Path of No Path: Becoming No Name

     “Pepe get your ass outta bed you’re gonna be late to school again! If the truancy officer comes I won’t cover for you. I’ll let’em lock you up!”

     His mother turned from the stairs in the foyer. Slithering back into the living room. Sulking and watching her soap operas. Her morning usually consisted of berating and bashing her middle son Guiseppe. Her loathing contemptment of his father. She takes out on him. Of the three kids Pepe looks the most like Eto. The only daughter and the baby don’t. 

“You’re a piece of shit like your father. He’s a piece of shit con man criminal! You’re no different, Lord knows what you do in the streets and where you go at night.”

      Inside the hole of the living room. Finding solace in the boob tube. Feeling validated in the pseudo reality she spun. Which couldn’t be further from the truth. For Pepe was not home, he was already gone. His half brother went into his room to beat him awake. Carl much like their mother harbored a deep hatred for Eto. Thus taking his frustration out on Pepe. Carl enjoyed beating on Pepe who was much smaller than him. Also the runt of his brothers. However this morning Carl punched pillow cases filled with books.

     Pepe loved reading and writing. He would write poetry and long narratives. On an array of topics stemming from the imagination of his angst. Pepe was also the lyricist for his best friend, Kramers band, Lee’s No Nothings. Pepe loved being in mother nature the most. Sometimes he would sneak out of his room and go on the roof of his home. With his sleeping bag and a joint. Gazing at the stars thinking as he puffed the magic dragon. Pointing out the constellations he could see and the ones he memorized.

“Man, Creston blows, the stars are nice though. Back home there’s too much light pollution.”    

     Other times he’d walk 3 miles to see his friend Kramer. There’s always been a hippie kinship between Kramer and Pepe. Kind of like Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter. Actually more like Ken Kesey and Neal Cassady. Both trading the places of the prototypes at will. Despite what many may believe. One doesn’t need a crowd of people. All one truly needs is 3 to 4 real, true friends. Then one could take over the world. This particular morning however Pepe was in Creston Park. By a creek he found meandering in the woods on acid the prior summer. Reading, stoned in his hammock tent. Enthralled by James Joyce’s A Portrait of The Artist As a Young Man. The way Joyce spoke with a longing and adulation for his beloved Dublin. Resonated deeply with Pepe. Help felt the same for his home. His beloved Little Italy in Brooklyn, NYC. 

     Entranced by Joyce’s articulation and the pace to which he wrote his narratives. Pepe noticed the time on his phone. Seeing he had 45 minutes to get to school. From his spot in the woods it was a 20 minute walk. Being 16 only sucks when you're ineligible to get your license till you’re 24. Pepe started out rebelling against his hippie roots. Falling into punk and metal music. Kramer pulled it out of Pepe though. Pepe’s godfather was a Deadhead from 70’ to 75’. His mother in her youth was a part of the women’s liberation bra burning at Kent State in 77’. She would also perform “miracles” at Dead shows. Which is giving a ticket to someone that doesn’t have one. She would also house Deadheads for the night after shows. In her place in Barberton, OH. So Pepe’s mind and spirit were already free. Though mental and physical abuse will limit growth. Kramer introduced Pepe to Buddhism. They would get stoned or trip while meditating. That’s how Pepe meandered through the gate of no gate. On to the path of no path.

     The gate of no gate is the passageway with no arch or door. No threshold to behold, one could go through it without realizing it, as Pepe did. The gate of no gate will open for you. Once you open the doors of perception through meditation. The otherside could lead to many different places. Pepe meandered through to the path of no path. The path of no path is not laid. He didn’t find out till a decade later that he was on it. The destination was the summit's peak. The desire was oneness with the creator. Pepe had a deep longing for this feeling.

     On his walk through the woods Pepe sipped his water bottle and hummed. Sometimes it was CSN, Little Richard, The Beatles or the Deftones. Mostly it was The Dead. Pepe’s route from his spot by the creek to school. Popped him out of the woods in front of a coral. Which held a cardboard only dumpster and a generator. The janitor Gary, also known as Scooby. Didn’t mind if Pepe left his duffle bag there. Scooby was a burnout from the 70’s and Deadheaded also.

“Bro, I knew your godfather and crashed at your mom’s back in the day. Man, Vince was a cool cat. Kinda vibed on another plan, Zen like or some shit like that.”

     Pepe set down his bag and pulled his stash from the outer pocket. Picking the lock to the utility door. Without going inside he put 2 grams of kush in cigarette cellophane. Sliding it in with the screwdrivers compartment on the inside of the door for Scooby. As he turned around he noticed Kramer standing there.

“Hooking up Scoob for looking out for ure bug out bag?”

“Yup, trying to avoid karma. Much rather have darshan.”

