I wanted to call on a kindred sound with suture glue. Fix! Shine on it! Shine on it dammit!! Fix it! Fix the Son. Fix his eye. Fix EVERYTHING!

He wiped his eye on his sweatshirt and said it didn’t hurt, not even a little bit. He shook me, his eyeballs two inches from mine. Too late now. My throat vibrated. I took flight an inch and saw a different angle. I could zip through time in between them and me. She slapped, and kicked my Dad. He defended the onslaught the best he could by slapping at her arms. She slapped me once too.  She was screaming, I could tell by her eyes and her mouth. She screeches like no other. The glue worked on my father’s eye I guess. He shook me and slapped me on the right cheek. Did it sting? I walked to where the sun shadow slit through the blinds and put my right cheek to it, and I flew into it. Shadow then light, shadow then light; creating my strobe effect to heal my Father’s sins. I flew into the air. I descended; over and over. Flying, coming down, shadows and light. Jumping. It calmed me and it could do good.

Chapter 2

I knew Larry held loyalty in high regard, one day, when we played with my prized plastic army men. Not the cheap chippy plastic kind; the kind when struck by a sharply thrown rock, leaves a mark. Most of the time I played alone, but in our battle game that day, I was the US ARMY and he was the JAPS. A captured US soldier was being interrogated and of course he only gave his name rank and serial number. Larry said to my guy in his best Japanese accent,

You are a brave warrior, but a fool! You will die at my hand!

He went and got his Father’s real machete out from the shed. He brought out a fireplace poker, too and handed it to me.

I’ll attack your guy with this machete, he said, but before I strike him, block the machete with this. Then you launch an all out attack on my guys, save the GI, and then kick the Jap’s asses, because the Army gotta win, and plus these are ‘your guys’, and plus you’re my best friend.

Ok, I said. I sure do like his imagination.

You will tell me where your regiments are or you will die. What type of armaments do they have and where will they strike first?!

My name is Sean Fisher, I am a private first class. My serial number is 1-2-3-4, KISS MY ASS! I spat on the interrogating Japanese officer. Some got on Larry’s hand, but he paid the spit no mind.

Then you shall die! Then afterwards we will eat your eyeballs so to see your devious plans!

He raised the machete with a telling wink then he brought down the sharp steel blade to cut my guys head off. I thrust the poker over Sean Fisher. The sound of pure steel meeting violently was just the thing! Exhilarating! KASHINGGG!

The resulting offensive by ‘our boys’ was two hours long. It was heroic, bloody and ultimately successful. On several occasions we were told to hush and keep the rhetoric down. However, when in the heat of battle and your life is on the line, watching your language takes a back seat to staying alive.

We left the machete and poker out in the Summer Sun all day and when he went to put them back, at Dusk, they were very very hot to the touch.

Ever since then Larry has been my loyal, trusted ally. Most didn’t think he was.

For ten years I played with my green Army men. I also had German soldiers. The battles between them all were epic! Certainly the Japs and Kraut men became battle scarred quicker, because of the relentless onslaught of our boys. After a hellish attack I might pick up a mutilated soldier and think about his last minutes. Was he fighting off fear? Unbelieving that his death was near? Swearing it not to be true. He surely wasn’t thinking of 1000 virgins. Did he die an honorable death? Or did he keep his head down and barely fire a shot, were the questions I asked. I read from his diary, making stories come to life, mostly.

Sometimes, depending on my mood, the soldier was terrified of dying. His bloody fingers held his wife and looked for strength inside the frame. Like Jesus in his death throes, he felt forsaken; a throwaway. Everything was for naught. I told this brave warrior that he fought with the ferocity of 1000 dragons and many medals would be sent home, insuring a heroic status. His family will receive much reparation and a lifetime of respect.

Sometimes love of country is what he clung to. His death is heroic, patriotic, it means something. He is proud as he sets his jaw and slips into the unknown.

The battles usually took place in the sand aside the driveway, where I had my choice of rocks, sticks and chunks of asphalt, to build forts, headquarters, whatever. Bunkers needed to be dug. Trenches, forts and pontoon bridges were built. That’s where my beautiful yellow Tonka toys and fat bellied yellow and blue construction men came in.

My excavator scooped out big shovels full of sand, my crane hoisted in the asphalt foundation, floors and walls; the more tiers the better! The dumptruck which took the debris away was driven by a foul mouth lout named Lou. Behind the bulldozer’s controls was Ernie, who had a quick sharp wit. My excavator, who always complained, dug out trenches connected to secret bunkers under headquarters, where Nazi officers  took cyanide to avoid capture and interrogation. And where Japanese soldiers plunged swords into their bellies. Tunnels with shored walls were dug where burrowed nip soldiers tried to escape the American flame throwers! Whooosh!

