The Road to Camarillo

See the boy.

He is younger than the other two boys, they are all brothers. The boy is the youngest, smallest, the tall one is next, the strong one is oldest. They are all boys and they are all brothers. The tall brother has a problem. It is a problem the boy recalls from an afternoon with sun from a sycamore squinting at his tall brother go mad. The sun never looked the same after that and the boy lost something early.

There were trips the boy would make out to the hospital in the station wagon along the roads to Camarillo. He had A&W root beer afterward.

All of the brothers grew and the mad one would come to visit. The boy liked to use the bathroom as his refuge. If his parents were screaming, it would be a little more quiet in there. No one cared if he was taking a dump. Most of the time it was OK, but when his parents were trashing each other he took to the bathroom and ran the water.

Strong brother leaves to go next door, leaving mad boy and the boy. The boy is in the bathroom. Mad tall brother drags heavy feet to the bathroom door, knocks on the door...He wants to listen to music, he wants to listen to Jesus Christ Superstar. The boy opens the door and tall brother pounces on him like a mongoose with acne. "Gotcha!" he says. The boy will be his prisoner now...well OK.

There is an antique vehicle in the car port in the California sun, the boy is marched out, grabbed around the neck. It chafes a bit but there is nothing for an 8 year old to do. They study the car. There is talk of the engine from the tall brother which becomes a meditation on the Germans and Jesus Christ. The Torah, the Mail, the Lee Enfield rifle, World War II. They were all in it together. So the boy must be guilty. He is grabbed and marched through the car port to the gate that hangs off a hinge and into the back yard.

The boy sees the tangerine tree and the orange tree.

The tangerine tree brought forth the sweetest fruit, with very few seeds. The orange tree grew sour yellow oranges that were only good for juice, and even then they required large amounts of sugar added. Nothing good comes from sugar, it's too sweet for this sunshine.

The boy sees the oranges and recalls there being so many, and in such surplus, that he could use them for target practice against the cinderblock wall in the back of the yard. Now he sees the trees tossing in the wind...no it is not wind. The mad boy has picked him up and is carrying him, the crazy back and forth wind. He stomps forward with the load of the boy across his arms in front of him. He is a strong boy, and the boy himself is very young.

Splash they jump together into the shallow end.

The boy sees the tangerine tree and orange tree.

He wants to see them again, as they go down in his vision at an angle, splash, taste of chlorine, strong, runs up and through the boy's mouth and nostrils as his head goes under the force of mad brother's thrust once, twice, thrice. The boy breathes in hard through his nose and then he is marched further, but underwater, to the deep end. There is a thrashing of the water and it becomes white, then blue, then dark. The boy feels death. He can no longer see when his head comes above to the California sun, not before the next plunge.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Strong brother is standing at the edge,his arms folded. All of the brothers have a way of folding their arms. It speaks loud, and in that case, it saved the boy's life. There is something to be said for that.


See the man. His back hurts. So does his strong brother of the folded arms. The man admires his strong brother. They are all men now, even mad brother; his belly is distended and he appears in a hunched way, very harmless. The man feels the hinge of a squeaky iron thing that has run back and forth too may times; rust. They are reunited. The man can't disremember those eyes for he looked in them on the way down. Mad brother speaks of the FedEx and various non sequiturs. It is time for the man to let it go. It helps to have strong brother there. It helps a lot.

There is a moment when the man goes to get his meat from the table, and mad brother is standing behind him, when the man's neck feels, his neck feels, his whole back feels, vulnerable. It caused the man to have very good peripheral vision. There are carving knives nearby.

See the man.

Primal Prayer Redux

In the time when God created all things, he created the sun.
And the sun is born and dies and comes again.
He created the moon,
And the moon is born and dies and comes again.
He created the stars,
And the stars are born and die and come again.
He created man.
And man is born and dies and comes not again.

Primal African Prayer
Dinka, Sudan

God Bless New Jersey

Sometimes the only thing I remember about a job is the people that I worked with. I had a job years ago, I can scarcely remember the name of the place. I'm not even sure what we did. It involved going through mountains of paper and gleaning key information from documents, then entering it into a database. Whatever that is called, that was my job. It paid the rent but that was it, no health insurance, no vacation days, etc. Just a job.

More than that though I remember working with Kiefer and Freddy. Actually their names were Keith and Fred, but that morphed a bit. Fred hated being called Freddy so that was no problem for me to figure out. Freddy it was! Maybe Freddy got mad and turned it all on poor Keith, because between the two of us we turned him into Kiefer. Then Kiefer-Rico. Then Kiefer-Rico Suave. Then Kiefer-Rico Suave Gonchar Jones. And that was his name thereafter, although we generally shortened it to Kiefer.

