April 26, 2009
50 Ways
After a long day at work it was good to be home. Sarah and I had been together for two years now. She moved in just a few months ago, and I was getting used to having her around every day. It was nice to come home and see her friendly face there to greet me.
Tonight when I got home she wasn’t there, but instead I found a letter and a CD by the player. That was nice of her to make a mix tape for me. Popped it in and pressed play. The music started with Paul Simon. I really liked him. “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.” Probably not what I would have chosen for a mix tape, but it was the thought that counts. The music fades and I hear Sarah’s voice.
“This probably isn’t the best way to tell you, but I couldn’t think of a better way. I guess this is the 51st way to leave your lover…”
April 25, 2009
Spring
magnolias bloom
reminders of you
a s(c)ent embrace on a breeze
April 24, 2009
Movie Theater
As I walk out of the movie theater the smell of rain and colder air hit me. The rain had passed and with it there was a break in the summer heat. It was light out and the rain was just starting when I entered. Now it was dark except for the orange light from the street lamps and a few cars driving by. There was only one couple watching the movie. As they walked out I could hear them ask the standard what did you think of the movie question.
I didn’t really think much of the movie. I just wandered in to get out of the rain. I hadn’t been back here since we broke up. We used to share a root beer and a small popcorn. Neither of us had much money back then. We we in college and hadn’t started on our real lives. Graduation changed things. I found a job, liked it, but spent too much time working. She was having trouble finding a job that she could be happy with. We were drifting apart and I never even noticed.
My mind came back to reality and I shoved my hands in my pockets and started the walk home. The dampness made the air chilly.
April 23, 2009
Jimmy’s Bus Stop
Muzak cracks “Hey Jude” on the three-dollar speakers.
The bus terminal waits for the next arrival.
The Green is always early. The Orange is always late.
No one speaks at the bus terminal.
Jimmy sits in his motorized wheelchair
interrupting the silence by singing along with the Muzak.
Old Mrs. Grayhair, Cigar Bum, and Mr. Serious turn to make a fuss,
see that that Jimmy is “special” and turn back to doing nothing.
Everyone tries to forget Jimmy and his singing.
No one speaks at the bus terminal.
Jimmy sings.
He doesn’t know the words.
He doesn’t sing well.
Mrs. Grayhair goes through her big cloth old lady bag
looking for a distraction.
“Shut Up, Man. You’re driving me crazy,” Cigar Bum can’t take it any longer.
Jimmy stops singing.
Everyone is happy now.
Mr. Serious steps out his cigarette butt as the Orange finally arrives
Everyone gets on the bus but Jimmy.
Jimmy sits silent in his wheelchair.
No one speaks at the bus terminal.
April 22, 2009
Drinkin’ Buddy
Thirsty hot, thinking that it would be nice to have a drink, I met Roberto. He stumbled toward me in the brick alleyway behind The Blue Parrot. There aren’t many people who share my aesthetic of drinking, but I could already tell, Roberto was one who did. It seems to me that if you find something that you like then you should spend as much time as possible doing it. Some ambitious young people fail all of their lives to find something that makes them happy. I was fortunate, I guess, to have found my bliss early.
Roberto was a friendly sort, so when I suggested we have a drink, he was very helpful in finding a location. Usually it takes me awhile to find the good places, the right feel, the right atmosphere, but with Roberto as my excellent guide it took no time at all.
Los Dos Pacos. Horns blew, and the drums kept the Cuban rhythm playing on the jukebox in the back. There were a few tables around the place; most still had the remnants of the lunch rush. No one greeted us as we walked through the dining area toward the bar, but I still felt the familiar welcome of a place like home. It was nice to feel the security of the bar stool, the rail for my feet and the substantial wooden bar to lean on. A young Mexican man came out from the kitchen, noticed us, and called to the back room for the Pedro. He then went about clearing the tables. The bartender, Pedro, came out from the kitchen finishing up the last bit of the lunch that we were taking him away from. I ordered two beers and smiled at Roberto.
It was good to have someone to drink with. He didn’t have a lot to say. Some people are just like that. You don’t have to talk to say what’s on your mind. We continued to drink drafts the rest of the afternoon. Even though I had just met Roberto, he was already my best friend.
April 21, 2009
On the Bus
The bus was running fifteen minutes behind schedule, so I was about frozen to death by the time it pulled up to the stop. When the doors opened the warmth from the over-heated, over-packed bus greeted me as I boarded. I took off my mittens so that I could fumble through my wallet and find my pass. The driver nodded and I turned down the length of the bus to find an available space that I could cling to and forget the cold, forget the day, forget that this was my life now.
Everyday I catch the same bus and see the same tired faces coming home from another day. When I was a kid I thought that when you grow up you get a job, a car, a wife, a house, and you are happy. My parents seemed happy. My parents had lots of friends and they all seemed happy. I just assumed that that was the way things were; everybody was happy all of the time. The happy people don’t board this bus. Young mothers of young kids, bag ladies, tired old men in worn out pants and jackets from suits they never worn new, these are the people who ride my bus.
