dmseay

we drove on back roads in Virginia…’round Leesburg…herds of deer would run right in front of us…just kept drivin’…dust would kick up and ricochet off the headlights…she had her hand on my thigh…night air smelled of alfalfa and the indigo sky made us look up and take notice…not a star was out…the moon glowed a yellow hue…

her blonde hair blew in the wind…wild…long hair…the kind you could run your fingers through and pull on while you kissed her…she liked that…she always wanted to be kissed…at night ‘fore sleep…in the mornin’ when she awoke…out in bars where people would watch us make out in dark corners while the juke box played a Tammy Wynette song…people would sneak peeks at us…caught ’em outta the corner of my eye…

and we’d always end up at her place…more tequila…more beer…foolin’ ’round on the sofa while jazz came through the radio at three in the mornin’…some Coltrane or Bill Evans…always right to set the mood…we’d make love till morn…every night we’d make love till morn…

then somethin’ happened…we quit kissin’ all the time…quit makin’ love like two kids crazy for each other…things cooled off…we’d just get drunk and pass out in separate rooms…t.v. on mute…infomercials sellin’ the latest and the greatest…two drunks snorin’ away their nightly sins…

‘ventually we called it quits…she took off with some stock car driver…me…I just sit on this barstool alone thinkin’ ’bout her from time to time…there’ll be another one…always is…

There were several notes written down in his copy of Baudrillard’s, AMERICA…phone numbers of ex-wives…adresses of friends ‘cross country…the number for mental hygiene in New York…a reminder of a pawn shop at 43rd and 9th…poems from patients at Bellevue…journal entries…

The book sat on his desk next to, The Holy Bible…the first book ever given to him…red leather with gold lettering…complete with maps and drawings of a blue eyed blond haired Jesus holding a lamb…petting a lamb…it’d been years since he’d read it…

THE STRANGER, by Camus sat on his night stand…along with a copy of ,ULYSSES, and a collection of work by Ted Hughes titled, THE RIVER…he would spend his nights reading these books…nights when he could not sleep…he’d read a chapter…a verse…and his mind would wander…drift in and out on various thoughts…memories…travels…journeys…

On this particular night he thought ’bout the second time he took off ‘cross the U.S.and into Canada…driving to North Carolina one day and to Iowa the next…then off to Connecticutt and into Vermont traipsing up to Montreal and back down to New York City…spending money wildly on drink…hookers…cheap hotels…gas to get him from one discovery to the next…a mania that would last a month…then crashing in a hospital bed in Pittsburgh…

This was just one of his many trips throughout America…he’d jump on a Greyhound with a dollar to his name and wind up in Dallas…hitch-hike to D.C. …catch a ride with a trucker to Chicago…sleeping in parks…shelters…under viaducts…sharing beds with strangers…in search of bleu cheese olives at two in the morning…gin soaked and dirty…

It’d been two years since he’d been on the road…and now at 50…he was considering it again…taking off into the abyss…the darkness of which this country is in…hoping to find hope…but settling for nothing more than inner peace…

To have inner peace…to have inner peace…isn’t that what we all want…

he took a nap in the afternoon…air-conditioner hummin’…puttin’ him to sleep…like it was singin’ to him…some kinda drawn out lulaby…cold air filled the room…

and he dreamt of this girl he knew in high school…pretty blonde who sat in History class with him…they became drinkin’ buddies…crossin’ state lines and buyin’ beer…T.J. Swann…wine coolers…bottles of schnapps…they’d sit down by the lake where’d they talk till two in the mornin’ bout what they wanted outta life…how they were gonna get it…just talk…

after graduation she took off for California where she hooked up with some b-movie actor…heard he broke her heart…wound up drinkin’ every night and doin’ blow…got to be a problem…the girl’s looks faded…she got older…never reached out to him for help…lost his number along the way…

he stayed ’round town…took a job at the GM plant…workin’ on the assembly line…always wondered what happened to his drinkin’ companion…always hoped she’d come back to town…used to go down to the lake with a six pack…talk to himself…hum songs out loud…said he’d wait for her…and he did…

dreamt of her…he dreamt of her…woke up callin’ out her name…she never heard him…she was gone…

you’re always writing ’bout people leaving…taking off and getting lost in America…you think that’s right…think people do that…

sure they do…

they just up and leave wives…kids…roots behind…

yes…

why…

they’re wandering souls…they’re constantly on the move…like coyotes…they just go places to be going places…it’s in their blood…can’t help themselves…can only stay put for so long…then they gotta leave…go to Vermont…or New York…maybe Texas for awhile…or New Mexico…somewhere so they can be lost for a spell…get away from salespeople…insurances and assurances…to be wild…sleepin’ in shelters…under viaducts…on park benches…

