September 9, 1983
Jimmy and I spend too much of a free time figuring out ways
to upset Clayton.
It has become something of a hobby with us, seeking new and
novel ways to offend him, or shake the foundations of his beliefs.
Clayton is a born clay pigeon, abused in and out of school
as a child. His father was a drunk and something of a madman who liked to play
mind games on his kids.
Like the game he played the first time I met the man when I
went over to the house and Clifton and watched him intentionally vomit in my
plate.
I don’t know how much influence Clayton’s mother had on him,
but the father apparently was so full of self-pity it tainted Clayton as well.
To say his growing up was traumatic is an understatement.
It left him unable to deal adequately with the physical world,
forcing him to rely on other people for assistance.
Then, he got religion, and not some sensible religion the
way Ginger did (Buddhism has its merits) but a whacko religion called
Scientology that is more cult than faith and relies largely on brainwashing its
members. He has risen into the ranks of the faith so that he is considered a leader
and has a host of books around him that tell him how to manage people (which
the manuals call units). But when he is very stressed, he puts on headphones
and listens to propaganda tapes that calm him down by dragging him back into
the weird reality – this driving Jimmy craziest, though nearly everything about
Clayton, especially his habits.
Clayton is a meticulous man, insisting on taking two long
showers daily, and has amazingly precise methods of grooming himself –
something that annoys both me and Jimmy, yet we can’t stop watching him with a
morbid fascination.
Clayton is full of contradictions. Fanatically religious, he
is obsessed with war games and insists on playing the role of the Nazis. He and
his friend, Rich, are constantly speculating on the possible ways Germany could
have won the war.
From what I gather, Clayton – who is about our age – is a virgin
and has never even had a relationship with a woman (or anyone else for that
matter).
We don’t pick on him in that way – since any one of the Garley
Gang might have ended up like him. Bob almost did.
But we do other things, like move something he put down somewhere
and goes crazy looking for, since he puts everything in precise places and
expects to find them there.
He gets extremely upset when either of us touches his tapes
or looks into his religious control manuals. So, sometimes, we switch tapes. I
put a tape of rock music in his player once and thought Clayton was having a fit
when he put the headphones on and started to listen. He sputtered so much;
Jimmy actually had his hand on the phone to call for an ambulance.
Sometimes, I go into the bathroom just when I know Clayton
intends to take a shower and stay there, picturing him fidgeting outside the
door in his impatience to use it.
We both play music we know Clayton doesn’t like, forcing him
to take refuge in his tapes.
Clayton gets most upset when Jimmy engages in a theological
discussion, always asking “You really believe that? I mean, really?”
Eventually Clayton runs back to his tapes, totally shaken.
I don’t know what we’ll do for sport when Clayton moves out –
as he has promised to do many, many times. I guess Jimmy and I will have to
pick on each other.
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