“I know that’s right, out by the creek last night? You got uh extra smoke, brother?”

“Yeah and I’ll join ya. Here’s the roach from this morning. The fuck you do with’em I’ll never understand. Oh, I peaked around 10 last night. Lynn(Pepe’s mother) got on her bullshit started to fuck up the vibe. I got paranoid and stuffed pillow cases with my books. Packed my bag and bolted.”

     Finishing their smokes Kramer laughed hysterically. Because his mother was abusive mentally as well.

“Bro, I’d have done the same thing. When Terra flips out sober or trippin’ I’m gone man.”

     They laugh as they walk to the front of the institution. Laughing and vibing through the front doors.

“So how don’t you stink having slept in the woods?”

     Pepe turned as they split to go to their home rooms turned back to Kramer.

“I was still peaking when I got to the creek. I had to get the bad trip off me. So I bathed in the creek and burnt the white sage you gave me. Covering myself in the smoke and covering my bag and all the contents inside of it.”

     Kramer walked over, closing the distance between them. Gave Pepe dap and hugged him.

"Das ist gut, mein bruder(This is good my brother), you’re not a punk man. Embrace the hippie within you. It’s instinct for you bro, peace.”

     Pepe strolled faded into the home room. Mentally waging war on his negative self image. Wishing he could smoke out. To achieve mental clarity among inner peace. Most teachers thought Pepe to be bright. Although he didn't seem to apply himself. Getting by with little to no effort. The influence of his godfather was profound in impact. Pepe was already tutored under James Baldwin. So school wasn’t taken seriously by him.

“School is where you go to listen to other people's opinions and thoughts without getting upset. Then you must systematically unlearn everything you’ve just learned.”

-Baldwin-

     Pepe found kinship with the in school suspension teacher Mr. Grugulman. Mr. Grugulman too was a troubled youth from a broken home. Usually Pepe was the only one in suspension. Mr. Grugulman insisted on building and strengthening Pepe’s mind. Apropos to punishing him for being troubled. However Pepe wasn't suspended on this day in particular. He was in first period English. Which was his favorite. Mr. Rickman was an old burn out as well. They bonded over sarcasm. Mr. Rickman’s name is Alan Rickman. So Pepe in first semester told him.

“You were brilliant in Dogma. The View Askew Universe is amazing. Dogma’s a fav of mine.”

     Mr. Rickman didn't look up from his work. Chuckling slightly under his breath. 

“Mr. Moretti if I was the actor Sir Alan Rickman. I would not be teaching high school English in Creston, OH.”

     Pepe's actions that spawned after first period. Stemmed from his aloof detached behavior. Pepe would cut second and third period from the day. Pepe had an arrangement with his classmate Brody Prince. Brody would get Pepe’s homework for the two missed periods. Inturn Pepe would do Brody’s homework for the classes. Guaranteeing a grade no less than a B+. The results from this partnership were so profound. Brody would give Pepe $20 a week. Pepe free from the following periods. Would go straight from Mr. Rickman’s room to the auditorium. Practically running on the right side of the pews. Up the stairs through the curtain into the storage room. From there he would sneak out to the garage area for the buses. Usually he’d find Scooby noodling around fixing a lawn mower or working on one of the buses. Pepe lit a joint and turned the radio on. Scooby listened to the tunes of his youth.

“Dude you sure Vince ain’t your oldman?”

     Pepe laughed and passed it to Scoob. Stating that if his nonna(grandmother) calls him Victor. Behaving and mannerisms like Victor before he was drafted in WW2. Until his nonna passed she believed Pepe was Victor reincarnated. Scoob was into the supernatural like most Italian males of his age group. Scoob didn’t vibe with all of it.

“That may be true but I ran with Vince and knew your oldman. Your pop pop be damned, bro. If the three of ya did uh side by side. Not damn soul would think you came from Eto’s nuts.”  

     Pepe mentioned that Lynn said in passing once that Scoob's opinion was true. They laughed hysterically at the cantor. Pepe was a reminder of Scoob’s glory days. From there Pepe would sneak back into school. Hiding out in the library among his beloved literature. Reading and writing to his heart’s content. During what was technically his third class of the day. Fourth was a study hall he had with Brody. Brody would sit at the table Pepe was at. They’d exchange dap and silently go to work. Pepe would dive into Brody’s before his own. Sliding it all back to Brody who was usually sleeping. Before starting his own work Pepe felt he needed a break. Getting up to go to the front desk for a hall pass. Pepe approached Mr. Clemens who was a burly, intelligent no nonsense kind of fella.

“Whatta ya want Moretti?”  

“Just uh hall pass man.”

     He rummaged through a drawer. Sliding it toward Pepe.

“Gary tells me you’re a sort of pseudo hippie. Ya missed the boat kiddo ‘bout 40 years too late.”