Kiefer was a redneck who had somehow been to college, he drove a truck and this was just at the dawn of the SUV years, so that was a big deal. He had a CB radio. And, best of all, he lived in an honest to goodness trailer park. Now Freddy was a black guy from NW DC, couldn't swim, city all the way...he'd never seen a trailer park so he was very curious. I was interested myself. We beat the drum for half the summer.

"C'mon Kiefer, when are we gonna hang out at the trailer?" "Never!" He was very insistent about it.

Kiefer was about my height but he only weighed 100 pounds. He had gone to UNC-Greensboro or somewhere like that. Freddy wound up at UDC, he was normal sized, had the ear ring thing going on and all of that. We all had nothing in common, really. But we had the job in common, and that was enough. We all gave each other grief, just to keep the monotony at bay. I used to go camping alone a lot back in those days, sometimes in West Virginia. I didn't think about it too much at the time, but I realize now I was just trying to get away from my wife as much as anything. She worked there too, but she woudln't sit at the same table with us. "JP, you and those boys! You are like children!" She was right of course. She sat with a bunch of respectable quiet ladies at a separate long table across the room and they would frown at us occasionally. We were all in a big hangar type of building.

I was pretty good about deflecting my share of grief, just by beating them to the punch. "Well I'm back from West Virginia guys. I got sodomized by hillbillies again, so don't bug me, I'm in a foul mood." No wonder the proper people didn't sit at our table.

The drumbeat continued for the trailer visit. "C'mon Kiefer! We'll bring some beer. Whaddaya say?" "No!" Kiefer's voice was very shrill. It was only a matter of time...the documents kept coming, there were millions of pages to go through, so what else was there to do? Freddy and I talked about sports, women, and money, and tortured Kiefer.

"Kiefer-Rico, how did you get that trailer?" "I put it on my credit card! No payments!" This was getting better and better. "Can we drive it around? What color is it? Was it born in West Virginia? Where is the gas pedal?" Finally he caved in and let us come see it, I think just so we'd shut up. He wasn't thinking clearly, but that was OK. We were going to the trailer, and it was only going to cost us a 12 pack of Budweiser and two pizzas, quite a bargain.

We caravaned over there after work, and it was a true trailer park, it even had a name, Mountain View Family Park, or Rustling Pines of America or something. There were no mountains or pine trees around, just lots of trailers, all cheek by jowl and crammed in at whatever angle they seemed to fit. I have actually seen other trailer parks, where the trailers are parallel to each other and there is some order. Not at Rustling Pines. They were all at the oddest angles, and Kiefer's was no exception, we had a hell of a time parking. The colors were appalling, some of the trailers were purple, some were bright red, some were just dirty and caving in. Poor guy, no wonder he didn't want us coming over. On the other hand, I was renting a one bedroom in Arlington for more than half my month's pay, so after seeing the inside and having a few beers I stopped feeling sorry for Kiefer. I figured I would enjoy the trailer park, it was one of the long days of summer, plenty of light left.

We went outside and sat on his little stoop and drank the beers. Freddy started to get drunk. "LOOK HOW FAT THESE PEOPLE ARE!" He was talking too loud. It was true though, they were all huge...except Kiefer of course. Maybe there was some trailer park weight equilibrium ratio at work which would explain it. But nothing would explain the color some of these people had painted those things. I was probably talking too loud about that myself. "WHAT COLOR IS THAT THING KIEFER? THAT IS HEINOUS!"

It got a bit later and I realized Freddy couldn't hold his budweisers very well. "LOOK AT THOSE BIG ONES!" and the family, all 800 pounds of them, were walking right by. People were starting to turn and look at us. I was getting a little nervous. Finally Freddy said "HEY KIEFER WHICH ONE OF THESE IS THE LYNCHIN TREE?!" That was it for the outdoor conversation. We hustled Freddy indoors and sat around waiting for the pizza. It was summertime, there were no good sports on and we didn't have much money so we talked about women, there in the trailer park. We tried to get Kiefer to put on some country music but he wouldn't budge on that one. Probably just as well, now that I think of it.

