 | Why can't I be you |
The clouds parted on the life of 16-year-old local Goth Ken Barns Tuesday, despite his best efforts to maintain a self-imposed existence of somber alienation. The Starbucks cashier said he awoke early despite a late night of drinking cough syrup, posting poetry to his Web blog and shallow cutting. The ray of sunshine began to peak in on Barns as he inserted his piercings.
I like all of them, especially my chin spike, but theyre always so cold in the morning. Last night, as darkness swelled around me and my bloodshot eyes yearned for eternal closure because of the Robitussin, I must have cast them to the ground without concern for their resting place, Barns recalled later that day. Well, I cant sleep in them. Theyre pointy.
As luck would have it, Barns' body jewelry landed just in front of the hot air register in his basement bedroom of his parents suburban Illinois ranch home.
I welcomed the hot metal into my body, Barns said. Not even smeared lipstick could hide his satisfied grin.
Successfully avoiding the discomfort only a chilly nose ring can cause; Barns continued his morning ritual with an uncharacteristic bounce in his step. Pulling on a tattered pair of fishnet stockings, he said he realized the tears were perfectly balanced without betraying the fact that hed spent hours meticulously defacing the hose with a rusty razor blade. He opted for his graffiti covered black Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars with the prominent anarchy symbol painted on the left toe and headed upstairs for breakfast, where he was usually greeted by one or another of his mothers kindly suggestions.
Kenny, If you didnt wear so much makeup, you probably wouldnt break out so much, a sneering Barns said was a favorite meal time topic of his hydra mothers. Tuesday, though, was not typical in Barns tortured existence. While bounding up the stairs sporting his newest ebay acquisition a vintage black Cure T-shirt from the bands Disintegration tour the smell of fresh baked coffee cake hit him just as he heard his mothers Pontiac Aztec pull out of the garage.
My oppressors Honda is in the shop, and I forgot she was taking him to the concentration camp, Barns said. Father is an ear, nose and throat doctor. I love coffee cake more than pain! he added with cinnamon crumbs clinging to his upper-lip pubes. After eating half the batch, Barns left for work leaving the knife sticking straight up in the leftover cake.
It symbolizes the grim fear-gripped well, fuck, I dont know. Its not nice, he said.
Barns said he worked an achingly typical shift at Starbucks, but the silver lining at work, he said, was that his manager, Bill Derfner, finally agreed to let him post some of his poetry on the franchises bulletin board.
Yeah, Kenny oh, sorry, Raven hes been trying to get me to put up his poems for months, Derfner said. How was I supposed to post a three-page poem about satanic fetuses in a strip mall coffee shop? So when he attached a short thing about the inescapable agony of existence to his time card, I finally put it up. I mean, at least it didnt have the phrase fecal-encrusted in it this time. And it seemed to make his day.
Barns said he was indeed pleased when he shuffled into work Tuesday morning to find his prose prominently centered on a cork board shared with babysitting advertisements and a request for a bass player whos into Dave, Jack Johnson and old Barenaked Ladies.
It looks like the masses are going to get a wake-up call from the dark side. My wounds will be theirs. At least the ones who come into the Reynolds Square Shopping Centre Starbucks, Barns said after his fifth cup of Irish cream coffee at a local Perkins restaurant later that night.
 | if only life hurt this little |
Although Barns said, most of his customers that day were doomed to a life of artificial, consumer-driven mediocrity, the girl that he likes did stop in while he was manning the register.
Yes, Nora, my nightingale, she fills my black heart with the promise of the sun. Shes got a great rack, Barns said.
I looked into her soul as I handed her the change from her turkey pesto panini. I know she saw mine, for it is as naked as I long to be with her.
Outside Starbucks, the object of Barns affection agreed to answer a few questions about their budding relationship.
Ew! That guy from inside? Could he be any greasier? And whats with the spiked hair? The 60s are over, loser, Stephanie Flemming said, adding that, at no point in her life had she gone by the name Nora. Youve got to be kidding me. He likes me? We have kids like that at my school. We call them dirtbags. Im late for my tanning appointment.
Barns was under the impression that their shared customer/pale cashier moment earlier in the day had been a significant breakthrough in their pre-courtship relationship, and remained oblivious to Flemming's repulsion. Between the time Flemming left the coffee shop and Barns retirement for the evening, he wrote exactly 14 poems about the young woman, who, subsequently never returned to Barns place of employment for fear that, that greasy creep might try to talk to me when Im with somebody I know. All but three of Barns poems included references to ritual, dual suicide, and all but none were terrible.
Barns said when he got off work, he walked to a nearby record store to inquire about European release Evanescence singles, of which he was well aware they do not carry.
In a phone interview with record store manager, Scott Pile, it became apparent that this was a favorite past time of Barns.
That dork with the eyeliner? Hes always coming in here and asking if we have some obscure copy of Trent Reznor covering some Skinny Puppy tune or some shit, which Id be seriously surprised even exists. I always tell that freakshow I can order it for him, then he shuts up real fast. I mean, its bad enough that I can see the scars on his thighs through those gay ass stockings, Im not going to sit there and listen to him talk about shitty vampire and demon music. Some days I just wish hed go home and choke himself a little too hard while beating off to his Ian Curtis poster.
Barns was still in high spirits after leaving the record store. He let, out what could only be described as "creepy giggling" at the thought of how little Pile knew about Cradle of Filth. Returning to his car, Barns decided to finish off the evening by making his usual appearance in Perkins smoking section. After being seated and served a carafe of coffee, Barns reflected on his day through a thick haze of mascara and Marlboro Light smoke.
Rare, though it is, these 12 hours closer to the grave have brought me a pleasure I thought was dead and rotting along with my tormented youth. I shall finish these tales of fleeting conquest in my journal before returning to the home of my birth for Everybody Loves Raymond.
His parents were already asleep when Barns crept down to the basement. But the note left for him by his mother foreshadowed that the days to come would never match the happiness Barns had felt this day.
Honey,
I signed you up for lifeguard training at the YMCA. Your father thinks it will be good for you to get a job outdoors this summer. It starts tomorrow at 8 a.m. I laid out your swim trunks for you. And, sweetie, I didnt know you had a cold. Ill be sure to get some more cough syrup at the store tomorrow.
Love and kisses,
Mom
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