(no subject)
Brother Paul warned me about this years ago. He condemned me for it a decade before I decided to do it. That didn't stop me from pulling back a tent flap and disappearing inside. There was no crystal ball. No tarot cards. No chicken bones. Just two folding chairs facing each other three feet apart. One occupied by a grossly-overweight black lady in a neon green Jesus Loves Me t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Her face angled down toward the overflowing ashtray between her bare feet. The Swisher-Black'n'Mild-Kool-Newport punch stung my nostrils worse than the McRae's perfume counter. I'd have come out cheaper waving bills at the overmadeup saleswomen. At least they had pricetags to adhere to when charging.
"Whatcha got?" she barked.
I pulled a twenty out of my front pocket and stretched my hand to her. With a snatch she told me my birthday and mother's maiden name. Then goodbye. I pulled out two more to make her grin. Tongue peeking out between the gaps of her teeth. "You desuhv th'truth fuh once." The words leapt from her mouth like people trying to escape a fiery death in a burning building. "But ya ain't gon' like what I says."
"What've you got?" I muttered.
"You wanna know if you gon' gitcha heart broke again."
"Well, am I?"
"Whatcha think?"
"That's really up to her, I guess."
"There's ya problem rit there, boy. Ya always waitin' to follah someone's lead. Cain't just do nothin'. Cain't just letchaself make a decishun."
They'll feed you advice in drive-thru format. A bunch of bumpersticker wisemen preaching against horoscopes and gypsy palm-novelists. But rest assured the knowledge they pass is gospel--unshaken through the ages. What applied to them will apply to you. Might have to do some hemming first. One life lived by all. You'll understand when you're older.
You always saw yourself a scared, little boy in a broken, old man's body. Your mind unable to catch up with your life. Realizing what happened hours, days after it passed. Whether you were staring at your fingernails. Had your eyes closed by laughter. Or simply didn't recognize what was gazing back at you. Dumb or scared doesn't matter. You were a little late is all. And there's no going back. No matter how much you drink, you don't get a do-over. You've been trying to relive failed moments to get a fresh start. What you didn't notice is you're the only one who remembers them. The glances, the touches, the words. Long-forgotten. Only salvaged in your dusty archives. Under lock and key and bar and armed guard.
(And there she was. Dancing a flurry of arms and sweat and smiles. Like nobody was watching. Indifferent to opinions and judgments. Unable to understand why anybody would care. Above responsibility. Above reproach. Almost flippant about it. That's why she became your teflon crush. That's what you wanted to find in yourself. That's what you grew to resent in both of you. So you started trying to fill your pockets when you were with her. Time you never had and love you never gave. Hoping to turn yourself materialistic instead of a romantic.)
One day the highway's gonna grab me by the ear and drag me away from home. Never to return. No need. There's nothing here for me. Every reason to stay has itself left for greener pastures. Probably the best thing to happen for both of us, too. Together we'd have been happily bound to a place that doesn't want us and doesn't need us either.
Big ideas don't fit in the small towns where we were born. They'll just get you into trouble here with misunderstandings and assumptions and rumors. You'll dig yourself a grave faster than they can push you into it. But they'll manage to kick all the dirt in on you before you hit bottom. Shallow graves are a blessing in disguise. Might can claw your way back as your lungs start burning. So the cough you let out as you resurface is a cry for and a charge against the air you breathe.
Gonna get my first tattoo. A staircase beginning at both palms. Spiralling up my arms. Level off on my shoulders. Catwalks shaking hands at the spine. And a fireman's pole erected at the base of my skull. Just to give myself a chance to act on impulse before rethinking.
Tonight I'll set my alarm though I'll be up long before it. Three indecipherable digits staring red back at me while I sit on bed's edge in the dark with one-kneed jeans laid out beside me. Gone are the days of wrath as my symbiote. I was everyman's timebomb with a four drink fuse. Life is to be a goddamn buffalo-driven chariot you push until it shakes loose of the frame. Where the contraption falls dead, start marching. Tomorrow I'm taking it back. I'm not coming home until I take it all back.
"Whatcha got?" she barked.
I pulled a twenty out of my front pocket and stretched my hand to her. With a snatch she told me my birthday and mother's maiden name. Then goodbye. I pulled out two more to make her grin. Tongue peeking out between the gaps of her teeth. "You desuhv th'truth fuh once." The words leapt from her mouth like people trying to escape a fiery death in a burning building. "But ya ain't gon' like what I says."
"What've you got?" I muttered.
"You wanna know if you gon' gitcha heart broke again."
"Well, am I?"
"Whatcha think?"
"That's really up to her, I guess."
"There's ya problem rit there, boy. Ya always waitin' to follah someone's lead. Cain't just do nothin'. Cain't just letchaself make a decishun."
They'll feed you advice in drive-thru format. A bunch of bumpersticker wisemen preaching against horoscopes and gypsy palm-novelists. But rest assured the knowledge they pass is gospel--unshaken through the ages. What applied to them will apply to you. Might have to do some hemming first. One life lived by all. You'll understand when you're older.
You always saw yourself a scared, little boy in a broken, old man's body. Your mind unable to catch up with your life. Realizing what happened hours, days after it passed. Whether you were staring at your fingernails. Had your eyes closed by laughter. Or simply didn't recognize what was gazing back at you. Dumb or scared doesn't matter. You were a little late is all. And there's no going back. No matter how much you drink, you don't get a do-over. You've been trying to relive failed moments to get a fresh start. What you didn't notice is you're the only one who remembers them. The glances, the touches, the words. Long-forgotten. Only salvaged in your dusty archives. Under lock and key and bar and armed guard.
(And there she was. Dancing a flurry of arms and sweat and smiles. Like nobody was watching. Indifferent to opinions and judgments. Unable to understand why anybody would care. Above responsibility. Above reproach. Almost flippant about it. That's why she became your teflon crush. That's what you wanted to find in yourself. That's what you grew to resent in both of you. So you started trying to fill your pockets when you were with her. Time you never had and love you never gave. Hoping to turn yourself materialistic instead of a romantic.)
One day the highway's gonna grab me by the ear and drag me away from home. Never to return. No need. There's nothing here for me. Every reason to stay has itself left for greener pastures. Probably the best thing to happen for both of us, too. Together we'd have been happily bound to a place that doesn't want us and doesn't need us either.
Big ideas don't fit in the small towns where we were born. They'll just get you into trouble here with misunderstandings and assumptions and rumors. You'll dig yourself a grave faster than they can push you into it. But they'll manage to kick all the dirt in on you before you hit bottom. Shallow graves are a blessing in disguise. Might can claw your way back as your lungs start burning. So the cough you let out as you resurface is a cry for and a charge against the air you breathe.
Gonna get my first tattoo. A staircase beginning at both palms. Spiralling up my arms. Level off on my shoulders. Catwalks shaking hands at the spine. And a fireman's pole erected at the base of my skull. Just to give myself a chance to act on impulse before rethinking.
Tonight I'll set my alarm though I'll be up long before it. Three indecipherable digits staring red back at me while I sit on bed's edge in the dark with one-kneed jeans laid out beside me. Gone are the days of wrath as my symbiote. I was everyman's timebomb with a four drink fuse. Life is to be a goddamn buffalo-driven chariot you push until it shakes loose of the frame. Where the contraption falls dead, start marching. Tomorrow I'm taking it back. I'm not coming home until I take it all back.