All The Young Punks Pt. 51

---- Of course, this story must end where it began, with Joe's family. ----

NOVEMBER 1984

There was a time when Joe rode the rails so often that he was recognized by the crew when he boarded. Some were on a first-name basis. On one trip, he had fallen asleep and Edward the ticket-taker woke him as the train slowed into Union Station. He knew Joe's stop. The route was familiar but this trip felt very different. As the train pulled out of Penn Station, Joe sensed this was his final journey on Amtrak - New York to Providence.

Sitting in a window seat, he admired the graffiti that lined the tracks through the city. He had always found these renegade murals impressive. Graffiti artists had a punk attitude, regardless of the music that inspired them.

As the train rattled north, he began scribbling on the brown paper wrapper of a gift using different colored pens, five clutched in his left hand while the sixth was doodling in his right. He was lost in his world for several minutes before he felt a presence and looked up.

"Hi," a tall, cute blonde said. "Is this seat taken?" She smiled.

Joe's backpack was on the aisle seat. He looked around. There were plenty of empty seats. She held that smile, waiting for an answer.

"No," he pulled his pack off the seat. "Let me move this."

He pushed his backpack to the floor between his legs. She placed her leather bag overhead, took the seat, and held her oversized purse in her lap. She leaned close, "Thanks, I'm Kim." She put her hand out. "My friends call me Kimmy."

Joe accepted her hand. Her eyes were intense, staring into his. "I'm Joe."

"Nice to meet you, Joe. What are you drawing?" Her eyes went down to his package... the one wrapped in brown paper.

"Oh, nothing. This is a gift for my sister. She likes my cartoons so I draw on the wrapping paper."

"That's sweet. How old is she?"

"Jules just turned eighteen and I missed her birthday."

"What did you get her?"

"A book."

"What book?"

Joe stopped answering, thinking, 'What the hell is this? Why is she sitting here questioning me?' He didn't want to be rude, and she was cute, but sheesh.

"To Kill A Mockingbird, first edition. It's in rough shape, but intact."

"That's a nice gift."

"It's her favorite book."

"She reads a lot?"

"Yes."

"Do you?"

"Yes." He made a WTF face. "What's going on here?"

Kim leaned back. "Oh. I'm sorry. Am I....?"

"No, you're fine. You just sat down and started interrogating me. Do you often do this to strangers on a train?"

"No," her demeanor changed. "I'm sorry. I saw you board the train and you were carrying a guitar. Then I noticed you sketching and I thought, 'This guy is an artist. He might be interesting."

Joe stared at her, giving her nothing.

"I've been on this train since D.C. and I haven't spoken to anyone. I was lonely."

"Okay. How about we have a conversation and not an interrogation?"

Kim blushed, "I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry." Joe detected a slight accent. "Where are you from?"

"Richmond, but I live in Boston now. And you?"

"I'm from Providence, but I'm kinda between homes right now. I lived in New York for a while, but not anymore."

"And your sister is in Providence?"

"I have three sisters in Providence."

"Are you the only son?"

"Yes."

"The oldest?"

"Yes."

"I know you. You're the prince, everyone's favorite, heir to the throne."

"What about it?"

"It's just the way it is," she smirked. "The only son is always the prince."

"Do you have siblings?"

"Nope, an only child."

"I know you," Joe smiled. "Daddy's little girl, spoiled rotten princess."

"Yeah. That was up to age fourteen, then he left my Mom for a younger model."

"Sorry."

"Daddy is an asshole with a new family now. So, are you a musician?"

"Yes."

Joe didn't elaborate. He looked into her eyes. Kim had deep blue eyes and a cute button nose. Her lips were pouty. Her very light blonde hair was perfectly straight, shoulder length, and Kim's complexion was flawless.

"What kind of music?"

"Punk."

"You're a punk rocker in a punk rock band?"

"I was, but we've recently broken up." Again, Joe didn't elaborate. There was a quiet ten seconds.

"You don't talk much do you?" Kim noted.

"When I'm in a conversation I do, but when the questions come at me rapid fire, I keep it short... so I don't incriminate myself."

Kim laughed. "I'm sorry."

"I'm used to it. I have three sisters and a mother just like you." Joe didn't mention his ex-girlfriend. "They do the same thing, digging and prying, question after question."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry. So what do you do in Boston?"