I ride my bus and I fit in. No one notices that I don’t belong. I am reflected in the window with the darkness outside and I don’t notice that I don’t belong. I melt in with the rest of the hollow people of the reflected glass. The lights from the street lamps and neon signs of fast food restaurants slowly flow by. Every few blocks we pick up another or lose a couple. Eventually there is enough room.
April 20, 2009
Part 6: Acceptance:
I sat down with the name tagged Timmys and when the cafeteria attendant came by I took a bar-b-que sandwich and some fries. Gus, the guy sitting next to me, told me that he had been here at Wolfie’s for four years and he had never seen a doorway out of this place, but the food was good and the people were nice and all of the nurses were cute. Why would any one want to leave a place like that? I had to agree that the accommodations did seem nice enough, but still it took me close to seven months before I gave up on the idea of finding my freedom. I looked through every room in the place and just as Gus had told me there wasn’t an exit to be found anywhere that I could see.
April 19, 2009
Part 5: Dr. Frank Stein:
About the time I had had it with the paper people a man walked in and introduced himself, “Hello, I am Doctor Frank Stein.” Dr. Stein was a little man — a little man and a little something else, (what I do not know). He had small beady eyes that had no iris; it went straight from the white of his eye to the black of his pupil. He also had a hooked nose that reminded me of a buzzard. That’s it, maybe he was part buzzard.
Dr. Stein politely asked me how I was doing, and if I had any questions or concerns about my treatment. When I told him I didn’t know that I needed treatment, and I didn’t know that I was receiving any he smiled and nodded. “Interesting,” was all that he would say. When I told him that I didn’t want to be here anymore and that he should let me the fuck out, he told me that I could leave whenever I wanted, but in his opinion it would be better if I stayed. I decided that I didn’t value his opinion very much, so I rushed past him out the door and into what was the dining hall. Long tables with attached benches lined the cafeteria style-dining hall. Most of the tables were filled with people. These weren’t the same people that I had seen at the party; these were a different sort of people. First off they were all guys, next, they were all wearing nametags, but the really weird part was that every one of them was named Timmy. I’d never met a grown up Timmy before, and now I was in a great hall with hundreds of them. I was about to freak out, when come to find out none of them were really named Timmy, somebody had just given them these nametags and told them to wear them. At least I hadn’t completely lost my mind; there still are no adult Timmys in the world.
April 18, 2009
Part 4: And the Fog Lifts:
I rub my eyes and stretch. I must have slept for a long time, but I don’t feel rested. The room is bright and cheery, but there is no furnishing except for the thin mat that I was sleeping on. I look around be there is no door, or windows, or any way to get out. After panicked pounding on the walls for about half an hour, a crack forms on the far wall and an opening appears from where there was just wall before. I was so relieved that there was a way out that I forget to be pissed that someone locked me up in the first place.
Three cardboard people came in to welcome me to a brand new day. I had never seen cardboard people before so it was quite a shock for me to be confronted with life sized and fully animated cardboard cutouts of people. They were painted fire engine red and had two big white dots were eyes should be, but no mouth at all. They bent at the same joints as humans, but walked a little stiff. I just wondered how they were able to talk. There was no mouth or tongue or voice box, but somehow they were able to talk, and boy could they talk.
It was a constant chatter. When one would stop another would start. Sometimes they would talk over each other, sometimes they would ask me questions and then another would answer for me. It didn’t appear that they needed me for any part of this conversation, but apparently thought that I should be included. Maybe it was just because I was in the room, or maybe they just enjoyed having a real human around. Whatever the case I became annoyed quickly.
April 17, 2009
Part 3: Party time:
The small white door opens up onto the biggest party I’m ever likely to see. One of the thin girls in the black tuxedos and bow ties comes to offer goodies off of the tray she’s carrying. There are red drinks in small shot glasses, small Hors d’Oeuvres made from slices of Portobello mushrooms, Brie on Triscuits, and small porcelain dishes filled with tiny pastel colored pills all with tiny smiley faces on them.
“Take all you want, there is plenty more,” the thin girls tempted. I politely take a shot and a few pills, and then push farther into the chaos.
At the center of the maelstrom is a buffet table loaded with all kinds of meat. A small balding man with a green turtleneck sweater is there to serve the meats. He doesn’t ask what I want, he just hands me a plate with some thinly sliced roast beef and shaved ham and tells me to move on. So I’m left standing there with a plate of meat and no utensils wondering what I should do now. I could see many people just go quietly to the side of the room and look for a place to get away from the ruckus. After contemplating inaction, I just grabbed the meat and ate it down and started to dance.
I must be getting old, because I am exhausted. Drowsiness is taking over and I’m starting to fall asleep.
He put up a fight, but it doesn’t matter. The sleep comes to all.