As I built my war scenes I used pointed language. Most of it I learned from construction men who worked outside my house for a while when I was real young; some of it I learned at home. The most colorful, by far was from the hard hat men. I’ll tell you more about them later on.

As a four year old boy I’d fill up the dumptruck with my excavator. At the last scoop I would cry something like:

Alright chicken dick! Get this shit outta here, monkey nuts! Let’s Go!!

Passers-by turned and hushed me, I only had an inkling why. As far as I could see I was a person like those construction workers, and they were the coolest people I had ever seen.

My neighbor Mr. O’Brien yelled at me, mostly as he laughed. This bolstered my outbursts more. An audience!

Come on pussy pants! Dig ladies! Dig!

A shaking smiling head showed over the fence. I think he watched out for me.

Knock it off! from the side of his mouth he’d cry.

The phone rang sometimes right after that and I got a scolding or a smack on the bottom. My older brothers got it in the face.

I liked to set up my men at strategic spots and, ATTACK! Rocks of various sizes were my bombs and I chucked them. As I aged and my game that I called Battle progressed, sometimes I used firecrackers. After an assault, I got down on my belly and looked at what happened to my courageous soldiers. What did they see in their last moments alive? Were they afraid but ready to fight on?

I’d sit next to the ruins and imagine a soldier writing a letter home. I would mumble the contents of the letter. Usually assuring everything was ok, the chow is great, all we do all day is play cards. I left clues in the letters that all was not so hot. Brevity of writing, phrases like, ‘kinda’ or a letter ending with ‘I can’t wait to see you. Life is good.

Yes, as long as your alive, because seniority is all we have; whether with good memories or bad.

He wrote these letters with blood and terrified tears streaming down his cheeks. Did I cry too? The letter read:

I’ve put on a few pounds. The chow is great. You can have all you want. I can’t wait to have a hunk of your blueberry pie. I really miss you guys, say hello to Sis for me.

I looked at the damage the war did to the structure. I dug carefully and inspected the pancaked headquarters; smooshed heroes within. The men with charred bodies calling for medics. One thing that floated in the back of my head when I played was that I never wanted to go to war. I felt thankful to my men to be doing the dying for me.

The guy holding the grenade ready to throw. Pow! The all important radio guy, the guy laying on his belly firing his machine gun; cutting his foe in half! The guy with just a knife, ready for a fight to the death. Wicked Pissa!!

Chapter 3

Almost two months ago, I woke the morning after I got fired. I couldn’t remember how I got all those scratches on my face, and I was barely able to dress myself. I dreamed of fighting eggplant headed aliens with power suits. They waved their arms at a supersonic speed, making a whirling sound of hate and fear. Some had priest collars on, others turbans. Some had both suits and priest collars. I floated about their heads playing my guitar, hitting unheard chords and blowing their bulbous heads to kingdom come. A pulsating sound was coming from my throat I can only describe as good feeling. That sound blew up the rest of them.

My throat was dry. The little dangly thing above my tongue reverberated, sounding like somebody frustrated, disgusted. The day before was one of the strangest, craziest days of my life: I lost my fourth job of the year and went on some fantastic trip I will try and tell you about.

I live in Quincy (The city of Presidents) with my mother and father. I’m eighteen. My two older brothers and sister moved out long ago.

My Dad thought my musings were rubbish.

Stop wasting your time with all this make believe for Chrissakes! A man needs a good job and a home. Never mind all this foolish dreaming and make believe! And come to think of it I wish I never had…! You’ll never amount to... You have your head in the clouds and up your ass too! I remember saying:

Ya that means a lot coming from a welder. And your mother left you this house. You never…

Slap!

He slapped me in the ear. Oh my God did it hurt. He told me he didn’t mean to hit me there. I went totally catatonic; staring. My mother totally beat the crap out of my Father.

I went to the doctor and he looked in my ear, he said there was a tear on the eardrum and it would heal on its own. On the way there she said to me,

If he asks how it happened, tell him you fell down the stairs or something.

She blew smoke from her cigarette for emphasis. Well enough of that, let me tell you about losing my latest job.

I worked at Bailey’s Ice Cream on Tremont St. in downtown Boston with my best friend Larry. Mr. Graves, the manager, called me crackerjack because I was good at my job. He called Larry lay about.  One time when he was really mad at him he called him a ‘lay about zitface’. That was pretty harsh I