When I graduated from college my parents were so thrilled they got me one of them trucks with blueteeth. My brother paul went to college but for arts. I majored in wildlife studies. Going to be a park ranger one day.
Anyway, my brother graduated before me and because he was the first to graduate from college our folks gave him a couple grand and sent him off to new york city where he been for a while. Hes a painter. Except he dont paint nothing. So hes really just a nothing. He was a bit of a sourpuss when he came back to san marcos for my graduation but we ignored it. The issue was me getting one of them trucks with blueteeth. Boy was he ever jealous.
It wasnt the truck of course. He wanted a motorcycle. He didnt care none if it had blueteeth either. He mentioned that at kent blacks barbecue when dad was showing me photos of the truck but mom told him he had graduated already and wasnt getting nothing like a motorcycle from them. I asked why he wanted a motorcycle in new york city anyway and he just scoffed at me.
So the big dope gets it into his head that the reason he cant have a motorcycle is because hes already graduated. A motorcycle is maybe about ten grand give or take. I mean it can be more expensive but you can get yourself a good bike for about ten grand.
College though is a lot. Fifty grand. Sixty grand. And thats for the cheaper schools.
But no this dont cross pauls mind. He texts me about two months after I graduate telling me hes enrolling in college again to get his masters and that his graduation present is going to be a motorcycle. He tells me that it could beat my truck in a race any day of the week and I tell him well the truck aint really a racing truck anyway. Then I tell him his idea is stupid and explain how a motorcycle is cheaper than college.
But it wasnt about that for him. It was about our parents getting him the motorcycle. I majored in wildlife studies and not psychology so Im not an expert but that sounds pretty much like—well—like hes got a whole lot of issues to sort out.
I ask him what hes going to get his masters in. He says hes not sure. Going to be undeclared at first. I tell him you cant be undeclared when youre getting a masters. He says I cant tell him what he can and cant do.
So somehow he gets into columbia for painting even though he hasnt painted anything for years. And Im thinking boy these art departments in colleges really dont give a damn do they. But what do I know.
After his first semester his teachers start warning him that hes going to fail unless he shows up to a class. They tell him well youll probably fail anyway but you did pay for this class so why not come on over.
He starts showing up to class and when they ask him where hes been he shows them a whole lot of paintings that blow them away. He didnt paint them. But they didnt know that. Paul went and paid some homeless guy two hundred dollars to paint for him. But hes that much closer to graduating he figures. That much closer to his motorcycle.
The next three semesters pretty much are the same. Eventually hes in debt. Homeless guy banging on his door asking for the money hes owed. Still hasnt painted nothing really. So I decide to go up the big ol apple and see if I cant do nothing to help.
Paul was living in a pigsty and that aint much of an exaggeration. He had this girl living with him that thought he was the bees knees but also the bees eyes and ears and mouth and soul too. One day me and her was hanging out in the central park. And she took off her wig and unstuffed her bra and I said youre a man aint you? She said yeah. Thought that was pretty neat. Thats what the big ol apple is for aint it? Being yourself.
So the day finally comes. Paul is about to be well over a hundred thousand dollars in student loan debt and hes about to have his masters in painting despite not having painted nothing in the past two years. But all he cares about is getting that bike. By then Id quit giving him advice. He never listened to nobody anyway.
After the graduation ceremony we got bbq in new york which is just alright to be honest. Mom and dad and paul and I were there. Even pauls girl who was really a man was there. Paul told them that she was a he and they gave her a big bear hug. I thought, this world can be bad. But boy it can be good too.
So paul keeps looking around for his motorcycle but obviously they didnt get him one. He pretty much has a nervous breakdown. Starts scratching at his face like he has claws. Runs out of the restaurant crying. Didnt even finish his bbq.
Months later I get a postcard from canada. Its from paul and sheila. Theyre avoiding the loans. Its like university these days is the 1968 draft board. Got people running away to canada to escape.
Turns out hes painting again. In canada I mean. Trying to sell a few pieces and make money to pay off the loans. I dont know how he means to make that much. But even if he did Im sure he would just use that money to get a bike. Thats all he paints pictures of.