Kiefer-Rico Suave Gonchar Jones announced that he was taking a second job to help make the credit card payments on the trailer. Security guard in one of the local malls, now this was special. It was hard to picture him intimidating anyone or dissuading anyone from doing anything, really. Maybe he would be good with scaring the kids. One day he showed up to work with his security guard uniform on; he had graudated and was going to the ceremony directly after work, that was the story anyway. I spent half the day in tears, it was hard to concentrate with officer Rico across the table. He had tied a blue ribbon on the antenna of his truck, to signify solidarity with the fallen men and women of law enforcement, to go along with the CB. He was fully blown hick now, and to see him in that uniform, all that could be said was, "Kiefer, they are going to bury you in that some day".

We decided to head up to Atlantic City on Labor Day, do a little gambling. Freddy played with the CB radio on the way up, he was pretty good. He was putting on a show, telling jokes, and he sounded pretty white too. It was hard to tell from the static and pings and all of that but I think the CB community didn't appreciate The Freddy Show so instead we talked about craps and made our way north, although we ran into a lot of traffic when we hit Jersey since everyone was going to the shore.

Freddy and I headed right to the blackjack tables when we got there, Kiefer went to play the slots with the senior citizens. I had brought about $200 with me, and the cheapest table was the $15 one, which is where we were parked. I didn't last too long, maybe 45 minutes. I normally do better than that, and I always sit out a couple of hands here and there, just to keep the cards fresh. It did me no good, I lost two for every one I hit, so wound up broke. Things were going better for Freddy.

He was drinking the "free" drinks and throwing chips around. He even threw me a couple, he didn't care. He was going to be rich. "God bless America," he said. "God bless New Jersey!" I tried to tell him, cash out, let's go spend some of that. He didn't listen.

Twenty minutes later the chips were gone and we were sitting in one of the lounges. Freddy had one hand wrapped around a long island iced tea and the other wrapped around the back of his neck, like he was trying to pull his head forward or it would flop backward into the naugahyde. He was inconsolable. Frank Sinatra was playing, and the waitresses were walking around half naked in the dark. God bless New Jersey. Kiefer-Rico Suave Gonchar Jones came up, grinning like he had eaten the governor. "Look at all these dimes!" He did have a lot of them, in a big plastic tub. How did that happen? It was dark now, so we headed out to the "gentleman's bar". It was the only thing left to do, we couldn't afford the tables anymore and it wasn't even 9:00.

Things began to grow increasingly hazy. Somehow we had to keep running back to the cash machine: Kiefer-Rico Suave had developed a strong appetite for lap dances. I wound up talking to some girl who had a diamond in her mouth. Freddy joined in. "Ooh, have you all been drinking?" she said. I steadfastly denied it. Freddy said "C'mon JP, she has greens stuck on that diamond." I'm not sure about that but I saw his point.

Things got even hazier. It became late and I was carrying Freddy down the sidewalk for some reason. We were all broke. Time to head south...then I woke up, we were in the truck, bouncing over pot holes. I looked around, I knew where we were right away, just not which city. Freddy was knocked out cold. "Kiefer, where are we, still in Atlantic City?" "Yeah..I can't find the expressway" "Man, we're in the ghetto, get us out of here!" "I'm trying, hold on" I slumped over in the back, went back to sleep. Maybe the hoodlums would think he really was a fallen member of law enforcement, come for revenge...

I woke up near Maryland House, on I-95. It was early morning, the sun was up and very bright. I'd be home in an hour. I have a much better job now, but I don't meet people like that at work anymore; we had a lot of fun, between the trailer and the trip to AC. What we should have done was drive the trailer up to AC, park it there on the beach for the whole weekend, I thought, as I drank black hot coffee from the Maryland House. But you never think of those things at the time, it is always in hindsight.

Wilma Menaces Mexico

She takes aim at the Yucatan; the House OKs shields for gunmakers; Don't worry, be happy; DeLay released on 10K bond, he is smiling for his mug shot; Diabetes pill *might* be harmful; New Hampshire Senator wins $853,000 in the lottery; GIs burned 2 dead in Afghanistan; Rocket hits school in Iraq; Ford plans plant layoffs; The ethics of truth; Joe Montana has high blood pressure; Madonna and David Letterman ride horses; Hariri was killed by Syria; Panel hears concerns; We are all crazy here; Let's put on a show; No one behaves; Computer problems? no problem; Global impact; Go team.

This is the crap I read every day on the way to my job. I am sorry and I don't even know why. Thoreau said the man who runs to the news every day has not heard from himself in a while.

I really should quit.