"At the moment I'm performing at the Shubert Theater. I'm a dancer and I also choreograph."

"You're a dancer?" Joe looked down. She had long slender legs.

"And a singer. I perform in musicals."

"And you work in Boston? Why not New York?"

"I went to college there and worked on Broadway for almost two years, then I followed a guy to Boston, big mistake. I've been working steadily and Boston is a little easier to manage than New York. I might go back someday."

"So the guy didn't work out."

She leaned closer and whispered. "Turns out he's a chowdahead"

"Boston guys are like that."

Kim laughed, "Providence and New York men are no better."

"Have you known many men from Providence?"

"None, but it's a northeast thing."

"Fair enough."

"Philly dudes too," she smirked. "What's the deal with them?"

"I grew up in an Italian neighborhood. The East Coast urban Italians are their own breed."

"I think that's true of all Italian Americans."

"Maybe, but I like them; the big families, food, and large personalities. There's a lot of love in Italian homes."

"Except for the infighting."

"Yeah, but that often comes from love."

"Tell me about your sisters."

"Jules is the middle sister. Like I said, she's a bookworm. She's smart, sensitive, and a little needy. Jackie is the oldest. She'll turn twenty next week. She's also smart but she's tough, the leader of the pack. Jeanie is the youngest. She turned fifteen in September. I missed her birthday too. There's a gift in my bag for her. She's creative, plays guitar, sings, and dances."

"Are your sisters pretty? If you don't mind me asking."

"It would be really uncomfortable if they weren't," Joe laughed, "How would I answer that? Good thing they're all beautiful. The Theroux girls are well known in our neighborhood and I don't like it."

"Why?"

"Because men are fucking dogs."

Kim laughed. "You should know." She placed her hand on his, for just a moment. "Theroux, is that French?"

"Yes."

"Well," Kim smiled. "Your family has good genes because you're beautiful too."

Joe leaned back, looking at her. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Maybe. Just for fun. We get off at different stops, so..." She shrugged.

They sat quietly for a short bit, but Kim wasn't done interrogating Joe as the train entered Connecticut.

"So your band broke up. What was the name of your band?"

"How about you tell me something about you?"

"I'm boring."

"You're a singer and dancer in musicals. How can you be boring? Creative people are rarely boring."

"That's not true at all. I know some insufferable bores in the theater."

"Okay. So, what's up with you?"

"I'm an only child in a divorced family. Mom is also a dancer. I graduated from Fordham four years ago, worked on Broadway, and now Boston."

"Fordham has a dance program?"

"An excellent one."

"Hmm, I didn't know that," Joe nodded.

"Are you otherwise familiar with Fordham?"

"We had a regular gig at the Belmont Cafe, just up the street. So I knew some Fordham kids."

"I know that bar. I saw bands there. What's the name of your band?"

"We're on the Kimmy chapter now."

She smiled, "What do you want to know?"

"Unlike you, my sisters, my Mom, and my ex-girlfriend, I didn't attend the Gestapo School of Interrogation and Social Torture."

Kim laughed, covering her mouth.

"Just tell me whatever," he said.

"Ask me a question."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

She scrunched her nose, "No. It's been weird in Boston."

"How so?"

Kimmy exhaled, "After I ditched the chowdahead I dated another guy for a short time. He dumped me. John was a player. He's dated four dancers over our last three productions. Then I got involved with an older man not knowing he was married. That messed me up. Ben was very sweet and I liked him, but the fact he was married and a cheater was a deal breaker. I hate cheaters."

"Because your father was a cheater?"

"Bingo. And he was a player. I don't like men who treat women poorly or take us for granted. Look," Kim turned sideways in her seat, facing Joe. "I'm not some militant feminist, not at all, but I know so many women who've been through horrible relationships, used and abused, and I despise those men." She shook her head. "How can we find good guys when there are so many shitty ones standing between us and the decent men?"

"I'm not sure that approaching strangers on a train is a good plan, but you have to try something I suppose."

Kim smiled, "You said ex-girlfriend, right?"

"Yes, I did." Joe adjusted himself to face her. "I have a theory. Avoid men who come on strong, aggressive pursuers. The more they try to impress you by talking about themselves the less likely it is they care what you think or feel. If they can't have a conversation about things that interest you and everything is all about them, run for the hills."

"How did you come up with this theory?"

"Being on the road with three dudes for the past six and half years, working in bars and nightclubs seeing men in action. I've seen some shit."

