Saturday Blast From The Past

Jorge looked down at the pile. Passersby saw a pile of clock parts, the timeless faces staring up unable to answer to their one question in life, what time is it. But Jorge saw something different, he saw the years of his life heaped into one big meaningless tangle of springs and gears.

Clock making had been his life. The only life he'd really known. He spent many years perfecting his craft and many more years earning the respect from his peers. He gave his family a home and a future. He was well known in the city, if anyone wanted the best clock they went to Jorge.

When his son announced that he didn't want to be a clock maker, Jorge was crushed, and their relationship stretched like an over wound watch. He could never understand how his son could walk away from the life that Jorge worked so hard to provide. Now, looking down at the disarray of watchworks he began to be thankful, thankful that his son refused this ending. His son, the banker. Sure, his son could help him finance the rebuilding of the shop but what would be the point?

The age of electronics had arrived. His work was mostly for the rich anymore, the rich and the very old, the ones who have time and money for quality. He could rebuild the shop and live through the eventual slow death or he could salvage what's left of the pieces and parts and retire for good.

Here he was, master of timekeeping, retired early through an accident, and behind the times on purpose. He was sure that people would still want the precision of mechanical clocks over the newfangled electronic version. He was positive there was still a place for his craft in the world, and until the city's historical society put him and his shop on the historical tour he thought he had plenty of time.

The driver of the truck was positive he changed the batteries in his watch just last week. He was sure that he was on schedule, but the digits told him otherwise. And while he tapped and strained to hear the metallic ticking he didn't notice the pedestrian in the road until too late. He had just enough time to swerve, miss the pedestrian, and crash straight through the old clock shop.

Jorge looked down at the jumble of timeless faces looking back up at him, all telling him the same thing. His time had come.

Saturday Blast From The Past- End of May

End of May



"'Write on my gravestone: "Infidel, Traitor."' Okay class, who can tell me who said that?" Miss Jensen looked around to see if there was any sign of recognition on any faces. Most of them were trying to look invisible. She saw Libby looking around to see if any other hands were going up, seeing none she slowly raised hers.

"Yes Libby," Miss Jensen said. Thank God for one she thought.

"Wendell Phillips" Libby offered.

"Yes that's right Libby, thank you. People, I know that it's hot and I know that you all want to get out of here. But finals are coming up and if you haven't read this material I suggest you start doing so." As she spoke the students were putting their books into their packs and were barely hiding their inattention. "Just two more weeks," she continued, " and you'll be rid of me, but for now, read the chapter." The bell rang signaling the stampede to the door.

She saw Jimmy Petrie walking down the isle and said, "Mr. Petrie, could I see you for a moment." She wasn't sure if it was the heat or the long school year but she couldn't help noticing how Jimmy had filled out this year. He played varsity everything so it was no wonder.

"Yes Miss Jensen," Jimmy said. He stood next to her. She found his proximity alarmingly arousing, felt she should move away yet was unable.

"I ah, wanted to ask you," she found it hard to speak. They were the only two in the room by now and the heat between them was almost more than she could bear. "I wanted to ask about your term paper that was due last..." she trailed off, unable to go on while looking to his blue eyes. Before she knew what she was doing she reached up and kissed him full on the mouth. She let go quickly, shocked at her own behavior.

Jimmy stepped towards her, took the side of her face gently in his hand, looked deep into her eyes and said, "Mr. Petrie, can you please state the Pythagorean Theorem?"

She looked at him confused, he leaned in towards her and said "Earth to Mr. Petrie."

The entire fifth period Algebra class erupted into laughter as Mr. Langdon leaned over Jimmy Petrie's desk. "Mr. Petrie, your grades aren't good enough that you can sit and daydream all though class. I suggest you pay more attention." Mr. Langdon walked back towards the front of the class as the snickers continued. Jimmy shrunk down in his seat and hoped his notebook was hiding the residual effects of his daydream.

