Author: tq1695

Some stories make the rounds –
living forever,
transplanted from one era to another
finding homes in new towns and countries
reconfigured into just invented mediums
never verifiable
infinitely variable
and always the same.

Everyone has heard the one about Kentucky fried rat
the wedding morning groom waking
hung over
and underclothed in a distant city.
The brand-new patrolman
pulling over the commissioner’s wife.
Perhaps the world has so few stories
they need to be renovated and recycled.
Or stories are like food and clothing
there must be more than one life.

This one was before my time – true apparently.
The area had been popular during the 1960’s
with the counter culture –
communes had sprung up
self sufficiency the mantra …
flower power idealism and grinding manual work,
a difficult marriage, even with tradeable love thrown in.
Most co operatives had gone
some remained.
This one had an orchard – and a problem.

Two staff members were sent
on the steps of the building
a resident
skinny, long haired, barefoot, guitar jangling
they explain they have come about the apples.

Gaze distanced strumming – ding ding ding ding ding

“Apples man – I haven’t got the vibes for apples.”
ding ding ding ding

“I’ve got the vibes for the guitar”
ding ding ding ding

“You guys do the apples”
ding ding ding ding

“I’ll do the guitar.”

We became friends
like rain in the tropics.
There were no beginnings,
it just began – strong and resolute.

I never quite understood how,
he could have been my father – just.
I could have been his kid bother – just
but ….
age seemed all wrong.
Perhaps it was cricket –
we were both mad about the game.

Whatever the nature of our bond,
he always made time for me
and I sought him out most days …..
animated talk, much laughter and occasional gossip.
Once expecting emphatic denial
I quietly asked about
just heard tittle tattle – that a staff member beat his wife.

He took a long while to answer
then spoke as if much older,
soft
slow.

“ You haven’t been here very long …..
in this town, you might know someone’s business,
but,
you don’t mind it for them.”

“ Peachy,”
infrequently heard as descriptor before
and never since.
I was on the curve of age where everywhere,
everyone was older – work no different.
Perhaps it was colloquialism briefly lived –
fad
never becoming fashion –
carbon dating specific time, before my time.

I saw it and showed him –
the colleague with whom I felt most comfortable
empathy
and ally against conceit – and almost fifth columnist.
Spookily coincident
alone – no eavesdropping or witness
openness able to be open.
‘ we seek …..’
No Bluff. No strategy. The truth – self-preservation,

“ it’s easier  to get a job with a job –
now could be finite … this is permanent …..
what do you think? ”

Anticipation considered enquiry superfluous
had prefigured encouragement,
a wink,
an offer of assistance with marketing.

“ I think that’s really peachy.
Chilly and Bryan give a young guy a chance,
and you scarper at the first opportunity . …”