dmseay

kept lookin’ at the clock…midnight had passed…the old wooden gate outside was creakin’…makin’ noise…wind blowin’ it back and forth…back and forth…

saw the moon hangin’ in full…big silver circle a million miles away…wonderin’ if that American flag was still planted up there…

and these cars passin’ by out on the highway…soundin’ like waves in an ocean comin’ into shore…makin’ him think of when he was a kid…playin’ at Myrtle Beach…buildin’ sand castles…waters rushin’ in to knock ’em down…fillin’ up green buckets and startin’ over ‘gain…startin’ over ‘gain…

he was always startin’ over ‘gain…

He drove north towards the Michigan line…taking back roads and long curvy highways through hamlets and villages…small towns…went past elementary schools where kids were out on swing sets and playing kick ball…past post offices with people inside waiting to mail off letters to sons over seas…birthday cards to grand daughters…pay electric bills…

and he’d drive by these trees…tall and colorful with rust colored leaves and chipped off bark…initials carved into ’em…Patty loves Sammy…hearts with arrows through ’em…

The old man stopped at a gas station to get a Pepsi…looked at the beef jerkey selection…decided onna Slim Jim…got back in the car and kept drivin’…drove along Lake Michigan on the Blue Arrow Highway…an old Chevy truck keepin’ pace with BMW’s…Subaru’s…couple of semis comin’ up from behind…

Had the radio turned to clasical music…Schubert…Mozart…Beethoven…the hits kept comin’…he’d hum along to ’em…not knowin’ where he was gonna end up…maybe Petosky…maybe the U.P. …

Then he got this crazy notion ’bout leavin’ the country…goin’ to Canada and never comin’ back…had no wife…no kids…nothin’ to keep him in the states…he thought ’bout it…thought ’bout it…

He started laughin’ crazily…talkin’ to himself…little words like…should’ve…would’ve…could’ve…

Said his whole life was one big road trip…skippin’ from town to town…accomplishin’ nothin’…it was ’bout that time…

Got to the border and just kept drivin’…just kept drivin’…

I’m always hearin’ things…cars drivin’ by…ambulances flyin’ down streets…fire trucks racin’ to somewhere…cops always on the chase…gun shots down alleyways…

the hum of a refrigerator…air-conditioner clickin’ off and on…tv makin’ noise ‘cross the hall…old man next door talkin’ to himself…always talkin’ to himself…

these sounds…sometimes they feel like ghosts haunting throughout the night…pitch black outside…can’t see a thing…just hear ’em as you’re tucked away in bed…tryin’ to sleep with one eye open…wonderin’ if you’ll eventually dream…maybe it’s all a dream…

I remember when I lived in New York…goin’ down to the river and closin’ my mind off to everything but the sound of waves…choppy waters…boats makin’ the East River move…and I’d feel the breeze on my face…there was always a mist…it was peaceful…peaceful…

no longer do I hear the East River…no longer am I at peace…there is no water to take me away from the sirens…the yells of drunks walkin’ home at three in the mornin’…couples fightin’…air brakes on diesels…

water is needed…water is needed…

heard footsteps…boots walkin’ the halls…heavy walkin’…back and forth on hard wood…boards would creak at times…

all day long the old man would stroll up and down the hallway…not sayin’ a word…almost as if he were marchin’ to a beat inside his head…some kinda rhythm from from a fife and drum corps…like he was a Marine or somethin’…’cept no-one was givin’ orders…least none that I could hear…

he’d march up to the front of the hall…then march back to the the other end…turnin’ onna dime…his steps were crisp…gait was clean…nothin’ sloppy…or haphazard ’bout it…just a man steppin’ to a beat…

and he’d carry this American flag in his hands…pole restin’ on his shoulder…but he wouldn’t say a word…just precision in every step…

the man would march till nightfall…clear up till the Sun went down…wouldn’t hear anything up to morning at the crack of dawn…and those boots would hit the floor again…

some men never quit…

he spent all day inside his rented room…lookin’ out a window at an alleyway where kids played kick the can…bums went through garbage bins…cop cars roamed…

saw people…Mexicans goin’ into Saint Patrick’s…little girls dressed in white…dad’s with black hair slicked back…mom’s wearin’ skirts…families gettin’ out of old pick up trucks and used vans…an old woman sellin’ tamales on the sidewalk out front…

and he heard rap music booming from car speakers as they drove through stop signs…listened to black girls laughin’ as they jumped rope…their mom’s out in weedy front yards with hands on thick hips…

old boarded up houses ‘cross the street…with storefront white washed windows…for rent signs…call this number…everyone lookin’ for a buck…

he spent all day inside his rented room…

somethin’ was wrong…way off…couldn’t tell what it was…just felt different than usual…the air outside was so hot…you’d think the moon was lettin’ off heat…big silver thing in the sky…perfect round ball…we just sat there lookin’ at it…waitin’ on daylight…waitin’ on daylight…