November Grudge

The trees are bending over
The cows are lying down
The autumn's taking over
You can hear the buckshot hounds
Someone's crying in the woods
Someone's burying all his clothes
Now Slam the Crank from Wheezer
Slept outside last night and froze
--T. Waits/K. Brennan

This month makes ice on the sidewalk for a man to slip on, it makes the sun bloody and the moon cold, collars up, people turn away from each other. Before it was here it made her, and she was over the sea and we were together in a park and at a museum, next to a canal in Holland, on a bus or on a train together, always together. After that, I was back here and she was out there, so what to do about that? I used a typewriter then a lot and typed and typed, sending lots of letters, opening hers, but still I was here and she was there. The typing wasn't enough: I had to get out there, I had to get away from here, I thought so anyway.

So I did, and it wasn't at all the same. I did everything wrong, I said something else wrong, I was in the wrong mountains in the wrong month with the wrong attitude and the wrong woman. So that was that, I was out in the streets of Flagstaff with a return ticket, Phoenix to Washington D.C. But that plane did not leave for three days, so I got a room at a hotel, The Spur, and found a bar. Then another, and another, there were quite a few bars for such a small town next to an interstate. Pabst Blue Ribbon, $1. There were pool tables and some sympathetic people, and Indians begging for money but I had nothing but stories that they didn't want to hear so I gave them nothing and didn't feel bad about it. I was still young enough then to feel sorry only for myself.

Eventually even that gets old so I wound up bored at the end of a bar just staring at the mirror, and I heard a sound. Two guys had fallen off their stools and were rolling around so I went over there to see the show and it turned out they were just brothers, twins actually, beating each other up, but in a nice way. They got thrown out so I followed them and hung out with them the rest of the night. I don't recall their names; they were slavic though and they had just finished six months fishing in Alaska and had driven down there, on their way to somewhere else. One brother was very obnoxious and would keep insulting people everywhere we went until we all got thrown out of each bar and came full circle back to the original bar. By then a whole new set of people were there so they let us back in. Obnoxious brother passed out so we carried him out to their van, got some bourbon and cigars, and talked for a while. Obnoxious brother came to and he was more agreeable somehow, odd fellow.

They were OK guys actually, they bought me some food at a coffee shop and after I threw that up I said goodbye and made my way back to The Spur hotel over the ice on all the sidewalks in November. I fell many times, the traffic just went on by, it was not very uncommon it seemed for a man to flop his way down a street at night on the ice in Flagstaff, so long as he stayed out of the road.

In the morning I realized I had just enough money for the bus fare back to Phoenix and a little to spare. There was an old drugstore there with the stools where you could sit and have coffee, so I went in there and drank the coffee and watched TV. Everyone knew each other. A dwarf in a cowboy hat came in with his girlfriend, she was regular sized. They sat down next to me and began to argue, but not in a terribly loud way or even very vociferously, it seemed more like a pattern of relating that soothed them, along with the coffee and the general company. She kept saying he had bitten her and he kept denying it and she kept offering to show him the marks of her injuries, and he kept denying it, shaking his dwarf head that was inside a cowboy hat. Round and round it went, on and on, a calliope from hell just for me it seemed. I was beginning to feel like I might be going insane so I got up out of there and left them, still talking about the biting.

I settled in at the bus station and spent the next couple of nights there, sleeping on the molded plastic seats with one hand on my luggage. I didn't get much rest, it was uncomfortable. There was a water fountain and people would leave newspapers and magazines so I had something to read. The Arizona Republic. People. I read it all, then would read it over again, just to keep the mind from going out the window, I knew if I didn't keep it on something other than circumstances it would just go out and never return to me.

Finally the bus arrived, I got on and we pulled out, down the side of the mountains to Phoenix. The bus terminal was nowhere near the airport, I hadn't planned on this part. She was supposed to drive me, her, that person. I caught a taxi and didn't ask how much, when we got there I paid him all the paper money I had, $8. The fare was $12, but he took what I had. I had missed my flight so they booked me on the next one and I had a quarter, a dime, and some pennies on me but I was on my way back. There was plenty to read in the airport and then I was in Atlanta connecting to Virginia and I felt better to be in the eastern time zone. No one was wearing cowboy hats anymore and there were people still wearing shorts and I felt OK although I was very hungry. No dwarves, no biting. Talk about football and stock prices, I listened to people talk about things like that and it was better than food. In a few hours I was back in Virginia and everything was fine. But I haven't been back to that part of Arizona since then, almost twenty years ago. Every time November rolls around on the calendar I feel a little off, I think it was from that time. I always get my bearings, but it definitely throws me off just a bit. I was born in this month; this month made me but it made some other things in me that I don't really like very much, so I do hold a grudge.