"Do you have any other dating advice based on your clinical study?"

"Don't sleep with a guy on the first night, that's how one-night stands happen. If that's what you want, fine, but you're never going to make a real connection playing roulette."

"Are you telling me you don't play roulette? You're a musician, Joe. C'mon."

"I was with my girl for five years. I didn't fool around on the road, and I never will."

"Even now, when you're single?"

Joe leaned back against his seat looking at the ceiling. "I don't know how to say this. Have you had an idea, something you feel deep down, that you can't put in words? It's just who you are, an innate attitude, but you can't quite figure out how you came to that. It's just the way you are"

Kim pondered his question for a moment. "I don't know. When I think of that it's not good things about me. Like, I don't know why I can't stop eating ice cream until the pint is gone. I wish I didn't love handbags, shoes, and clothes so much. I want things that I love and I become obsessed with them and can't control my impulses. Is that what you mean?"

"Not exactly. I'm thinking more along philosophical lines. We all have a moral compass. Some compasses point true north. Selfish people have no compass. They look out for number one, what they want, with no regard for others. Morality doesn't exist when you're sole pursuit is your self-interest and needs."

"Are you religious?"

"No. I was raised Catholic but I'm a godless heathen."

"Atheist?"

"Yes. I don't need a book or a church to teach me right from wrong." Joe put his hand on his chest. "That comes from within."

"I was raised Southern Baptist," Kim said. "I attend church with my family when I'm home. That's the extent of my religion. It's a family matter more than faith."

"My Mom would take that deal," Joe said with a nod. "but I can't do it. I'd feel like a hypocrite."

There was another period of silence before Joe had a question. "What play are you performing in?"

"We just wrapped 42d Street this week. I had to miss the last few shows to attend my grandmother's funeral."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. She was eighty-eight. It was no shock."

"She had had a good run."

"Yes, Gram had a good run." Kim put her hand on his. "You never finished your philosophical thing on dating."

"I'm afraid to sound like I'm posturing. My bandmates tortured me for being a one-woman man, especially when girls hit on me. And I could never..."

Kim interrupted. "Did that happen often?"

"Oh yeah." He pointed at his face. "You just said this was beautiful, and I'm a musician. And look at what you did. You changed seats to flirt with me. It's the story of my life."

"Awww," Kim made a pouty face. "Poor Joe. It must be rough being cute and talented."

"You should know, Kim. We're in the same boat."

Kim blushed. "Call me Kimmy. I think we're friends now. Go on with your philosophy."

"My ex is hardcore Catholic and very much into monogamy. My profession and the road girls were a source of anguish for her. I tried so hard to ease her mind. I never cheated and after so many years I developed this strange pride in that. Also, I've never had a one-night stand. That's also a source of pride. I don't know why, but it is. Now that I'm..."

"Maybe that's just who you are."

"That's what I'm saying. I can't pinpoint why I am so different from my bandmates. It's just who I am."

"Could it be some latent Catholic guilt?"

Joe didn't reply immediately. He pondered her question. "Fuck," he said under his breath. "I never thought of that. I often joke that I exorcised my Catholic guilt." He looked at Kim. "Maybe I haven't."

"You can leave the church," She said. "but does it ever really leave you?"

When they crossed into Rhode Island, Kim got around to asking about the ex-girlfriend. Joe gave her the Reader's Digest version. He didn't want to ruin their nice conversation with his woe-is-me tale. Amtrak to Providence never felt so fast, because he and Kimmy talked the entire route. She was cute, funny, and sweet with a very tight dancer's body. As the train slowed into Union Station, she pulled a piece of paper from her purse.

"Can I borrow a marker?"

Joe reached into a side pouch of his leather pack and produced a pen. Kim jotted digits and handed him his pen and her phone number.

"You seem like one of the good guys, Joe. When you're done visiting your family, call me, if you'd like." She smiled. "This was the best train ride ever, and I do this often."

As he pulled his guitar from his overhead rack, Kim asked a question for the third time. "What's the name of your band? You never said."

Joe stepped back, his guitar and pack in hand. "The Young Punks."

Kim's mouth opened, "I know your music. You're on the radio."

"It was nice meeting you, Kimmy," he smiled. "Break a leg."

