11: or A Long Drive For Someone With Nothing To Think About

ONE MORNING IN MAY on a rained-soaked day I took a drive with my Dad. It was rather early and he was never really one for talking so I let the silence take hold. We stopped at the local diner for a $2 breakfast and the latest snippet of news. Personally I’ve always favored print but the rustling of papers would have caused an unwanted headache. So naturally I settled for the far away noise of the television. With a clippity clop on Cuban heals sounded the arrival of our waitress. Solemn with sleep still in his eyes Dad says, “Two egg sandwiches, two coffees” and that was that.

The television hummed and buzzed in the background informing us of the latest victim of drunk-driving, the rising death toll in some far away land, the weather. I turn as commercials flood the screen, politicians promising the world, toaster ovens, color coded tampons, creativity in menstruation. Our breakfast arrives steaming, promising good health and lasting nutrition. A hearty meal.

We finish up and make our way back to the car as we’re met by a light drizzle. Cabs and loading trucks zip passed us carrying passengers and dirt, this and that. Everyone hurrying, to and fro, people to see, places to go. Although the sun rose this morning the day is rather dark. I settle myself in the passengers seat and let myself get lost in the drive.

We ride on in silence as the trees pass by, rain gathering in puddles on the road outside. We ride in silence for a minute or two until a click of the radio and a station to choose. As I searched the air-waves for something remotely tolerable I peruse across The Drifters‘s “On Broadway” and my mind wonders back to my childhood. When I was a kid the Short Circuit films were one of my favorite pastimes, besides staring out of my front door mailbox, hoping to discover a new and exciting adventure. Most of the time I just seen my street, but every now and then I’d spot a stray cat or dog. My life as I knew it then was absolutely amazing.

The song reminded me of the of the 2nd Short Circuit film when our friend Ben and his trusty sidekick were locked in the meat freezer, forced inside by some rough necked goons. Those dang New Yorkers. Freezing and near death, with a sudden stroke of genius and a flip of the wrist Ben, the guy whom was terrified six hours prior to talk to our beautiful blonde Sandy whips out his trusty pocket calculator and saves the day. Oh Ben how I envy thee.

For a week there after I destroyed everything remotely resembling a calculator that came within range. Humming that song, listening intently for persons trapped behind walls, crying, singing, calling out to Broadway. I wanted so badly to spring my friends from their inevitable doom, to be the hero, all the while whistling that stupid tune; stupid radio, stupid silence.

I nestled into my seat and enjoy the ride. Politely I make small talk, weakly grasping hold to conversation for no more than a minute or so. The rain always strikes a certain mood, philosophical pleasantries followed by a collection of half assed ideas that flow freely from my mouth. I talk mainly of the radio, the weather, the news. I talk of my tried and tired soul, of a social upheaval, youth taking control. Anarchy, fascism, the world. I’m inspired this morning, my Kerouac life crying out, but the pleas ring low.

I’m met occasionally by a solemn grunt, never more than a few words. My ears are flooded with yes’ or no’s, sometimes a maybe. I amuse myself desperately laughing at my own jokes. Always in the back of my mind that warning sign of Dad’s steadily rising blood pressure. Conservative conversation, calming confessions, capsizing compliments. Just send me off to bed forever more, spare me the shame of losing control, avoid the plague and surely soles, just a sure way to rest my soul. We ease into traffic met with early morning congestion. I came along mainly to keep Dad company, so he doesn’t get tired, so he doesn’t get bored. We’re riding down the 90-94. Cars before us are small than large than small again as we make our way towards Dads appointment.

I spy massive antennas, buildings, construction. We are just mere sheep lost in this massive concrete forest. Buildings rise from the earth, blotting out the sun, the light, the warmth. Trees are rotted to make way for Wal-Mart’s, and Starbucks. Once beautiful fields of flowers now leveled to make room for parking garages. Awnings and balconies become foliage, skyscrapers are stems, at the very top we stop to view plumes of smoke instead of blooms of hope. We are lost. We are busy bees to make happy for the queen, our words lost in the bitter wind, we must build, construct, erect, control. Leave behind our name, we must be remembered. Never based on what we’ve achieved, rather than what we’ve never surrendered.

