Slash Coleman - The Bohemian Love Diaries

Praise for Slash Coleman:

Good offbeat company.

Washington Post

Its hard to get stranger than the Sedarises, but Slash Colemans family could give them a run for their money.

Backstage magazine

A refreshingly joyful view of a childs world, discovering love, savoring hero worship, and the thoughtful realization of just how far we will go to accomplish a cherished dream.

TheatreOnline.com

Laugh-out-loud funny and genuinely touching.

Willamette Week

Full of charm and writing that shines.

Portland Mercury

Uplifting, inspirational, and full of theatrical catharsis.

The Vanguard

Completely mesmerizing, pure and honest.

The Happiest Medium

Daringly thoughtful!

NYTheatre.com

Whimsical and playful.

StageBuzz.com

The greatest thing youll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec in Moulin Rouge!

the bohemian love diaries

a memoir

slash coleman

For Elizabeth

Copyright 2013 by Slash Coleman

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission should be addressed to Globe Pequot Press, Attn: Rights and Permissions Department, PO Box 480, Guilford, CT 06437.

Lyons Press is an imprint of Globe Pequot Press.

Project editor: Meredith Dias

Layout: Justin Marciano

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Coleman, Slash.

The Bohemian Love Diaries : a memoir / Slash Coleman.

pages cm

ISBN 978-0-7627-9654-0

1. Coleman, Slash. 2. Authors, American21st centuryBiography. I.

Title.

PS3603.O4363Z46 2013

814'.6dc23

[B]

2012051750

contents

authors note

This memoir is a work of nonfiction. While much of it was re-created from memory, other parts were pieced together with photographs and shaped through interviews with family and friends. To be clear, I am not a historian, and it is not meant to be taken as narrative research into events that happened in the past.

Locations, dates, and events remain as true to memory as possible, but many if not all of the names of primary characters have been changed to protect the privacy of those individuals. In some cases, identifying characteristics have also been altered to meet this end as well.

Faced with the decision of how to chronicle public events, such as Evel Knievels jump or Howard Cosells reaction to his jump, I erred on the side of creativity rather than actual reports as documented through YouTube or Wikipedia. Why? My passion for this work comes first and foremost from the re-creation of truth as an artist and bohemian rather than as a transcriber of fact.

part one
love me

the great escape

chesterfield, virginia

july 11, 1974

Its seven minutes after midnight, and Im standing in a silver shopping cart with a bad wheel in Harveys Meat Market and Grocery, facing a Standoff Sandwich.

My dad stands to one side, shirtless, wearing bleach-spotted jeans with a deerskin loincloth on the front and his Nazi soldier helmet with fake pigtails on his head. He holds an open can of Schlitz in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. With his thick black beard and roadkill clothing, he looks like a cross between Ringo Starr and Daniel Boone.

Harvey, with his crazy red hair and greasy face, stands on the other side, the rest of my fathers case of Schlitz under his arm, a cigarette also in his mouth.

A cashiera Mexican woman with a red and white name tag that says rosario stands between them. She resembles a stick of beef jerky in a maroon apron and is chewing a big wad of bright pink gum. She holds a phone receiver in one hand, her other hand frozen on the rotary dial, ready to call the polica when given the signal. I open the black cover on my Moleskine sketchbook and write her name down with my pencil.

At this exact moment, the scene is silent except for the Muzak: Tony Orlando and Dawns Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree. My fathers chest heaves up and down to the synthesizer and soft drumbeat while spittle drips from his beard. Harvey hums with revenge. As a John Wayne devotee, I know exactly whats going on here. Neither side is willing to shoot for fear of being shot in return, yet neither side wants to relinquish his weapon for fear that his opponent will shoot. If my dad attempts to grab the case of beer, the manager may take off running, leaving Rosario free to call the polica which will put a damper on our trip to Alaska.

Im not thinking about where my sisters are or where my mom is or how many times Ive been in this same exact place before. For all I know, this is how every seven-year-old kid across America spends Saturday nights with his father, and Im determined to make the most of it.

My bets are placed on a preemptive strike by my father because, with him, after midnight all bets are off when it comes to diplomacy and surrender. Harvey follows the No Beer on Sunday law to the letter. But he also knows what my father is capable of doing. Last month, the argument ended with the stock boy flying into the candy rack. His price gun flew through the air in slow motion, and all the Mars bars and Juicy Fruit gum and People magazines fell on his head.

Im wearing my orange, glitter-flaked motorcycle helmet with a plastic orange visor snapped on the front. My father decoupaged a loinclothed, sword-toting, muscle-bound Conan the Barbarian on the back of the helmet with a naked woman and a large skull at his feet. Because of the visor, my entire world is orange: orange soup cans, orange cereal boxes, orange Standoff Sandwich. I tighten my grip on the grocery cart.

Why do you always come in here and want to cause a scene? Harvey says.

Why do I always come in here and want to cause a scene? my father repeats, agitated.

You know that is what he already said, Rosario says. Her eyes shift from side to side, watching the tennis match of wills between them.

Yeah, why do you always come in here and want to cause a scene? Harvey says a little louder.

Yeah? Why do I always come in here and want to cause a scene? my father says louder yet.

I want you both to stop it right now, Rosario says. She smiles at me. I smile back. This beats the hell out of getting dropped off at my grandparents house, which is what my mom usually does with me and my sisters when Dad decides to drink in the afternoon.

You want me to call the polica, Mister Harvey? Rosario asks.

Suddenly Harvey swipes the open can of beer out of my dads hand and makes a run for it. My father dashes after his beer. I turn to the page near the back of my sketchbook where Ive drawn a map of the store beside the page where I write down the license plate numbers of suspected murderers and kidnappers. Ever since the book Helter Skelter: The True Story of the Manson Murders ended up on our kitchen table, Ive been extremely suspicious of all adults. I often fantasize about turning my sketchbook over to the polica to become the worlds youngest hero.

Kiss my honkey ass! my father yells in hot pursuit.