Saturday Blast From The Past-Hidden Letters

Hidden Letters



"I got to find something hidden once. It's not all it's cracked up to be. It happens in an instant and then you can't take it back, can't un-find it." Frank said as his fingers tapped the remnants of a cigarette against the ashtray.

John watched Frank drain his glass, watched the lines deepen around eyes searching for the waitress. He knew Frank was about the same age as his dad, but he couldn't quite think of them as members of the same generation.

"I used to be laundry boy, it was my chore", Frank said as he slid the waitress a five and waved off the change. "Things between us were pretty good I thought. The novelty had worn off and we'd settled into the day to day sharing of lives." He paused to chuckle to himself. He looked right at John for the first time as he said, "you never really know a person." He stopped to light another cigarette. John watched him and wondered what the laundry had to do with it.

Frank started up with his story again almost as if he were talking to no one in particular, just pausing to drag now and then while looking at a spot somewhere between the ashtray and the back of John's seat. "We used to split the chores in the house since we both worked the same hours. I got laundry. One day I'm putting her clothes away and there, sticking out from under her emergency underwear was what looked like some envelopes." He looked right at John again. "You ever just suddenly know something? Just know it in an instant without any good reason?"

John gave a slight shrug unsure whether or not to respond. Frank went back to looking at the spot in between and continued, "I just saw the smallest corner of a few envelopes sticking out, just the tiniest bit, but I knew. I knew what it meant in an instant. I knew it wasn't some left over souvenirs from birthdays gone by. I don't know how long I stood there and stared at those corners. But I had to know for sure. I knew in every part of me what was in there but I had to see it with my eyes. I had to prove it. Had anyone suggested such a thing to me I wouldn't have believed it remotely possible. But I could feel the truth of it. It even made me feel guilty how certain I was, like I was selling her short for not giving her the benefit of the doubt. I had to give her that didn't I?"

He took a couple drags off his cigarette and then put it out. John felt lucky. Grateful for what he had. Sarah was solid. He'd known her since his sophomore year of college. Sweet and honest, he could always count on her. He knew that their impending marriage would stand the test of time. He knew they had something special.

Frank raised his glass and before draining it off and said, "Be careful how hard you hold on. Things can change in an instant in spite of how much you think you know."

They both looked up at the young brunette walking towards them. She slid in next to John and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Hey Sarah, how was shopping?" John asked as he put his arm around her.

"Oh not bad, I didn't spend too much if that's what you want to know," she joked. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything?"

"No not at all, in fact I was just getting ready to leave anyway. You two have a good one and I'll see you Monday, John." Frank got up and they watched him walk away.

"He always seems sort of sad, even when he's laughing," she said as she watched the door he went through. She turned back and noticed John was just looking at her. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm just looking is all," John said but he didn't look away from the brown eyes that had become so familiar.

"You look like you've never seen me before or something, what's the matter?"

"Oh nothing. Just thinking. Did you ever wonder if you really knew me?" he asked.

"What? After five years I think I know you. What's gotten into you anyway? Maybe I should drive. C'mon, let's go." They got up and walked out through the door that Frank had taken moments before. John looked at her and said, "Yeah, maybe you should drive."

Saturday Blast From The Past-Iron Fist

Iron Fist



"Aren't you even a little bit excited?"

"Excited to get it over with is all," Lisa said as she lifted a bit of Chef's Salad to her lips.

"But it's Iron Fist! They're huge. C'mon, you must be a little bit into it?" Jenny asked.

Lisa set her fork on the edge of her plate and said, "They're loud. They're metal. But music they are not. What's exciting about loud for the sake of loud without even the hope of melody the whole night?" She paused to dab at the corners of her mouth with the napkin before continuing. "I'll just be glad when it's over. Maestro said it's so we can expand our audience. He thinks we can maybe draw in some of the younger crowd this way. Like they can even appreciate what we do, or even hear what we do for that matter."

"Lisa, you need to loosen up a little bit, this might be good for you."

"Good for me? This will be about as good for me as sitting on the runway at O'Hare."

"Then why do it?"