--- FATHER AND SON --

Thirty-six hours after leaving New York, Joe sat with Dad late at night. The girls were off to bed. It had been a hectic two evenings with his sisters. He was looking forward to one-on-one time with Dad. The old man handed his only son a beer and took his place in his recliner worn by years of Cronkite and Jeopardy.

"Your mother says it was quite a scene when you walked in. The girls went crazy."

"Yeah," Joe said, smiling slightly. "It feels good when they do that. It's nice to be loved."

Dad smiled, "You are definitely that. You should see how they react when a postcard arrives. The moment I get home Jeanie sticks it in my face announcing what city it came from and what you wrote."

"She's fifteen but I swear she's still eleven. It's so strange but it's also great. I hope she never loses that innocence."

"She and Julie fight over the postcards. You used to address them only to Jeanie."

"She was the one who asked for postcards when I first went to New York."

"I know. Then you put Julie's name on some and all hell broke loose. Jeanie wants to keep them all in that metal box you painted for her, but Julie won't give hers up. And Jackie has a stash hidden that Jeanie is trying to find."

"Yes. Jeanie complained to me long ago. That's why I started using Theroux sisters, so they could share them."

"Son, ambiguity only made it worse."

Joe smirked. "I can still bring chaos to this house, even from a thousand miles away."

Joe spent the next hour telling Dad tales of European cities, the sites he visited, the museums, castles, and historic landmarks. That's what interested Dad. He didn't care so much about the band business. Bill Theroux wanted to hear of his son's travels because he'd never really been anywhere since he left the Navy.

Three beers in, Joe began to fade. There would be no trouble sleeping at home. Dad had one last question.

"What's next? Jackie is upset you've given up on Tina. She says you're not returning to New York. What are you going to do?"

"Everyone's asking and no one likes my answer. I don't have a plan. I just know whatever I do it won't be in New York. That city hurts me."

"That's what Jackie said. What about your business?"

"It's in good hands. Marty and Laura will manage without me."

"For how long?"

"I don't know. I just know I can't go backward. I have to find my life someplace else."

"What about here? You know you're welcome to stay. Mom refuses to let your room be touched. It's like a goddamn shrine."

"Yeah. I like that the girls keep it that way, even as they claim it for themselves."

"Have you considered it?"

"What do you think, Dad? Do you believe after what I've done I can come back here and start over?"

"You could start a new band. You've done it before. There's no reason you can't strike twice."

"Coming back home would taste like a failure to me."

"I understand. I said something to Mom last night. She wants you to stay. The girls want you to stay. They're worried. I said that you've seen too much of the world to settle in Rhode Island."

"I'd be going backward."

"I think New York is a big enough city for you to settle in, even with your history."

"No chance. I just had this talk with Jackie. I got off my plane and spent two days in the city, all the way from JFK baggage claim, all through town to Penn Station when I got on the train to leave. Every step of the way, every damn street, subway station, the shops and diners," Joe paused. "Even the train station; all hold memories. I can't do it."

"I understand that Tina hurt you and you feel it's over, but maybe you could call her to make sure before you run off."

"Okay, are you and Jackie teaming up and coordinating your message? You're repeating everything she's been saying the last two days."

"No, but she expressed her concern, and Mom and I share her worries."

"I'll be fine. I just need time to think this through."

"Maybe after some time you could circle back to Tina and see if maybe time has healed those wounds."

Joe didn't reply to that.

"Look son," Dad met his eyes. "I saw the way that girl looked at you. I love your mother, and we were crazy in love at age twenty, but I never saw two people as in love as you and Tina. It made us all very happy to see you so happy. I find it hard to believe she'd just throw that away."

"Dad, I've told everyone who insists I go back to her the same thing. You weren't in the room. You didn't see the hate in her eyes or hear the things she said to me. I'm never facing that again."

--- UNBIASED OPINION ---

After a few days home, Joe needed someone to talk to who wasn't trying to convince him to stay. He crossed his fingers and made a phone call. Two days later, Dr Nichols took her seat across from him.

"I'm not often pleased by a cancellation," she said. "But I was glad I could fit you in when you called."

"Yes. Thank you for seeing me. A lot has happened since we last spoke."

Joe didn't waste time on small talk. These appointments were expensive. Guerilla Records was too small an operation to afford health insurance. Maybe someday that would change. For now, this was a cash transaction.

He explained everything, starting with Sheila, all through his hellish summer with Tina, the breakup, Europe, and him killing the band.