     Pepe snatched the pass. Citing how he just vibes to his own flow. Turning away from the counter towards the door. Mr. Clemens called out to him.

“Moretti you come from planet Wooly Bully and your national anthem is Louie, Louie!”

     Pepe looked back as he walked out the door. On his way to the bathroom he mulled over Mr. Clemens opinion. Not knowing if it was a compliment or an insult. He knew both songs. Wooly Bully by Sam The Sham & The Pharaohs as well as Louie, Louie by The Kingsmen. The latter being a favorite of Pepe’s. Upon his return to the library feeling refreshed. Returning the pass to Mr. Clemens Pepe mentioned he was a fan of the Kingsmen.

“What do you read while you’re cutting class? I’m not gonna rat you out. Gary’s an old friend of mine. If he likes you ya can’t be half bad. All the time you spend here I assume you read. So what is it you put your nose in?”

     Taken back by Mr. Clemens observation. He muttered out A Portrait of The Artist As a Young Man. Mr. Clemens gave an approving nod. Vocalizing his appreciation of James Joyce. Then he inquired further to whom Pepe was most fond of. Pepe was at the beginning of his journey into literature. His godfather had introduced him to James Baldwin. With whom Pepe became enthralled with. To which was his answer. At that point the period bell sounded. Amidst the disruption Pepe went over and grabbed his stuff. Walking towards the door Mr. Clemens called Pepe back over. 

“I’m not done with you kid. I’ll write ya a tardy slip. Sit your ass down.”

     Pepe obliged the abrupt request. For all he knows Mr. Clemens could be full of shit. Mr. Clemens stoically starred Pepe down.

“Gary and I go way back. So how's Vince?”

     Maligned by the question, Pepe’s heart quickly sank into his stomach.

“He died two years ago of a massive heart attack in his sleep.”

     Mr. Clemens adjusted in his seat. Stating it was a shame. How he thought Vince was one of the good ones. Pepe asked if Mr. Clemens Deadheaded also. To which he responded candidly.

“Gary was always a hippie. I fell into it, met Vince in ‘72. The tour started in Boston Music Hall and ended at Winterland Cali. Met Vince at the music hall during the Saturday show. He scored us cid. Became instant friends. So when I saw you stroll in here on your own frequency. I was like holy shit Vince jr.”

     They laughed a moment at the irony. Then Mr. Clemens queried what Vince taught Pepe about the movement. 

“Mostly the music and the politics. Abby Hoffman’s off grid influence. Fred Hampton, Bobby and Huey on education and abolishment of Jim Crow laws.”

“But not the experience, hmm.”

     Mr. Clemens reached down beside himself pulling up three books. 

“Seen as how summer break is approaching in two days. Here’s three books to finish your education. Start with this one.”

     Mr. Clemens set down Tom Wolfe The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Hunter S. Thompson Fear and Loathing Campaign Trail ‘72 & On The Road Jack Keroauc. Sliding On The Road toward Pepe. Indicating this is where he’s to start. Lamenting that the books need to be returned.

“I’ve got notes in the margin.”

     Mr. Clemens wrote the slip and Pepe bewildered and vanished. Fifth period he had with Kramer as well as the following period lunch. Pepe told Kramer about the conversation with Mr. Clemens and showed Kramer the books. 

“Fuckin’ knew he toked dude. Sam The Sham Wooly Bully is corporate commercial bullshit, bruder. Those three books will guide you to center for sure. Especially On The Road, it’ll put your life into perspective for you.”

     Pepe left out On The Road. They both laughed and bickered. The munchies had taken over spawning the bastard child of hangry. Pepe then began to start On The Road. From fifth period over the next two days was a blur for Pepe. Kramer called it and Mr. Clemens suggested starting with it was perfect. On the last day of school Pepe did his normal routine. Instead of sitting at his usual table he went up to Mr. Clemens desk. Pepe sat down and slid On The Road back to him. 

“That was quick Moretti, well what’s the synopsis?”

     Stoned but cognitive Pepe spoke through one voice.

“The care and love Jack has for the characters I’ve never read anywhere else. The self awareness of Jean is something special. The inner peace he has while finding darshan. Is something I’m trying to create myself. Jack is the story On The Road. I just write fiction but prose I will explore more. And may change my style on the switch. Definitely will learn Jack’s character development. Jack’s definitely become an influence.”

      Mr. Clemens took the book and smiled at Pepe’s cantor. Intrigued that Pepe was a writer. Mr. Clemens queried if Pepe was a part of the Young Authors Association. 

“Not since 7th grade.”

     Mr. Clemens told Pepe he was alright. As they shook hands and Pepe left. Mr. Clemens told Pepe to live and experience life.

“That’s how you write prose, kid. So get after it, yeah!?”