Marisabel Bazan [Full Interview]
Marisabel Bazan-Inspired Journal Entry
“I think it becomes painful when you don’t get from the other person. You feel like you are losing them.”
I saw the devil
Green Eyes was drowning, and I didn’t know how to swim to save him. I wanted to save him. He had the scared eyes of a child who just saw the Boogie Man in his closet. He looked over his shoulders. Shaking, feverish, and the expression was raining nerves on me; he grabbed me by the hands toward his face, kissed my balled up fists that I had instinctively made to protect myself from whatever this entity was possessing him.
“Angelie, I’m going to tell you something that nobody but my childhood best friend knows.”
I could feel the energy shift. There was a presence inside the car that was dark and looming over us. I turned cold.
“What I’m about to tell you, you must never speak of it. Ever. Or He will find you.”
It was one of those Chinese Finger Traps–the more I pulled and played at it, the tighter I would be wrapped in with it. The presence was already here. He, or It, wanted me to say yes. My instinct told me to run away from this man before me, but his deep green eyes told me to stay.
“Do I have a choice?” I hesitated.
“We all have a choice,” he remarked.
My curiosity got the better of me. “Okay, fine tell me.”
“I have a demon deep within me. His has a name that I will never repeat. He’s here right now.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine. Small pockets of sweat pores started opening.
“Green Eyes, you’re drunk. He’s a figment of your imagination.”
“Shh…,” he looked around the car with suspicion. His eyes had the smile of a maniacal street cat delirious and deprived of food, sex, and sleep. He suddenly fixed upon my eyes with a serious look and said, “You’re making him angry. If he takes this as a challenge, he will appear before you.”
You know when you’re not supposed to stray from the group in the middle of exploring a haunted mansion, yet time and again, in those horror films we witness these freak accidents happening before us—head decapitations, hearts being carved out, intestines gutted out, and it all happened because some foolhardy brave soul wanted to “check things out.” Well, that was this moment. I didn’t want to push it any further, and I especially didn’t want to ask what his demon’s name was. But as soon as I had thought it, he had somehow penetrated my mind.
“Don’t tell me,” I say.
“Remember that you also have a good angel,” I remind him. “Please focus on the good one to guide you through this.”
“I can’t. I don’t…I can’t. He’s mad at me for drinking again.”
“No,” I assured him. “He’s here with me to help you fight this.”
“Please don’t leave me tonight. I will kill myself if he’s here. He’s going to convince me to do it. I know it. Please help me. Please. Help me. Angelie. Don’t go.”
“I’m right here, Green Eyes.”
At the sound of my voice, he started to grow a bit more relaxed. His eyes rolled back into his head a few times. I didn’t know what to do. Get him out of the car, but how?
“Hey Green Eyes, let’s go back home. It’s getting late.” We had just finished a great evening full of drenched hedonist liquor binging.
Just three hours ago. It was…
“Whiskey on the rocks for the Irishman and a Long Island for the Chinese girl,” he said to the bartender. Two glasses became three glasses, then became who knows what-because-I-don’t-give-a-fuck ’cause this feels so fun came rushing out. This bender went on throughout the Hollywood night. He showed me all his favorite bars—White Horse, Black Rabbit, and then Pikey. When we were at the Black Rabbit, we made a game out of who could flirt the longest with strangers for the night. I ended up just chatting it up with one guy from New York. He was a writer and a stock-broker. How stereotypical can you get? It was so perfect with his baldhead and GAP knit sweater, you’d think he dresses up for the part and puts on a different show every evening for the ladies he’s hoping to take home. When I looked over at the bar, there he was.
My golden angel boy wooing what was the play hard to get blond bombshell at the bar, who with a southern gal charm dressed in a sexy tight red dress, and it reminded me of Dolly Parton Hack. Green Eyes was showing off his pick up artist skills. What started with one girl now became three girls all surrounding him. They were laughing about something, and it was so obvious how they all were positively attracted to him. He got them punch line after punch line. Every Irish joke, bar joke, hooker joke was delivered on cue. With his slicked-back golden blond hair and a leather jacket that Johnny Cash would wear, dimpled smile—he was a ladies man like Leo Decaprio in The Great Gatsby. Tonight, he was half cowboy and half mischievous playboy, knowing how to work the crowd. I stood only three yards away. I felt the overpowering feeling of contentment and pride. Yeah, bitches. He’s coming home with me tonight. And with that, I left the man at the table mid-sentence, sauntered over to him as if in a hypnotic trance, and gave him the “I’m bored” look. As if he read my eyes, he proceeded to properly introduce me as his girlfriend. Seeing the disappointed look on the three girls’ face, he added, “She wanted me to get to know you girls. She thought you might be interested in hanging out with us tonight.” Dolly Parton came over to me, grabbed my hand, and twirled me around.