you ever do that…

yes…my soul gets restless…have to leave…don’t have a choice…either that or stay and kill myself…feelin’ trapped sometimes…a nomad’s life…that’s what it is…a nomad’s life…goin’ from town to town…washin’ your clothes at all night laundry-mats…reading books all day at the library…havin’ a beer next to another wanderin’ soul…talk ’bout the road…small towns like Joplin…Batesville…Paris, Tennessee…tellin’ stories like the time I went up to Montreal to escape Hurricane Irene…or when I got lost in Connecticut and it was pitch black with rain comin’ down in buckets…and what did I do…I danced in it…got outta my car and danced in it…these are the actions of restless souls…

you hittin’ the road ‘gain…

probably…when the leaves change and there’s a peace to the earth…nice and cool…that’s when I’ll make my move…throw a dart at a map and make my move…

used to go on these drives ‘cross country…from Ohio to Colorado…turn ’round and head back east takin’ the southern route through Kansas…Missouri…into Effingham…back to Cuyahoga County…smokin’ cigarettes the whole time…tossin’ butts out the window…watchin’ lit tips flip on the asphalt in the dark night…smells of freshly tilled land and diesel exhaust as I drove in a manic state…

didn’t want the journey to end…had the radio tuned to talk radio shows…idiots from all over callin’ in complainin’ ’bout damn liberals…or talkin’ smack ’bout Republicans…I always figured they was all the same…

and I’d pull into the driveway…porchligt would always be on…unlock the front door and see you there…watchin’ a soundless t.v. …just pictures on a screen…Spencer Tracy movin’ his mouth…talkin’ to Katherin Hepburn…a silent conversation…but you could tell they were in love…you never asked where I’d been…just kept watchin’ the movie…pointed to the refrigerator…took your cue…

there’d be all kinds of leftovers from throughout the week waitin’ in there…roast beef…chicken fried steak…some kinda casserole…’nough food for an army…knew I liked second helping’s…

we continued sitting in silence…not a word said…just sittin’ there like two strangers…a house shared by two strangers…wouldn’t be too long ‘fore I’d head off ‘gain…wonderin’ each time if you’d be there when I opened the door…

guess you never know…

and he’d walk ’round town all day…out in the hot Sun…turnin’ his face into a reddish brown leather…eyes bloodshot from the night ‘fore…and the night ‘fore that…

the old man would beg for dollars on sidewalks where business people walked past carryin’ briefcases…wearin’ suits…talkin’ on cellphones…the old man yelled out as they passed him by…yellin’ out how freedom wasn’t free…and they were all just marchin’ to a giant drum…

but ‘ventually he’d get ‘nough cash for a forty ounce…a small bottle of fire water…drank it down quick…like it was soda pop…then he’d go lookin’ for more…lookin’ till night came and darkness engulfed the town…yuppies whoopin’ it up in pubs and taverns…nicely lit beer gardens…drinkin’ craft beers and Moscow mules…they were civilized…

he never wanted to be part of society…never wanted a home or a rented room…had his blankets hid under the viaduct that stretched ‘cross Calhoun and Harrison…other downtown streets…slept off and on up in a corner tucked away from sight…no-one walked under the viaduct…they’d heard stories…tales of how homeless men would rob ya down in that part of town…steal from ya like Pancho Villa…nothin’ could be farther from the truth…

too hungover to steal from anybody…stealin’ takes ambition…ambition was the farthest thing from the old man’s mind…could say he lacked ambition…

he took on these odd jobs…mowing yards…painting houses…pulling weeds…even had a newspaper route…whatever he could do to keep a dollar in his pocket…beer in his belly…

didn’t have a girl…said he didn’t want one…got tired of break-ups and make-ups…never had things on the level…women went one way…he took off in another…

lived in this rented room over on Broadway…a bed sunk in the middle…carpet with cigarette burns in it…walls a dusty brown from smoke…he called it home…

every night he looked out his window down on the street…watched watched bums digging in garbage cans…whores soliciting their goods…cops rolling by slowly…dealers peddling dope…nickel bags…dimes…all of them looking for some kind of score…a buck is a buck…

and sometimes he would look up at the Moon…wondered what it was like up there…wanted to jump in craters…bring home the American flag…

he took on these odd jobs…whatever he could do to keep a dollar in his pocket…beer in his belly…

what is your point…

to get to the bottom of somethin’ you have to really dig down deep into your soul…scrape the bottom and see what you can find…it could take years…a lifetime…just an endless search into yourself…picking away at things that have been built up for so long…