We as a people see the steady problems growing, but we continue to multiply, we’re tapping the wells dry to drive the latest fashions. Bound to our oil machines, death to the civilized, black gold drives our war machines, driven by teens, children killing children while the old grow weak. Losing wisdom, binding their feet. They’re rather be pushed or pulled than to walk on their own. They’d hand over their souls for remote controls. 60 inches of plasma screened securities while their backsides grow fat. No longer coupons and savings bonds now replaced with lottery tickets and prescription bottles.

10: or The Long Walk Home

“It’s getting late” I say “I should probably go.” I search her face for an invitation to stay, but I already know. Somnolent she glances up, wiping the sleep from her eyes, by this time my shoes are on, they’ve already been tied. After a long embrace an a kiss goodnight I make my way out the door, with a wave of goodbye. Cautiously walking down the stairs of her third floor tenement I stumbled and nearly fell, righting myself just shy of the floor. I look up gathering my thoughts and come face to face with her mailbox. Smiling to myself I walk out into the courtyard.

I’m welcomed into the night with a warm breeze, briskly it blows right through me. Walking, I break my fast with a cigarette graciously left for me to enjoy, I make my way along the sidewalks minding the cracks in the road. As I inhale I’m met with the rush of a buzz, exhaling I blow out the smoke from my lungs. I tongue the gap between my teeth where a tooth had once resided. A tooth so riddled with filth and decay rotting selfishly inside of me. Now just an empty socket, a reminder of what I once had. I tongue my gums as I make my way home, on this long, tiresome, desperate road.

The idea you see is to walk free, letting the wind take my feet, carry me. Wherever it may be, eventually the moon will cease, giving way to the sun. I’ll retire home with the warmth from above and sleep a dream of her hands and her lungs. Her touch is like fire, and her breath cools me down, her mind I admire, she brings light to this town.

I move my feet on these empty streets, one in front of the other. I bow to the cabbies and their cushioned seats but decline the offer for the blisters on my feet. Tonight I fly with a single path in mind, tonight I walk until the sun is mine. I move through the streets so gnarled and cheap taking in all of the cities imagery. Listening carefully to the ambience that is all around, guiding me up, never taking me down. As the wind gathers blowing through the trees, again passing through me with a rustling of leaves.

I can still feel her skin, her warmth soaking through to me, I can still taste her lips, so full and pink. I’ll wait patiently until the next time we meet, and continue my journey homebound with the sun at my feet.

9: or Daisy

Daisy, she was a sinking ship. I remember when she jumped out of my 2nd story window. Little miss Daisy. We went to school together for as long as I can remember, but the only thing she learned was how to fall, such a difficult girl, always pressed against the wall. She hated labels pasted on her clothes sometimes using her teeth to tear the tags off. No one ever told me she’d be such a heartbreak, she’d leave such a bad taste. Daisy, she was a sinking ship that I could've saved.

I seen Daisy last month, she was sleeping in bus shelter down by the expressway. All dressed up in the latest fashions, ripped and torn, sporting nicotine stains on her finger tips. With her hood pulled tight she folded her body in half and nestled on that little wooden bench. Empty bottles and discarded fast food wrappers strewed along the ground, clearly she’s made camp here for some time.

Daisy, she’s been a sinking stone since I could remember. Always a bright girl but always ashamed, always changing but never the same. It’s been nearly two weeks now since I saw her last , sleeping so pitifully, hiding behind the glass. All she’s ever needed was somebody to lean on, all she’s ever needed was a clear mind. Maybe next time I'll stop, maybe next time I’ll offer her a ride?

Driving one night I pulled alongside the bus stop and scanned the grounds, my little miss Daisy is no where to be found. There was something about that ride, seeing that place from where once she slept. The thought of spending one night out of the comfort of my home sent a shiver through my chest. I often wondered how I would react if she came to my door step.

It’s been a few days and the snow is blowing cold, making even the most mundane errands feel like journeys into the unknown. I was running low on the necessities in life, but something told me not to go. I didn’t need to have a drink, I didn’t need to leave my home.

It’s January and I can see my breath, exhaling, my lungs quiver from the cold. It’s been snowing again and there’s ice on the road. Maybe I shouldn’t had that last quart, maybe I should’ve stayed home. I’ve been drinking heavier, I’ve been getting stoned, I’ve been trying to fight the guilt slowing consuming my soul. It’s getting late and my heater is fading again, fogging up my windows. I pray for a red light so I may wipe the condensation from my windshield.