"I've worked hard to make it to second chair and if I have any hope of making it to first chair I need to do whatever Maestro says," Lisa spoke the last words as her gaze drifted past Jenny and out the window.

Jenny gave Lisa's arm a playful shake and said, "Well, try to have some fun anyway."

"I'll have fun when this is all behind me."

"Well, I think it's cool and I wouldn't miss it for the world. And I'll be sure to take pictures. No one would believe me otherwise."

"Great. Thanks. A lot."

"Hey, what are sisters for anyway? Look, I have to go. Thanks for lunch. Cheer up, I think you'll look good in leather," Jenny said as she rose.

Lisa threw her crumpled napkin as a reply but she couldn't hide a smile. She loved her sister although she never could quite understand her. She watched Jenny bop out of the restaurant and thought how Jenny was so much like their mother, living moment to moment. Jenny just followed her desires with no real planning, no real forethought, just jumping in with both feet come what may.

In the cab she felt a little of the sadness she sometimes felt after being with her sister. She reminded herself of the times she had employed spontaneity in her life, tried to convince herself that she wasn't too set in her ways. Then she was a bit peeved at herself for feeling the need to justify and rationalize. Her last thought of the cycle before paying the driver was no, she wasn't missing out.

After her shower she began her pre-show warm up. She started with the major scales, three times up and back in each key, just like always. As she did she thought of Jenny's question at lunch, why do it. Because Lisa wanted first chair, not in a greedy way but as a goal to achieve, a goal to work towards. Each time the tryouts came around she hoped but always the same. She began the minor scales, three times up and back. After all, didn't she practice everyday? Warm up before every show? And yet Maestro continues to maintain that she lacks a certain passion. She couldn't understand him. She worked so hard.

Lisa grabbed a quick bite, which she found difficult to finish, then headed out with her cello. In the cab she reflected on the two rehearsals they had with the band last week. She couldn't imagine how they were going to pull this off. They set up in an old warehouse that the band rented and ran through the songs. The charts, such as they were, were like none she'd seen. Nowhere could she find any sort of melody. The chords were simplistic and few, everything so staccato like she were typing a letter. She remembered after the first few songs how thin the band sounded in comparison to the orchestra. She couldn't imagine how this was all going to blend together. The band members, looking like they just rolled out of bed in the same clothes they went into bed with, seemed happy about it. It just reinforced her opinion that they have no real clue about music. Oh well, she told herself, it's a long climb to first chair.

She got to the arena and headed to the stage. Stagehands were everywhere--hanging lights and running cables--it seemed like the ultimate chaos. She noticed that there was a whole crate full of nothing but duct tape. The tattooed roadie who saw her looking at it said, "It ain't rock and roll without duct tape." Then he held up his pointer and pinky and hung out his tongue. He turned and headed towards the stage. She stared after him for a moment then made her way to the stage and found her place. Fortunately Trish, the other second chair, was already there. As she set up her music stand Trish was all smiles, "Isn't this awesome Lees?"

"Yeah, great."

"Awe c'mon, this will be fun, you'll see. Check out the bass player, what an ass," Trish said while looking right straight at it with one raised eyebrow.

"Trish!"

Trish just shrugged, "You know, when in Rome..."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Lisa said with a shake of her head.

The band finally rolled in and the stage manager came up. "People. We're going to run through two tunes to start with. Lets do Lick This and then we'll go right into Spank My Naughty Ass. Just like at rehearsal."

Lick This started with just the orchestra, they built it up for a few measures then the drums came in. Lisa was a bit taken back by the volume. She looked over at Trish who was clearly enjoying this. After the thin sound at the rehearsals she wasn't prepared for how loud this was. Not loud in a piercing sense but loud with a lot of sound pressure. By the time they went into Spank her ears were starting to adjust and she could start to hear herself better and even hear some of the other symphony members. This was going to be a long night she thought.

After their second time through Lick This the stage manager came back on stage. He spoke like someone accustomed to speaking over loud noises. "Thanks you guys, that ought to do it. Please be back here by eight tonight. Don't forget your passes, we'd hate to loose half our symphony because they couldn't get past security. Any questions? Right then, later."