tried to hold your hand…but you wouldn’t let me…tried to kiss you once or twice…you weren’t gonna have anything to do with it…just brushed my advances aside…didn’t say a word…silence…stillness in a quiet night…

and there was all this heat lightning…clouds would glow…it was like watchin’ a movie…pictures in the sky…colored photographs…yellowish turnin’ orange as the night wore on…was like a dream…maybe it was…

you finally spoke…said sorry…sorry that you’d have to leave me…got tired of the bills bein’ behind…tired of bein’ hungry…wanted life to be easier…I just shook my head…didn’t know what to say…I wasn’t like those other men you’d had before…didn’t know how to sell anything…had no skills…just knew how to drive a taxi from one end of town to the other…pickin’ up people at hotels…droppin’ ’em off at the airport…bus station…never made enough to keep you happy…you always wanted more…

so I used to take you on rides…long rides ’round the city…turned off the meter and we’d just drive…listenin’ to music the whole time…Bill Evans…Chet Baker…Bud Powell…we didn’t say a word back then either…didn’t have to…the songs would kinda work as a language ‘tween us…there was an understanding…

you said you wanted to leave…found some other man…some insurance salesman…said he treated you well…brought you flowers and spent money on you…perfumes…dresses…jewelry…I wondered where you got that necklace…

I watched the moon as you walked away…didn’t yell…didn’t try to keep you…just let you go…it’s strange when you know things are over…when you come to that realization that it’d run a course… and now there was nothin’ to be said…nothin’ to be done…decisions had been made…

so I watched the heat lightning…listened to Coltrane…sat there in the car listenin’ to, Lush Life…Billy Strayhorn was right…jazz and cocktails…jazz and cocktails…twelve o’clock tales…

this was one of those…

middle of the night he’d go fishin’…go out to the pier…drop a line or two…sit back in a foldin’ chair and wait…so dark out there you couldn’t even see the bobbers go down…fished by feel…start reelin’ it in the second he felt a tug…somethin’ pullin’…most of the time it’d wind up bein’ a little blue gill…or a crappie…wouldn’t keep ’em…just catch and release…catch and release…

he’d be out there with a twelve pack of beer…drink ’em down one at a time…cans of Schlitz would line up by his tackle box…sweat on the cans would stay awhile…he’d tap the top of one ‘fore he opened it…like thumpin’ a melon…never saw much sense in it…said it’d keep the beer from sprayin’ him…there’d be a slight mist every time he opened ’em…his big hands were always wet…

and he’d hum songs…old country songs…Buck Owens…Hank Williams…words would slip outta his mouth as he nodded his head…hummin’ along to tunes like, Streets Of Bakersfield…, You don’t know me you don’t like me…say you care less how I feel…,the words were sung in hushed tones…,How many of you sit and judge me…walk the streets of Bakersfield…

mornin’ would come and you could find him on the pier passed out…chin down in his chest…hat down over his eyes…momma’d go down there to wake him up…tell him breakfast was ready…help him with his tackle…poles…brought a trash bag along to put the empties in…she wound up carryin’ most of the stuff with him drapped over her shoulders…

summer time we’d sit at that breakfast table together…birds would be chirpin…bull frogs croakin’…coffee pot perculatin’…and the smell of stale beer from his breath…those sounds…those smells…feel like home…

we never talked at the table…Grandpa would still be mumblin’ songs…I’d just and eat my Frosted Flakes and listen…to a man who’d found solace in drunkeness…guess he earned it…

*Streets Of Bakersfield, by Homer Joy.

the Chevrolet station wagon was parked out in the street…it’d sat there for awhile…needed a battery…jumpin’ it just didn’t work anymore…so the old man just let it sit there…collectin’ rust from winter’s punishment and summer’s rain…all it took was a new battery…all it needed…

instead…he took the bus everywhere he went…he’d take it to the day labor place over on Calhoun…stand in line with Mexicans and Blacks…all of ’em waitin’ for some kinda job to be sent out on…some kinda hope for a paycheck at the end of the week…

some would spend that money just as soon as they’d got it…spend it on booze…crack…whores…we all have our vices…he’d spend his at the casino down South…takin’ the bus every Saturday to Anderson so he could play the slots…he’d put in a couple of bucks..hit ten and cash out…he’d do this till he hit a hundred bucks then collect his money and sit down to a buffet dinner by himself…puttin’ the rest in his pocket…he had plans…

kept workin’ and workin’ at the day labor joint…different kinds of jobs…warehouse work…assembly lines…beer trucks…separatin’ trash from recyclables…work that most men would turn their noses up at…but he took it…only twelve bucks an hour for most of the work… sometimes he’d hit it lucky on the beer trucks and drivers would tip him out for a day of liftin’ kegs and wheelin’ cases down cellar stairs…hard work was the only work he knew…

one day he counted his money that’d been savin’…from casino winnings…tips from drivers…little bit of scratch…came up with two thousand bucks…figured that was ‘nough…

and it was on one mornin’ that he didn’t go into work…didn’t show up to stand in line and wait for a job slip…he decided to sleep in…spend money onna battery for the Chevy…pack his bags…and go on a long vacation…extended out to eternity…