As I pulled along the curb and hastily begun to park, an unsettling feeling fell across my heart. I stepped out of my car, placing both feet on the ground. I make my way to the doorstep carefully minding the snow falling hard and collecting in piles. I slip my key out of my pocket and search for the keyhole, but something catches my eye in the bitter cold.

A body nesting calmly in the bushes outside my home. A form so familiar, one that I’d surely know. Startled, with panic rising, I'd already know, there’s Daisy laying on the ground dead in the cold. Her lifeless body slumped up against the bushes, all the tags torn from her clothes. Daisy, she was a sinking ship, Daisy, I shouldn’t have left my home.

8: or simple ways

I expect you know all the answers, I expect you have your cares, I expect you know all the rules, in life nothings fair. I suspect you plan your maneuvers, I suspect you plan your days. Although you’re rebellious by nature, I suspect you know my ways. With honor and by truth you long for all simple shades, to cover your body and illuminate the darkness at bay. As the tide draws near, and the suns packed away, you can still feel the warmth from the sun the previous day.

7: or how I spent my Earth Day

I walked through the door and casually slipped my jacket off, making eye contact with the one person I’ve yet to know. I make small talk with my friends, “how’s it going, where’s life taken you” all the while keeping a safe but comfortable distance. I’ll play this one safe, like a wining hand I’ve yet to be dealt. I talk loud, and I’m rude spewing things from my mouth you know to be untrue. I exaggerate, conjuring up a good line, throw all my spoiled bait all the while keeping taut my line.

Play this one smooth, she’s got a spark in her eye, play this one through, her smile doesn’t lie. She laughs at your swagger, all your whistles and bells, she smiles at your awkward way you carry yourself. But you’re smooth today, like the silk scarf she hides, the one tucked away in her drawer, the one she’s too embarrasses to share.

She has a soft smile, one that knows pain, but her laugh reveals that she knows the game. This one’s different, you’ll play it safe, make her smile enough so she’ll remember your name. Write this to her, she likes to read, write this down in hopes that she’ll see. She seems like to type whom would study the rules of play, before she makes her move, and take the game.

6: or A Walk With a Friend

It’s midway through April and I can see my breath, try as I may I can’t seem to rid the cold from my skin. It’s rather late in the evening and I’m rather late coming come. Ten minutes I’d say aloud 6 hours ago, ten minutes I’d say, then I’ll wander off and down the way. I’ve never really understood the concept of time. Time, be on it or lose everything, time, spend it wisely or regret it, time. I can never find anything to do with it so all I ever do is waste it, good ole time.

The rain’s pretty heavy tonight, big drops, wet drops, the kind that seep down to the bottom of your feet, adding weight, pressure, miles. Each step gets heavier, and heavier, slower I walk, through the rain, midway through April. I’m nearly there now, home, and in my wake is a raging hunger and mind-blowing headache. It’s midway through April and I’m not wearing shoes, it’s wet and I lost my sandal somewhere between here and the state line. Oh sandals, how you were supposed to be kind. I was never a designer of great ingenuity, I never discovered a cure, saved the world from hunger, but I thought I knew how to at least walk in sandals.

The rain came down, it was like god himself was pissing on me, I’ve never felt so alone. I decided to run, flee, save myself from the holiest of golden showers. As come up my block, my neighborhood, my place, I slipped. Now there’s pain, and cold, and loneliness. Ten minutes I said, ten minutes. I didn’t think a walk would become such punishment.

I pick myself from the cold wet ground, I don’t even dust myself off, the rain will settle me. I continue to walk, holding my head high, despite the thick, drenching water pouring from the sky. I’m nearly there, just feet from the door, I’m nearly home, safe and warm. As I reach out my hand, and grip the doorknob a cold rush, a shiver, a pang of fear. Shaking, cold and wet, midway through April, standing in the rain that will soon kill me, I realize, I forgot my keys inside.

5

Four lines read inside me today, I’ll say the same things heard through. Into a dream driven by lust I’ll shake myself clean of the living dust. It covers me from head to toe as I close my eyes and lose my hold. I can feel you undressing inches from my feet and welcome your warmth from a cold day. I can feel my heart searching for the rhythm and explain your woes of the way. I can feel your mind wrapping tightly around my waist consuming the surface of my skin. I can feel your body welcoming me in.