funk in deep freeze

Final Atomic Buster

10 Aug 2010 3 Comments

by meganfinley in college

I’ve been cleaning out my hard drive because my computer has been running SUPER slower. And in the process I’m uncovering all these wonderful memories. I think I’m going to share some of my favorites on the blog so that I can make sure I never loose them in the annals of my hard drive again.

This pieces is something I apparently titled Final Atomic Buster and it’s a total glimpse into my living situation in college. Even though I had my own apartment, I ended up unofficially moving into a house that my best friend from high school and three of his buddies shared. All musicians, all hilarious and it was definitely the best time of my life. I remember after this little moment happened I had an urge to document it exactly as it happened, and here is what I wrote…

Final Atomic Buster

The boys I lived with: (L-R) Matt, Erik, John, Oliver

The phone rings, there is a pause, an almost anxiety-ridden pause as Erik debates whether it’s worth the risk of letting Wolverine get struck down by U.S. Agent to answer the phone. After one more ring and with the finger dexterity of an Olympic video game athlete he pauses Street Fighter with one hand as he scoops up the portable phone, punching talk with the other.

“Buenas-ding-dong-didelee-dias!” He says, un-pausing his game. He cradles the phone in the crook of his shoulder and rests his elbows on his knees, feet planted firmly on the ground. The plastic clicking continues as he resumes his game and talks. “Oh hey Bram.” The drum case he’s seated on teeters on its edge as he leans over staring fixedly at the 13 inch TV sitting atop a small water warped coffee table. “Nah he’s not here right now… Oh really? Maybe… But I can tell you right now I probably won’t. But hey, look, I gotta’ go because I’m playing a video game. All right, peace.”

He does his quick pausing maneuver to hang up the phone, actually returns it to the cradle this time, and then resumes the game.

“Oh man, he killed me with a Final Atomic Buster!” he says to Oliver, who has come out of the bathroom shirtless with a foaming toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, to ask who had called.

“It was for John.”

“He’s not here?” He garbles around his toothbrush.

“Nah… Dude, Anita’s going to be here on Friday, we need to clean like crazy.” Erik said, taking his eyes away from the TV long enough to read the expected look of annoyance on his roommates face.

“Fuck dude, I hate Anita. She’s such a wenchy bitch.” Oliver said, plucking the toothbrush out of his mouth and glancing around the house in disgust.
“Whatever dude, you’re a wenchy bitch,” was Erik’s stock retort for most everything. Oliver walked back into the bathroom just as the front door opens.
John stands, tall and lanky, in the doorway. He sees Erik and smiles a wide toothy grin, “Hey guy.”

“Hey, wanna’ play?”

“Sure.” John strides into the living room and plops down on the green tattered carpet beside the drum case and Erik hands him the other controller.
They start playing in silence except for a few gasps and groans. Finally in a yell of triumph, Erik explodes up from his drum case perch and does a celebration dance. “I win dude, I totally killed your Asian chick ass.”

“Yeah man, you did. Congratulations dude.” John says nonchalantly as he looks up at his jubilant roommate.

Erik sits back down and says “Bram called for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Is all John replies.

“Yeah, wanted to know if you guys were rehearsing tomorrow.”

“Oh… anyone else call?”

“Yeah, you’re mom, like five times.”

John smiles, “she did?”

“Yeah. You really need to get a cell phone man.”

“No way. Cell phones are for republicans.” John says, getting up from the floor and walking through a curtain into his room.

John’s room is just the other half of the living room curtained off. Behind his beige Pier One curtains is an old beat up piano, perfectly in tune, a bookshelf full of cds and piles of papers littering the floor. Most of these piles are comprised of sheet music and artsy flyers announcing gigs for his jazz-funk trio. There is so much sheet music lying around that it’s easy to miss the twin size mattress on the floor that is John’s bed.

Currently the green sleeping bag that acts as John’s bed sheets is lying in a heap at the foot of the mattress covered in yesterday’s homework.

“Where ya been man?” Oliver calls out to John as he exits the bathroom.

“Oh you know, I slept in the practice room last night.”

“Dope.”

I never did get to finish it, I know I wanted to expand upon it and try to preserve those memories as much as possible. Perhaps someone came over unexpectedly and distracted me. Perhaps someone mentioned that someone was playing jazz somewhere and we all left the house to go. Who knows, but I loved reading at least this.