"Oh my God Trish, I think I'll have permanent damage to my ears."

"It goes away," Trish said with a wave. "Tonight before we start they'll have music playing through the system. As it gets closer to show time they'll keep eking up volume to get every ones ears acclimated to it. Plus there will be thousands of people here to absorb a lot of the harshest parts."

"You sound like you've done this before?" Lisa asked.

"Hey, I like all different types of music. It helps me to look at what we do differently. I try to go to different types of shows and try and find the talent in it all. Some of what they do isn't as easy as you would think, just look at that drummer. When I go back to playing what we play I feel like I'm coming home. You should check it out some time, you don't know what you're missing."

"I think I have a pretty good idea now," Lisa said as she put her sheet music back in its protective cover.

"Well anyway, I'll see you tonight, and cheer up it'll be a blast!"

"I wish I could share your enthusiasm," she said as she shook her head.

Lisa arrived back at the arena and wished she would have come a little earlier, it was a sea of people everywhere. Trish was one big smile when she sat down. Lisa liked Trish mainly because of her resemblance to Jenny, she had that same sparkling-cider enthusiasm. She was glad for Trish's presence too. She had a case of nerves, which caught her off guard. This was a large crowd but she had played large crowds before. This one was different than the crowds she was used to--there seemed to be an underlying danger somehow. The only thing she could equate it to was the trip she took to Africa. They spent three days in the game preserve. For the most part they were safe but the animals were always a step away, and the possibility of primal violence never far.

"The bass player's wearing leather. Oh yeah baby!" Trish squealed.

"You're too much." Lisa said with a smile and a roll of the eyes.

The canned music stopped, the lights went down and the curtains went up. The roar of people was deafening. The audience was a sea of lights. Everyone held a lighter up in the air and screamed. Just when she thought it couldn't get louder the band walked out. The crowd redoubled their screams. Then the guitar started its long howling feedback. The strings section kicked in. Then the rest of the band launched into a thunder like none she'd ever heard. This wasn't anything like rehearsal, not even like sound check. Insanely loud, yes, but there was a fullness to it that almost cradled her and that caught her off guard.

For Lisa the typical view of a performance was an elegant symphony hall filled with nicely dressed people sitting with their legs crossed. They listened politely to every note and wouldn't even dream of applauding until the last strains of notes drifted away. But here, the crowd was frenzied, they screamed. They raised their fists. Some even crashed into each other...on purpose. And they liked it. The drums produced a thunder that shook the inside of her bones. The band was fully awake now, no longer the sleepy looking rag bags she saw this afternoon. They were in control of all. They were gods to this crowd and the crowd worshipped them the only way they knew how. They screamed and screamed. The band wasn't just standing there either, they ran, they jumped, they fell to their knees never once missing a note.

Lisa found that she was being caught up in this swirling vortex of sound. The power of it all. She saw sweat fly in every direction away from the drummer as he sat perched on the edge of his butt cheeks, both feet and arms flailing. She felt as though her hair were standing straight up. She had goose bumps all over. They moved from one song to the next seemingly without any transition. She was no longer aware of Trish, of Maestro, or of the notes on the page. The notes began to flow from within her. She became one with her cello. She dug in like never before. Before the night was half over a lot of the hairs of her bow were busted and hanging from one end flying in the breeze created by the giant fans on the side of the stage. The lights swirled into each other and joined with the music to paint one full picture. She gripped the cello between her legs with more force than ever. Her dress was plastered to her back, soaked in sweat. She threw her head back in ecstasy. This was a depth of music she'd never felt. This isn't supposed to be happening she heard a small voice in her mind say, but she didn't listen. Instead she dug in harder and harder. The thunder flowed through her to places she didn't know she had. There was no longer any thinking of music, only feeling, pure and wonderful feeling. She rode the crest of the wave all the way to the end.