“Why aren’t you the cutest little China doll I’ve ever seen? Well, I’d like to try some of your dumplings tonight. I love Chinese food.” She licked her lips and her eyes were fixated on mine like a hyena to a dying Zebra. She was hungry and ready to pounce. “I don’t know about tonight. Perhaps a rain check. I’m a bit tired from all the flirting. All the hormones pumping through my bloodstream, my bodies all out of balance.”
“C’mon babe. Sorry ladies, but that’s my cue. I’m taking this hot Asian girl home. Ain’t I the luckiest son of a bitch in this stinking hole?” he wrapped me around my neck and carried me away down the street. To my surprise, the ladies followed behind obediently or rather, addictively. Apparently, they weren’t use to rejection. The redhead stepped up and grabbed me from Isaac’s embrace. “I want at least a goodbye kiss cutie,” And with that, she kissed me on the lips before I had any chance to react. I turned from her and immediately buried my face in Green Eye’s chest like a girl to her dad scared of the scary Frankenstein at Universal Studios Hollywood.
“Look who’s shy at flirting now. I believe darling that I’ve won our bet for the evening.”
Something had radically changed between the time we were laughing and the talk in the parking lot. There is a gap in time and space. I don’t remember how we even ended up at our fancy apartment complex in Studio City. This place where all the celebrities resided—TV show producers, directors, porn stars, and many wannabes. It was our place. He, the studio lighting technician and I, the teacher at a reputable private school, who taught reputable students and talked with their reputable parents. We were on top of our respective games.
It finally felt like it came true for me.
So why do I feel so scared? So confused? So helpless? I didn’t know how to react to his panic. All I knew was that it was making me panic. How did we even end up in the parking lot, to begin with? The last thought was the big red lipstick coming at me without any escape route. I looked behind my seat. Nobody there. Good, at least we didn’t come with baggages—LV, Coach, and Gucci.
“Let’s go upstairs, babe. C’mon. It’s getting so late. I’ll have to say it’s too early.” At this, I attempted with all my might to get him out of the car. All he did was slump like an oversized doll—his arms stretched out from where I was trying to drag him but that was as far as I could go. He had a good 90 pounds over me, and I was on my heels. And since he wasn’t my baby, there was no big mother miracle that could get me to carry him upstairs, I thought about leaving him in the car.
3:15 am read the clock on the dashboard. I shivered. That was the time the guy turned on his family in the Amityville Horror.
I blocked this out of my brain. Still, the evil presence lingered. At this point, his eyes were open but rolled back. Mouth heaving in and out—clearly he was having issues. I suddenly grew really mad at him. Why am I even doing this? He’s a grown man. He should learn to handle his liquor. I’m not going to panhandle this man or be his Asian servant. At this, I decided to let him just stay awhile in the car.
I was doggedly tired, so I went up to our top floor luxury vaulted ceiling loft. It wasn’t long before I passed out. I don’t know how long I was gone when suddenly I heard a slam so loud that it jolted me awake. The impact resonated and was only matched by the stomping footsteps toward my door. He pushed open the door, stared at me square in the eye and said, “Bitch, don’t you ever leave me in that goddam car alone again or you’ll be sorry.” At this, he slammed shut the bedroom door. I heard more things being thrown outside. Crash. Yup. There goes his HDTV.
My heart nearly punctured through my ribs the way it jumped so fast. I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t dare make a single sound save for the pounding heart in my chest. As if on cue, I grabbed my phone and started recording, in case his possessed soul were to come back for another yell fest at me. I was too afraid to leave the house—for he, or rather it, was out there between me and the exit.
I did what any rational woman would do at that point—sleep in the walk-in closet and hope he doesn’t come back and look for me and strangle me in my sleep. I slept until I started smelling some good bacon and heard the distant sizzle and crackle of what could only be a mouth water full of good ole fashion B&BB—Bacon & Biscuits Breakfast. Still cautious, I walked out of the closet, cracked open the door and peeked out. Green Eyes had his back turned and the waft of coffee also hit my olfactory.
“Good morning,” he said. “How’s my sweet Angel?”
I saw the devil.