like…

childhood things…memories of being corrected by your parents…dreading the outcome of events…bringing home a bad report card…a black eye from a bully in the school yard…your first kiss…a first rejection…

and these things you speak of…we all have ’em right…we all have these memories…from childhood…teen years too…

yes…but I’m talkin’ ’bout the early years mostly…those years when you could run and jump and fall on your face…tears falling…your pride was hurt more than the torn skin…talkin’ ’bout back when the night was quiet…too quiet…and the least little noise sent you running down the hall to your parent’s room where you found them asleep…snoring away…all comfy and cozy while you had nothing but fear inside of you…and that fear never leaves you…

never…

never…it takes on different forms as you get older…fear and dread…fear and dread…some job interview…getting the sack…break-ups…always trying to do the impossible…

yes…

and what do we do… we run…we run away from the hard stuff…the muck and the mire that comes between us and what we really want…using everything we can to fill voids…black holes…

I see…

no…we see nothing…all this rubbish…we see nothing…oh we think we’re in the clear…but we’re far from it…something is always on the cusp of getting us…tackling us from behind…or worst yet it’s right in front of us and we’re too blind to see it…

right…

and you thought your parents were fast asleep…but they were dreaming the whole time…nightmares…from when they were children…it just keeps going…from one generation to the next…

until…

until what…there is no until…it never stops…

we’re never at peace…

we settle…but no…never at peace…

and why is that…

because we never forget…we never forget…piles and piles and piles of thoughts…memories…actions…no…we never forget…

he’d send her love letters from far away places…New York…Montreal…Vermont…Iowa City….she never knew where he was gonna be next…could wind up in Alberqurquee for all she knew…or maybe on one of those fishing boats up in Alaska…wouldn’t surprise her…

she waited for him…said he’d be back ‘ventually….just had to sew some wild oats…had been a couple of years now…she stayed true…wasn’t like she didn’t have offers…men from all around wanted her…used to come watch her dance on their lunch breaks…wrappin’ her long legs ’round a pole…runnin’ her hands through thick hair and takin’ her time on lap dances…drove ’em wild…

one week the letters stopped comin’…no more words drippin’ with honey…nothin’…folks said, I told ya so…,she didn’t listen…kept checkin’ the mail box everyday…after awhile she got fed up…went ’bout her business…didn’t care if she ever saw him again…and sure ‘nough…she didn’t…

couple years passed and she googled his name for kicks…various newspaper articles showed up concernin’ him with a murder…his murder…had been shot in the neck and his girlfriend had burned down the house to try and cover her tracks…the things people do…

she did not cry…nor did she feel sad…just numb…think you know somebody…

he spent his last six bucks on a schooner of beer…tryin’ to feel human again…think it was a Carling…or a Yuengling…somethin’ that slid down his throat and was cold…reminded him of days of mowin’ lawns and rakin’ leaves…a cold beer always tasted good after doin’ work…he missed ’em both…beer and work…

had been on the bum for a couple of years …sold his car for a grand that had quickly dwindled down to the livation in front of him…he’d taken on day labor jobs here and there…but nothin’ stuck…he’d work a day…collect a small paycheck and not show up again till a couple of weeks later…various tasks…sweepin’ warehouse floors…placin’ parts on assembly lines…paintin’ sides of buildings…seperatin’ the re-usable from debris…the quicker he got cash the sooner it was gone…

sittin’ next to him on this night was a salesman from out of town…had gold bracelets with initials on his fat wrists…talked ’bout cleanin’ supplies…his whole life was cleanin’ supplies…various tonics you’d put in steam cleaners…different kinds of soaps…waxes…rub-on…rub-off…his was a custodial dream…to clean the whole world…one dollar at a time…

the merchant talked of women in different towns ‘cross the U.S. …a broad in Peoria…’nother in Milwaukee…a wife at home…spoke of kids… a boy and a girl in middle school…a pet dog named Alfie…Sunday dinners with the in-laws…his life had gone according to plan…

the bum told him his story too…a former life with a wife…a house and a car…used to be a school teacher…taught History…could tell ya all ’bout World War One…delved into the Korean Conflict…chatted on Vietnam…told the salesman that those days were over…couldn’t pull himself outta the gutter this time…lost his clothes…his pride…just didn’t care anymore…was tired of lookin’ for the big pay-off…

down on your luck huh…, the portly salesman asked him…, given up huh…, the bum nodded…, Well…we’re gonna get you back on track…I’m gonna give you…, he turned on his stool…a check for a…wait…have you seen a brown leather jacket…, he asked the bum…were the hell is my jacket…’scuse me…

and like that he was gone…out the door…never to be seen again…it was the night the bum got close…to bein’ back in the pink…