She rode home in the cab with the echoes of the crowds and guitars in her ears. She couldn't quite remove the whole smile from her face, she felt drained of everything, almost post-orgasmic. She watched the buildings pass by as she lounged, head back on the seat. In her head she listened again as she played things she didn't know she could play. Felt the notes pass through her, resonating, flowing out from her in tidal swells. She remembered the image of her shredded bow and decided it didn't really matter. She was surprised to find the cab had stopped. Paid the driver and walked up to her apartment in a trance. As relaxed as she felt she found it difficult to sleep but eventually did, impressions of the show right on the edge of thought.

***

Lisa bounded into the kitchen to answer the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey Lees, it's Greg. How's it going?"

Lisa headed towards the fridge, newspaper clipping from last springs Iron Fist gig still hanging on the door, and grabbed a mineral water, "Oh hey Greg, going good. In fact it's going extremely well. I finally got it!"

"First chair? Congratulations! You must be so excited. I know you've wanted this for a long time."

"Thanks Greg. I still can't believe it myself, I feel like I'm walking on clouds."

"So what'd Maestro say?"

"Well, he said that in the past few months I've started to show a passion in my music that had been lacking."

"Well that's awesome! How about I take you out to dinner for a little celebration?"

"Sorry Greg, maybe another time. Iron Fist is in town and I have tickets. Front row."

Originally published in Prose Toad (c)2005

Saturday Blast From The Past-Blind Date

Blind Date

It's so degrading to be fixed up. It seems like once you've agreed, you have accepted defeat, yet you never realized it was a battle. But it is a battle. Just one in the long war. In this battle you stand defiant. You stand with head held high, arms akimbo, wind in hair and declare to the world with added reverb, you shall not be fixed up, you will have a woman when and only when you choose. And when you choose, they shall come.

And then there you are. You find yourself driving to what feels like your doom but it's just a date, one that was arranged for you by some friends. Why'd you give in you ask yourself. And as you ask yourself this you also wonder what happened to the wind in your hair. No longer are your arms akimbo. No longer are your declarations layered with reverb. You are in a wooden chair with one lone bare bulb hanging above your head as you ask yourself what the hell were you thinking?

And as you drive with both hands gripping the steering wheel you realize that the next battle is raging now. Do you run? Run back to your little mountain and stand with the wind in your hair once again? Get out while there's still time? Laugh your triumphant laugh?

And what do you see from your mountaintop? You see the valley of the hooked up spread out before you, a sea of picket fences and patio furniture. Spread out before you as though you could reach out and pick any of them. But you can't. Not from your
mountain. And since you weren't able to walk through the front door on your own you now find yourself driving down the back alley called blind date.

As you pull up to the Beatitude Bistro and see the happy combatants passing through the doors you realize that this is where the real battle begins. The others have been minor skirmishes in comparison. You check your armor and weaponry one last time in the rear view mirror then begin the forward march.

And as you march you wonder how will you even know if you've won or lost when you come out. If you're sent back to your mountaintop of solitude then have you lost? Have you won? Can you say, there, I did it, I tried it their way and look I'm home again. Would that be so bad? Or do you walk out all smiles and bliss? Has she conquered you or have you conquered her? Have you won? Do you go to sleep in the palace only to wake up in the dungeon with your head in a vice? Or do you sit on your patio furniture in the valley looking past your picket fence trying to see
top of your old mountaintop shrouded in the mist of memory?

Originally published in Prose Toad c2005

Okay sure, another year.

Here's what I do each year at this time. I sit down and write a summary of what happened to me through out the previous year. I keep a journal anyway and if I wanted to I could look up all the answers and know exactly what I did during the previous year because it's all documented. But I don't. It would feel like cheating.

Instead what I do is try to remember what I did all year. I try to remember how I felt all year. In short, what I do is try to write down the essence of what I'm left with when the year is over. What did I feel? What did I do? What do I think it all meant? That's what I write. It took me twenty three pages this year to hammer it all out. And that wasn't enough. I woke up on day two of the new year remembering more things that I could have said.

