Rasta La Vida
Thurs. June 20th
A porch in Bellflower a horse clopped down the street. Corn stalks grow up behind a fence at the house with the Christmas lights still on it in June A steel powerline tower looms above, like a giant erector set, beyond the corn. Ball called about El Cid. I drove down specifically for that. The traffic sucked the whole way. I bought a six pack of Bud light for the Ball family fridge. I rooted through crates of old books I found on the floor in a back room. Picked out some old pulp fantasies I used to read but didn't have anymore, Ed Burroughs, Robert Howard, you know, Conan, Tarzan, John Carter of Mars, and a volume of poetry, and bought it all off Ball, but he wouldn't let me have the Dante. His brother was talking about going to Arizona or Oklahoma to get away from his wife or driving over a cliff.
After I left, I thought about driving to Cerritos, see the old house, visit the Yamashitas. I chickened out and got on the freeway, but then I decided what was the use in getting home? So I got off the freeway and went back. I wasn't exactly sure how to get there. I started to wonder if I'd see the apartment my mom moved to after the divorce, and the second I did, I turned down some random street and there it was. And the park where we watched 4th of July fireworks, and karate demonstrations, and the church and the library where I spent hours reading Bill Peet books and Highlights magazines. I saw Heritage Park and Loyal Elementary where I went to kindergarten through third grade. I found the Yamashita's and walked up and to the screen door and called out, "Yoo hoo," like I used to do. Jean and Ross and Keith were there. It was Ross' birthday. Henry came back from walking the dog. They asked how Shirelle was. I told Keith about my DUI while we had a smoke in the garage. Ross went to see his girlfriend, Kelly. There were little memories in the yard and through the windows of the houses, tag in the cul-de-sac, the scrape on my shoulder playing touch football in the street, the dirt clod I threw that came right down on Ross' head, peanutbutter and sugar, Pong, and Annie Fannie. Keith said how we used to catch bees all the time at the little puple flowered bushes in front of the house, and how we believed if the bee's black stripes formed an H, then it was a honeybee and would not sting you. We never got stung! We'd pull their wings off and leave dozens of them to spend the rest of their short lives walking.
A big traffic jam clogged the freeway back to LA.
I'm going to take some pictures on my street today, and tread while I listen to the game. Maybe I'll write and puff and sip. Thing says there's a big party in the Hollywood Hills this weekend.
I'm at school now. The bell rang. I have to pick up the kids. We'll be seeing "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea." Wish me luck. Rasta la vida.
A porch in Bellflower a horse clopped down the street. Corn stalks grow up behind a fence at the house with the Christmas lights still on it in June A steel powerline tower looms above, like a giant erector set, beyond the corn. Ball called about El Cid. I drove down specifically for that. The traffic sucked the whole way. I bought a six pack of Bud light for the Ball family fridge. I rooted through crates of old books I found on the floor in a back room. Picked out some old pulp fantasies I used to read but didn't have anymore, Ed Burroughs, Robert Howard, you know, Conan, Tarzan, John Carter of Mars, and a volume of poetry, and bought it all off Ball, but he wouldn't let me have the Dante. His brother was talking about going to Arizona or Oklahoma to get away from his wife or driving over a cliff.
After I left, I thought about driving to Cerritos, see the old house, visit the Yamashitas. I chickened out and got on the freeway, but then I decided what was the use in getting home? So I got off the freeway and went back. I wasn't exactly sure how to get there. I started to wonder if I'd see the apartment my mom moved to after the divorce, and the second I did, I turned down some random street and there it was. And the park where we watched 4th of July fireworks, and karate demonstrations, and the church and the library where I spent hours reading Bill Peet books and Highlights magazines. I saw Heritage Park and Loyal Elementary where I went to kindergarten through third grade. I found the Yamashita's and walked up and to the screen door and called out, "Yoo hoo," like I used to do. Jean and Ross and Keith were there. It was Ross' birthday. Henry came back from walking the dog. They asked how Shirelle was. I told Keith about my DUI while we had a smoke in the garage. Ross went to see his girlfriend, Kelly. There were little memories in the yard and through the windows of the houses, tag in the cul-de-sac, the scrape on my shoulder playing touch football in the street, the dirt clod I threw that came right down on Ross' head, peanutbutter and sugar, Pong, and Annie Fannie. Keith said how we used to catch bees all the time at the little puple flowered bushes in front of the house, and how we believed if the bee's black stripes formed an H, then it was a honeybee and would not sting you. We never got stung! We'd pull their wings off and leave dozens of them to spend the rest of their short lives walking.
A big traffic jam clogged the freeway back to LA.
I'm going to take some pictures on my street today, and tread while I listen to the game. Maybe I'll write and puff and sip. Thing says there's a big party in the Hollywood Hills this weekend.
I'm at school now. The bell rang. I have to pick up the kids. We'll be seeing "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea." Wish me luck. Rasta la vida.
posted by johnz at 6:51 PM
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