he crossed the Ohio line…drove through the buckeye state down towards Youngstown and on into Pennsylvania…bought a bucket of chicken and stayed up all night in a motel room watchin cable television…HBO…STARZ…ESPN…FOX news…kept lookin’ at pictures on the tv with the sound down…a soft mumble…

drove on up to Philly where he had one sandwich at Pat’s and then walked ‘cross the street to Gino’s to try their steak and cheese as well…that’s all he got outta that town…didn’t see the Liberty Bell…didn’t go to any museums…just wanted to try an authentic steak and cheese or two…

parked the wagon in Time’s Square…New York City…went and talked to a pretty girl behind glass…told her ’bout his travels…money he had on him…stories of how life had passed him by…yeah…how life had passed him by…

next mornin’ he was found dead in his car outside of Yonkers…apparently he’d fallen asleep in the wrong neighborhood…killed from a gunshot straight to his heart…killers gottaway with two hundred bucks…all he had left on him…vacations can kill a man…

the call came early that morning…’round three…I was up…drinkin’ coffee and waiting on the sun…always waiting on the sun…there’s nothing like watchin’ it come outta the black of night…cracking the dark…makin’ a beautiful orange color in the sky…it became my daily ritual…used to watch the great ball of fire come up in New York City each mornin’ as I’d walk out of the drop-in center on 30th…after contorting my body in a metal chair all night it was the sun that gave me hope…that bright star gives me hope…

she said she wasn’t comin’ home…said she was done with the whole thing…knew I’d be up…figured it was a good time to tell me…I listened to her…it wasn’t even difficult for her…she didn’t stammer ’round or nothin’…just out with it clear as a bell…,I’m leaving you…, she said…, I can’t take any more of it…, she was sure in her words…

I don’t know honey…I can never count on you to be there for me.., the emerald eyed fairy said…, one day you’re here in town…the next you’re gone on some bus windin’ up in Dallas…Nashville…used to get collect calls from Montreal…just tired of it…, I listened…,It’d be one thing if you were stable…but you’re not…all this runnin’ ’round…like some kind of Mexican bandit…surprised you haven’t robbed fillin’ stations or banks…maybe that’s next on your list…I don’t know…, I assured her it wasn’t…

then there was this eerie silence ‘tween us…neither one of us knew what to say…everything she said was true…I was always plannin’ on some kind of escape…just wantin’ to pack my book bag and leave…feelin’ trapped all the time…never able to keep down a job…it was she that put food on the table with her third shift trick down at the factory…she never wanted that…she had dreams of bein’ a mom…we tried for the longest damn time…it just never worked out that way…

so…she called me on her break to tell me she wasn’t gonna come back home till I was gone…said…,Take your time decidin’ where it is you’re off to this time and when you’re gone give me a call…, that’s what she wanted…

I told the redhead I’d oblige…she told me there was a couple hundred bucks in the dreser drawer I could have…, Hey…maybe you should head out West this time…try your hand at bein’ a cowboy or somethin’ like that…, she laughed…, I mean…you get up at all hours anyway…with your coffee and cigarettes…maybe you could be a real Marlboro man…, told her we’d see ’bout that…

we got off the phone and the sun was comin’ up…that sun that gives me hope…I watched it peek through the clouds…watched it break like an egg over the city…looked at it…realized dreams come true…dreams come true…

what’dya see out there…

nothin’…

it’s pitch black…no wonder…probably couldn’t even see your own hand in front of your face it’s so dark…

no-one else is up…still too early…people still asleep…I should be asleep…

you…you never sleep…always up messin’ ’round in the kitchen…or readin’ some kinda book…or lookin’ out the window…just starin’ into the night…the blackness of it all…and you see nothin’…yet you still look…

hear things…birds chirpin’…train goin’ by…car drivin’ down the street sometimes…bus makin’ its stops…

but you can’t see anyhting…just hear…almost like bein’ blind…livin’ in a world of sound…why do you look out there…I mean…if you can’t see anything what’s the point of lookin’…

waitin’ on the sun…

won’t be up for hours…

I’ll wait…I’m always waitin’…

you’re a patient man…you wait on a lotta things…

yep…

the sun…jobs to come along…waitin’ for Christ himself to come back…you just wait…

hear that…

what…

wind’s kickin’ up…gonna be a storm…been waitin’ onna storm…haven’t had a good rainfall for quite some time now…been so hot…maybe it’ll cool things down…

ain’t nothin’ gonna cool down…it’s July…always hot in July…followed by misery in August…nothin’ good comes of summer…

need summer…just like you need the rest of the seasons…time for death…time for re-birth…time for things to grow…time for things to ripen…go out to some of these farms…along the highway you’ll see nothin’ but corn…rows and rows of corn a mile high…and you have to wait till the right time to pick it…doesn’t happen over night…takes months…farmers know…they know ’bout seasons…they wait…

and you…

I’m just a fool lookin’ out into darkness…