But what I really figured out, what I figure out every year at this time, is that it's just another day. What I think I'm finally figuring out is: life goes on. It would be nice to think that we could close the chapter and then open a new one. Just like that, we throw out the old calendar and buy a new one. We hang it up and start to fill it with the new dates. We write down when the phone bill and electric bill is due. We plan out what we'll do in the upcoming year. We'll make resolutions. We'll decide that this year is going to be different. We'll tell ourselves that this year will be different. We'll loose that weight. We'll get our shit together. We'll set a goal to get laid by July.

But the truth is that we go to bed on the last day of one year and wake up on the first day of another year. The difference between the two is a matter of moments. We get up and the same dirty dishes are in our sinks. We make a fresh pot of coffee and maybe we even wash those dishes. But the trash can is still half full. We might wait until day three or four before it's ready to be emptied. We put it into the shed next to the bag that's been there since the beginning of the last week of the previous year. After another week they look about the same.

So I read my little year end wrap ups and look at my new years resolutions and I find that they all say the same thing. No really, this time I'm going to loose that weight. This time I'm going to get my shit together. This time I'm going to improve. On and on the resolutions go. It's funny how each year they end up being the same thing.

Each year we decide to do the same things. We decide to get better. We decide to push on.

Maybe that's all we can do. Maybe all we really can decide at the start of another year is to do it again.

All we can do is live.

Merry Christmas Special K

Back in the day when I was married we, my second ex wife and I, lived in an apartment building. In this building there lived a special needs man, his name is Kevin. He was quite retarded but very nice. He was a challenge to my so called Christianity. He lived in the apartment adjacent to ours. He loved Looney Tunes and naked fifty year old women. It was sad. He didn’t start out life like that, he had a mean step father who beat him with a baseball bat at the age of nine and poor Kevin never mentally got past that age.

He was just un-retarded enough to live on his own but not un-retarded enough to deal with his loneliness. It was clear from moment one that he was totally in love with my ex. She was cute and nice to him so why wouldn’t he be? He knew I could fix things and he was just un-retarded enough to break stuff for me to fix, just for the attention.

He reminded me of the dude in Of Mice And Men. He had a bicycle that he rode around town on. He would bring it to me from time to time to fix. I could tell that he didn’t know his own strength. This one time he came and I asked him what happened and from what I could gather from his jumbled story, someone had pulled out in front of him while he was going downhill into town. It scared him pretty bad so he hit the breaks for all he was worth. I’d never seen anything like that before. He squeezed so hard that the cables came out of their holders. The break calipers twisted and bent in ways that I never thought possible, at least not with the use of human hands. Fortunately he was naturally gentle.

Anyway. He supposedly believed in Santa. I was never sure if he really did or if it was just an act, it was hard to tell with him. But every year around Christmas he talked about Santa just like any other nine year old. We would usually get him some gifts from Santa. He would always leave stuff out for Santa. A few cookies, some milk, and some carrots for the reindeer. The problem was he would stay up so friggin’ late that we had to stay up half the night just to sneak over there without him spotting us. I can remember more than one Christmas eve going over there in freezing cold temperatures at three in the morning just to sneak up on his porch and leave some gifts and to make his treats look like Santa had been there. Do you know how hard it is to bite into frozen carrots? And since we knew he wasn’t totally stupid we would have to bury his frozen eggnog in the snow since he’d know if we just dumped it in the open. At least we could bring the cookies in our house so they’d thaw out.

Poor Kevin. I don’t know if I’m a Christian because I’m not even sure what it means. I’m not sure I ever knew. But whatever it means, I know that he was always my biggest test. And for a number of years he was a part of my Christmas, he was my Christmas test. I don’t know if I ever passed it but I did leave plenty of teeth marks in frozen carrots at three in the morning.

I don’t know what ever happened to him. People like him really need routine and don’t deal with change very well. I know that he took our divorce pretty hard, on some levels probably harder than we did. I think of him every Christmas.

Wherever you are Kevin, I hope Santa visits you and I hope you have a safe and Merry Christmas.